Tags
Andrew Joyce, contest, country music, Emmys, free books, hitchhike, humor, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, on the road, travel
I really want YOU to win one of these bags!
This is the last day of this giveaway. As I said in My night at the Emmys, it’s so easy to enter—just add a comment with your favorite celebrity encounter story.
To win your gift bag, all you have to do is add a comment about your own favorite celebrity encounter. (I’ll draw tomorrow for winners.)
Last week, Andrew Joyce—one of my favorite writers ever—shared a wonderful celebrity encounter which I think deserves its own blog post.
If it didn’t happen exactly the way Andrew tells it, it certainly should have! Let me know if you agree.
In his comment here, Andrew writes: In my previous comment (above), I was going for the funny even though what I wrote was all true. But I want to win that gift bag, so here’s my best celebrity encounter. And believe me … this really happened.
It was 1968; I was eighteen-years-old, and I was hitchhiking from Miami to New York. I had gotten off the beaten track, so to speak. I should have stayed on US 301 (this was before the Interstate Highway System), but instead found myself just south of Memphis hoping to catch a ride into Nashville by noon and then catch a long haul out of that city.
It was early morning. The traffic was light, and I wasn’t having much luck when, suddenly, a black Mustang screeched to a halt, and the guy driving leaned over and said through the open passenger-side window, “I’m headin’ to Nashville, that do you any good?”
Of course I said, “Yes,” and jumped in.
As he’s accelerating, he’s looking straight ahead, not at me. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, which is strange but not unusual when you’re hitching. So, I said nothing and stared out the windshield at the fast approaching skyline of Memphis. Then it hit me. I know this guy; I should have tumbled from the voice.
At that time in my life, I was not into different types of music; I liked rock n’ roll. Since then my taste in music has matured to encompass all types. But even though this guy wasn’t a rocker, I knew him and his music. A couple of his songs had crossed over and were played on the top forty stations.
The driver was intent on what he was doing, but I think he caught me looking at him out of the corner of his eye. I noticed he had a firm grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles were white. After a few minutes, he turns to me, saying, “Howdy, my name’s John.” At the same time, he raised his right hand from the wheel and stuck it out in my direction.
We shook hands, and I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cash. My name is Billy.”
Once John and I shook hands, he became more talkative. Hell, he became downright verbose. He told me about his hitchhiking adventures and asked me about mine. We were three hours out of Nashville and I don’t think there was another quiet moment for the whole three hours. We talked about life, women, and we even got into a metaphysical discussion. He told me about his army days and the time he was arrested in Texas. Just to keep even, I told him stuff that had happened to me while on the road. We didn’t talk about his music or anything like that. I’d been around enough to know that coming off as a gushing fan would have been a major turn-off for him. And besides, at the time, I was not a fan, gushing or otherwise. But by the time we hit Nashville, I was becoming a fan … of the man if not his music.
As we neared Nashville, he told me he’d just gotten married a few months back and was dying to see his wife. “I’ve been gone two days and it feels like two years,” he informed me. Then he said, “It’s about dinner time; why not stop in and get something to eat and then hit the road. June’s a great cook.”
Dinner is what country folk call lunch.
I accepted his kind offer, and we got off the highway and headed for his home, which was only a few blocks away. When we got to his house, and as we were pulling into the driveway, he said, “Looks like June is out somewhere, but don’t worry, we’ll rustle somethin’ up.”
I told him not to bother, that I could cadge a meal down the line. He looked at me, shook his head, and in that deep voice, he asked me if I had any money. Of course, I didn’t and I told him so. He told me that he’d been on the road and hungry, and that if I didn’t get my butt in the house pronto, he’d drag me inside.
So in we went, and we walked right back to the kitchen. John told me to sit at the table as he opened the refrigerator and looked around for a moment before saying, “Ah ha! It’s still here. And he pulled out a platter with a ham on it. I mean a real ham, bone and all! He also came up with a jar of mustard and a hunk of cheese. As he started to slice the ham, he told me where the bread and plates were kept and asked me to get them.
When the sandwiches were made—two of them—he asked me if I’d like a beer.
