Been There, Done That: Lee Greenwood and Sally Struthers

Because I had officially started working for Alan Osmond Productions in 1988, I often found myself in situations that allowed me to meet other celebrities, and to be in places that most people would not normally be. In November 1989, I was at Osmond Studios in Orem, Utah, in the hallway between the dressing rooms and the rehearsal hall when I had two close encounters of the celebrity kind. One of those I’ll save for next week, but today I’m going to tell you about how I got to pretend I was Marie Osmond.

Production was in full swing for the Marie Osmond Christmas Special, and The Osmond Boys were set to be guests. This was in the early days of their career, but I had been working with them for a couple of years already, so I was invited to be with them that day as they worked on the show. More on that in the blog for next week, though.

Alan gathered the boys and we all headed into the rehearsal hall. If you took a tour of the Osmond Studios back in the day, then you might remember what the rehearsal hall looked like. It’s a big box of a room with high cement walls and a ceiling to match. The floor was highly polished wood and at least two of the walls were covered with mirrors. These mirrors allowed the performers to watch themselves as their rehearsed their dance moves for various segments of the show.

 

When we entered the room, Marie was going through a musical routine with two of her guest stars, Sally Struthers and Lee Greenwood. I had met Lee a few times on the road and at his concerts, but I was here with Alan and the boys, and Lee was busy, so I didn’t say anything to him as we walked past.

Alan set up a tape recorder (yes, we had those back then), and the boys started running through their own number at the second set of mirrors to the right. I stood near them in case anyone needed me to go get something. Suzanne was there, but I’m thinking she had a baby in arms so she was not able to run to get things they might need.

The boys had gone through their number a time or two when I noticed that Marie had left Lee and Sally struggling through the routine on their own. Because the dance required them to all interact with each other, the two remaining where having trouble keeping the dance going without the third.

I turned back to Alan and the boys, who were just wrapping up their rehearsal, when the next thing I knew, someone had grabbed my arm. “Come over here. We need you.”

It was Lee Greenwood.

“What do you need me for?” I asked, completely surprised by his actions.

“You’re going to play Marie,” he said as he started leading me away from where I was standing.

I looked over my shoulder at Alan, who was laughing (something he does a lot of at my expenses it seems). “Go on, Lu Ann. You can do it,” he said.

Right! I thought. Me as Marie. I come from German stock. I’m big boned, and even then carried a few pounds too many. I was going to pretend to be the incredibly petit and tiny Marie. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

 

“We need you to help us with this dance routine,” Lee said once we got over to Sally Struthers. “I know we’ve met, but I can’t remember your name.”

“Lu Ann,” I said. Sally Struthers put out her hand to shake mine.

“Nice to meet you, Lu Ann,” she said. “You’ll do a great job.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lee added. “Mostly you just need to stand here, and we’ll move you around where you need to go.”

“Okay,” I said, and we got busy.

For the next twenty minutes or so, I played the role of Marie Osmond, first with Lee Greenwood guiding me around, then with Sally Struthers, and occasionally with me dancing on my own between them. I have to admit it was a lot of fun, and it was certainly nothing I ever imagined myself having the opportunity to do, dancing a musical number with two well-known celebrities such as these.

And it wasn’t the last time I had to stand in place for Marie Osmond, but like I said, that’s a story for another time.

Been There, Done That: John Stamos

The summer of 1992 was a memorable one for me. Not only was I working with Alan Osmond Productions; this year, I was an Associate Producer for the Stadium of Fire. If you’re not from Utah, you may never have heard of Stadium of Fire, but I’m here to tell you it’s one of the biggest 4th of July fireworks extravaganzas in the country.

But having this new job title and role wasn’t the biggest part of my excitement. This year our talent was going to be The Beach Boys. Alan had worked a long time to arrange their appearance in Provo, and the excitement was high not only in our office, but in the entire city.

Lots of ticket requests came daily into our office, and once the general tickets went on sale they were gone in a matter of hours. If seemed everyone wanted to see The Beach Boys.

But not me! Beach Boys—I could take ‘em or leave ‘em.

But The Beach Boys’ drummer—that’s who I wanted to see. Word was out in all the tabloids that John Stamos was spending his summer hiatus from Full House touring as the drummer with The Beach Boys, and I was ready for him.