“Yes, please.”
So there I am, sitting in the kitchen of a man I’d met only a few hours before, and I’ve got two thick ham and cheese sandwiches and a can of beer in front of me. Not a bad score and the day was still young!
I asked him if he was going to eat, and he said beer would do him fine.
We’re sittin’ at the kitchen table, shooting the shit when the doorbell rings. John gets up, but before he leaves, he takes a long swig of beer. “Be right back,” he says. A few minutes later, he comes back into the kitchen with this guy.
“Billy, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This here is Kris.”
I had my mouth filled with ham sandwich, so I mumbled a hello.
He waved and smiled, “Glad to meet ya, Billy.”
John asked Kris, “How about a sandwich and a beer?”
“Just a beer, please. It’s my lunch hour, and I’ve got to get back to work. But I have a new song I’d like you to hear and see what you think of it.”
By now, I’d eaten my two sandwiches, and I had nothing to add to the conversation, so I figured I’d just finish my beer and get the hell out of there. But before I could say my thanks and hit the road, John leaves the room and returns a moment later with a guitar.
Prior to my going any further, I’ve got to lay the scene out for you. We’re sitting at a round kitchen table. To my left is John and directly opposite me is this guy, Kris Kristofferson. John and I were hitting our beers and watching Kris tune the guitar. Then he picked at the strings and started to sing. I don’t remember what the song was. I wasn’t really paying attention. In my mind, I was rehearsing my good-bye speech to John.
When Kris was done, we all three sat there looking at one another. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my opinion Kris sought. Kris didn’t say anything because he was waiting for John to say something, which he finally did.
“It’s not bad. But I don’t know if it’s for me.”
I’ve got to hand it to Kris; he smiled broadly and said, “That’s okay. I just wanted you to hear it and get your thoughts.” Then he lifted his beer and said, “Prosit.”
That was my cue to leave. I stood and told John I had to hit the road. He said he’d drive me back to the highway, but I told him not to bother, he had company, and besides, it was only a few blocks away. Kris said if I could wait a few minutes, he’d drop me off at the highway on his way back to work. I declined his offer. I didn’t want to wait around. I had a full stomach and New York City was calling to me. I said my good-byes and walked out the front door, retrieved my case from the Mustang and headed off for further adventures.
Just one last thing: When I got to New York and opened my case, there was Benjamin Franklin staring up at me from on top of my clothes. John must have put the C-note in there when he went to let Kris in.
PLEASE do not forget to add your own stories of celebrity encounters in Comments below to be entered in this contest. Winners will be announced on Friday, along with my proposal for a new show that’s definitely possibly going to be a sure-fire Emmy winner.
Darlene said:
Andrew met Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson!! That is amazing. I met the guys from the band Twisted Sister but that’s not quite the same thing. My brother said that band made him think of me but I don’t know what he meant as I’m not musically inclined.
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barbtaub said:
I would give almost everything I own—except for my dog, who doesn’t care for country music—to have had a chance to meet Johnny Cash or Kris Kristofferson (or any of the “Outlaws”) back in the day.
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Andrew Joyce said:
Kris was not famous then. He worked some job where he had only an hour for lunch.
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barbtaub said:
Wish you could remember the song he sang. Maybe you were the first to hear Me and Bobby McGee!
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Sue Vincent said:
What a great story.
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barbtaub said:
Andrew tells the best stories. Hopefully, that memoir will be coming soon! (Hint, Billy–hint, hint!)
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Sue Vincent said:
Yep… and I’m with you on the hinting 😉
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TanGental said:
blimey…. speechless
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barbtaub said:
Andrew Joyce has that effect on people, right?
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Mary Smith said:
Wow! Brilliant story.
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barbtaub said:
Andrew is pretty amazing!
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Mary Smith said:
He deserves all the goody bags!
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Emily Gmitter said:
If this were one of my hitching adventures (if I ever hitched…NOT), this would be my most treasured memory! And it’s as cool to read as it must have been to live it, but sounds like Andrew took it in stride. The difference between guys and gals, maybe?
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barbtaub said:
Or between immortal 18-year-olds and us geezers?
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Zoe the Fabulous Feline said:
Reblogged this on The Life & Times of Zoe the Fabulous Feline and commented:
A true life adventure my human wishes SHE experienced! And while you’re on Barb’s wonderful site, check out the other Emmy-related post….she’ll have you laughing your butt off! Heck, read other posts too. You’ll enjoy them all!
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barbtaub said:
MWA! Zoe, you’re the best!!!
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Karen Roper said:
Twenty-five years ago this month (I know, because I’d just given birth to my son, who turned 25 this past Sunday and I clearly remember that I was still a behemoth), my husband and I were invited to have dinner with friends who had purchased a “dinner with a celebrity” package at an auction-fundraiser-drunken melee, which I had attended as a temporary non-drinker. (Those events are eye-openers when you’re the only sober body in the room.)
About twenty people attended this “intimate” dinner party. The celebrity, Tom Skerritt (A River Runs Through It), arrived late and filled with liquid courage [the PC version of that saying we grew up with, though his background is actually British].
He tried to avoid us (all of the guests) and hung out by the owner’s pool talking to a leafless shrub with yet another drink in hand. I was, by then, unimpressed and sorry that I’d bother’d to find an “evening” gunny sack that I could squeeze my bloated, lactation-ballooned baby-body in.
At dinner, I found myself seated directly across from the guest of honor, whom I knew, from overhearing his exchange with the shrub, would be a scintillating conversationalist. I asked to be excused to check on my son who was [not] enjoying his first babysitting experience. [Poor Grandma.] Tom overheard me, leaned across the table, made eye-contact (!) and asked me how old my son was. “Three weeks,” I answered. Then Tom launched into a rapturous slew of questions. He was a new grandpa and had found common ground with one of the guests. And I finally figured out how hard it is to be a celebrity surrounded by gushing fans. (Who knew he was shy?)
Later, I terrified him by asking for a favor. But when he heard what it was, he agreed and posed for a picture holding a sign that said, “This is for you, Debby XXX,” (a close friend of mine and big fan of his) who still has that photo on her wall.
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barbtaub said:
WOW! This comment contains an entire novel. No really–it’s got tension, character development, resolution, and even a happy ending (as I presume you finally got to go back, nurse that baby, and watch him grow up into the incredible young man he is today. Well done and thanks SO much for sharing this.
Now…write that book! (or…screenplay???)
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Jennie said:
I just love Andrew’s stories!!!
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barbtaub said:
Who wouldn’t?
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Jennie said:
Yup! 😀
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Mick Canning said:
As they say – top that!
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barbtaub said:
Agreed!
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quiall said:
What a wonderful story! Oh to have been a fly on the wall in that kitchen! Memories . . . I once met my favourite author, Wilbur Smith, at a book signing. I had been told by the owner of the bookstore because she knew I loved his books. I couldn’t make it up the stairs to the signing (wheelchair) so she placed me near the front door and promised to make sure he saw me first (I spent A LOT of money in that bookstore, addiction you know). The day of, it rained. Not little whispers of rain spitting delicately on the pavement, no. This was event level deluge where people got their canoes and started betting on when the Ark was due. A drowned rat was an apt description. The owner tried to towel my hair dry but . . . He arrived looking tired and perhaps little annoyed at the rain (join the club). But he stopped and spoke to me, I babbled that I loved his books and then he said, “Then we are already friends.”. I love that man!
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barbtaub said:
What an absolutely lovely memory from what could have been an awful day. Bless Wilbur Smith for being able to step away from the bad weather and connect to an admiring reader.
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Sue Vincent said:
Reblogged this on Sue Vincent's Daily Echo.
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barbtaub said:
Thank you SO much for the reblog Sue!
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Sue Vincent said:
My pleasure, Barb.
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robbiesinspiration said:
A very entertaining story, Barb and Andrew. What a great party pack, Barb.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks so much. And Andrew’s stories from the road are nonstop entertainment!
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Adele Marie said:
I have read this encounter before on Andrew’s blog and still, it gives me shivers, Johnny Cash wow.