I couldn’t wait to see in person that gorgeous hunk who played Jesse Katsopolis.

Instructions flew through the production office that The Beach Boys themselves were very particular about when, where, and how they met people, and for the most part on Karl Engemann—who worked with the group during his Capitol Records days—and Alan Osmond himself were to approach the guys for anything other than their cue to come on stage.

Okay, no problemo for me, really. Unless that meant I wouldn’t get my chance to see John. That would be a problem!

The day of the show was busy, busy, busy as always. Last minute tickets to distribute from the office, technical glitches to work out on stage or with the fireworks, lots of people calling the office, errands needing run, and press conference details to finalize.

Even though I hadn’t seen John yet anywhere—I had seen the other guys entering their trailer late in the afternoon—I was still prepared, just in case I did. I had an ink pen, which I had tested to make sure it worked, and a blank note card—a perfect place for an autograph which would store easily in my hip pocket.

About a half an hour prior to the press conference, I was on the opposite side of the stadium from where my trailer office was located, delivering a stack of Beach Boy photos to the conference room. I was just heading back to my office when I came around the corner a little too fast and nearly ran right into him—John Stamos in all his incredible-looking glory!

Here we were face-to-face and I could hardly think of a thing to say. After a few “uh-uh-uhs” on my part, I at last gathered my wits enough to pull out the card and the pen. “May I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” John said, as he took the card and pen from me an wrote his name.

“Thanks,” I said when he handed the card back. I think I muttered something about being such a fan, but the only other response I got from him was a shy-looking smile.

“Well, thanks again,” I said, as I started to stumble back in the direction I was originally going. John turned to enter the conference room area which I had just left.

The only other time I saw him was during the concert while he was on stage, wailing away on those drums. They didn’t even introduce him to the audience until the very end of the show, when they did the band introductions. It was like he wasn’t really a part of the group, but I didn’t care.

All I could think about for days after was about being Jesse’s girl and how close I had actually been to crashing right into him.

Sigh. . .

Been There, Done That: Hilary Swank

Back in the day before Hilary Swank was an Academy Award-winning actress, she was just a young girl, trying to make her mark in the world of televison and eventually finding her way into Movies-of-the-Week.

That’s where I had my opportunity to see Hilary in person, although not nearly as close of an encounter as my husband had, with her DOG!

Mike, who worked as a set medic/craft service on many of those MOWs, had been on the set for a show called It Was Him or Us, a typical convoluted plot that had to be worked out in less that two hours of screen-time.

Fifteen-year-old Deena Marten wants the same freedom every teenager craves. But when she can't have her way, her rebellious temperament erupts in violence. Her parents, Stephanie and Todd, fear her new boyfriend, Garret, 17, is the cause. Distraught, Stephanie turns to alcohol, and Todd escapes in his work. They're unaware their Boy Scout son Adam, 13, sips from a vodka bottle hidden in his bedroom. And the problems in this dysfunctional family continue to worsen.

Hilary Swank played the role of Deena.

I was on set one night when they were filming a big, dramatic scene in which Hilary storms off with her boyfriend, and I’ll admit, it was too dark to see much of anything from where I was stationed. She paraded back and forth in from of me several times, passing a group of cars and trailers being used as props, but I don’t recall being especially impressed by her performance.

Okay, I’ll give her this—she was still fairly young in the business. A few featured roles on shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Growing Pains, and Evening Shade, and the starring role in The Next Karate Kid, which honestly didn’t do much to establish her as a quality actress, was all the credit she had to her name.

This MOW, eventually known as Terror in the Family, was supposed to be her big break, even if it did take her three more years and a jump to the big screen to become recognized.

So, it may not have done much for Hilary at the time, but this little show did bring us one of our favorite stories about Mike and the strangest things that have ever happened when he was on set.

This is a story, about a DOG! Hilary’s dog, to be exact.

And a sort of stupid mutt it was. One day, while Mike was on set but I was not visiting, the entire set was drenched in a down-pouring of rain. Production was put on hold until the rain stopped and the crew could start to dry things off.

But a dog who wants outside stops for no one, especially not a little rain. Hilary opened her trailer door, the dog ran out to do his business, then immediately decided he needed something to chew.

Ah, this huge electrical cable looks like the right thing. A gnawing bite, a flash of light, and Hilary’s dog most closely resembled the poor Grisley’s cat in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

“My dog! My dog!” Hilary cried.