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barbtaub said:
Not to mention Kris Kristofferson! I’d just love to know what song he played that day…
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Adele Marie said:
Me too.
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Annette Rochelle Aben said:
I was in Los Angeles in 1983 as a respite from quitting a job that had to be left behind. Because I was part of the Int’l Laurel and Hardy Fan Club, I was friends with Stan Laurel’s daughter, Lois. She took care to see that I not only had friends to hang out with, but lots to do for the 3 weeks I was there. (left hubby at home this time). There was a documentary of Laurel & Hardy being filmed while I was there, and Lois took me to the location where they were shooting that day. It was the ranch where she grew up and it was totally decorated with full sized card boards of “the boys” and everywhere you turned, there was a celebrity. Of course, I was the true Hollywood extra, so I sat down next to someone I had met in 1980, a man named T. Marvin Hatley, who wrote the music for the Laurel and Hardy films. He really didn’t remember me, but he was kind enough NOT to mention it. Lois disappeared as she had responsibilities and I must have looked rather pitiful for soon, a middle aged man sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. Weren’t things like this a bit stressful because you never really know what to do or who to talk to… So much going on, it’s hard to know where to look first… It can be hard, being the odd man out… Of course, I would have gotten up and moved away except I was grateful for the chit chat AND that very mind man was actor, Jack Klugman. I had thoroughly enjoyed him in television shows and because of where I was, I knew he wasn’t there to do me any harm.
We spent quite a nice afternoon talking, laughing and eating. He helped me to feel at home surrounded by people who (even though I tried, as Lois suggested, to strike up conversations with) totally blew me off. At one point, Jack pointed to a man standing next to a hot dog cart and asked if I knew who that was. Of course I did, it was Steve Allen! I stammered, “Yes.” and Jack laughed as he took me by the arm and walked me over to Mr. Allen. He was in process of introducing me to his “friend” when this huge security guard stepped in between us and Mr. Allen, pushing us as far away, as fast as possible. Jack was not amused, I was thoroughly embarrassed. Excusing himself for a moment, Jack walked over to the retreating guard and they exchanged a heated conversation. Upon his return, Jack explained that there was a clause in Mr. Allen’s contract, that if he was eating, he was NOT to be disturbed by anyone for any reason, unless it was a member of his staff and it had better be an emergency!
So, I never got to actually meet Steve Allen but due to the kindness of a man who did not have to go out of his way, I had a great time that day! Thanks Jack, thank you so much. 🙂
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Andrew Joyce said:
“Sons of the Desert”
Steve Allen was a blirp, bleep, sonavabitch *!#@%** motherfucker! (I didn’t want to curse so I used, blirp, bleep & *!#@%** instead.)
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Annette Rochelle Aben said:
giggle yes, I can see your restraint, there, Andy-Drew
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barbtaub said:
Andrew, you shouldn’t try to hold it in. All that repression isn’t good for you.
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Smorgasbord - Variety is the Spice of Life. said:
Fabulous story Annette.. a day to remember.. and I loved Jack Klugman.. xx
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Annette Rochelle Aben said:
I have always remembered his genuine interest in me. It was as though me being there, made HIS day a bit better. A very nice person, indeed.
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barbtaub said:
What a wonderful story and a fabulous memory! Thanks so much for sharing it.
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Smorgasbord - Variety is the Spice of Life. said:
Fantastic giveaway’s Barb… and some terrific stories in competition.. don’t envy you the task.
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barbtaub said:
Oh I couldn’t possibly choose between so many wonderful memories! That’s why I use an online random number generator to choose the winners.
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The Lockwood Echo said:
Having been a recent winner of your fabulous book, I held off with my little claim to fame story to excuse myself from the goodies, which look FAB. Anyway, it’s only a daft one, but it’s the best I’ve got;
Back in my teens (80s) I went to see Depeche Mode play at a local venue. We arrived early hoping to catch the boys on the way in for an autograph. Duly they appeared. Alas, as they were all carrying various items of bags/stagewear/necessities, it made for an awkward logistical encounter. Long story short, I had to hold Dave Gahan’s ironing board whilst he signed my ticket. 😉
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