And here came Mike Medic to the rescue. A quick assessment of the situation told him the dog had electrocuted himself, his heart beat stopped and Hilary almost in hysterics.

What was a good medic supposed to do? Save the dog’s life, no matter what. And in this case, that meant giving that stupid mutt mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!

And Hilary was extremely grateful.

I don’t think I would have done it, and I’ll admit I wasn’t too keen on giving a big kiss to my husband for a couple of days afterward---Yuck! Dog germs!!—but save the dog’s life, he did, so I guess you could say my husband was a hero.

And do you know, not once has Hilary thought to tell him thank you from the podium as she accepted yet another big award. It’s the least she could do for the guy who saved the life of her stupid dog!

Been There, Done That: Alison Arngrim

Sometimes in the late 1970s, I was on my second excursion to Los Angeles on vacation when the opportunity came to attend the Danny Thomas St. Jude’s telethon being broadcast from CBS Studios in Television City.

Along with being part of the telethon audience, we were promised seats to see some of the greatest and upcoming stars from movie, stage, and theater. All we had to do was sit quietly, clap at appropriate times, and be willing to toss a few coins into the collection plate as it was passed.

Sounded easy enough, and for someone as star-struck as I was in those days, having a front row seat to seeing all those people in person sounded like heaven---hours and hours of watching celebs beg viewers to donate money.

We settled in for the opening hour of the show. It was pretty cool, and I’d never been in a studio audience before so I was really enjoying myself until we found out the truth about the way telethons work. End of segment one, and someone from the crew passed the collection for the live audience to drop in money toward the telethon total.

Then the next thing we knew, another crew member yelled, “Everybody out!”

What?! We were promised hours upon hours of watching the telethon from our comfy seats inside. Why were we suddenly being herded out?

“Time for a new audience,” the stage manager told us. “You want to see more of the show, go back outside and get in line.”

I was just as indignant about this sudden turn of events as the other people who were also being summarily moved out of the chairs, down the stairs, and back into the street. Grumblings of “No way I’m giving these people any money again,” accompanied the mass of the crowd as people headed to their cars instead of back into the line.

I was at a loss as to what exactly I wanted to do. We were promised loads of celebrities. I think we had seen two, Danny Thomas and someone else whose stardom was so minor that I don’t even remember their name. I wanted MORE!

But I didn’t necessarily want to wait again in that long line, only to be booted from the teacher in another hour.

Standing around, checking out the situation be the entrance I noticed a small group of people standing close to a rope line that separated the waiting audience from an open plaza. A sudden burst of flashbulbs let me know that something—or someone—of interest was on the other side of those lines.

I worked my way past the first line of people and joined the group at the ropes in time to see Eva Gabor—or was it Zsa Zsa?—waving at the crowd and standing posed for pictures. I snapped one of my own with my Instamatic camera (you can imagine the quality of photo I ended up with at a distance—and realized this was the place to be.

Not only would we see the celebrities, but we could take photos as well, something you weren’t allowed to do inside the studio. And who knew, maybe a celebrity or two would come over to greet us at the line.

I can’t remember who all I saw that day, but Lavar Burton does stick in my mind, but two of the stars of the show turned out to be quite different from the character they portrayed on TV.

Little House on the Prairie was one of my mother’s favorite shows at the time. She loved that little half-pint, Laura Ingalls played by Melissa Gilbert, and just as the audience was intended to do, hated the mean-spirited Nellie, otherwise known as Alison Arngrim.

Imagine my surprise when both girls departed from a limousine and headed toward the telethon entrance.

“Melissa! Melissa! Laura!” the crowd yelled, begging the young actress to come closer to the rope and pose for a picture, sign an autograph, shake a hand. But she would have none of it. Instead, Melissa Gilbert looked the crowd over, then stuck her nose up into the air—literally!—and disappeared through the doors into the studio.

The crowd was disappointed, until they suddenly began to realize, they hadn’t gotten Laura, but Nellie had been more that happy to oblige. There was Alison Arngrim, walking the rope line, shaking hands, signing autographs, actually talking with people, laughing and being nothing at all like the brat she portrayed.

Talk about a role reversal! Nellie was nice, and Laura? Well, she was the brat!

Since that time I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Alison Arngrim, much vilified actress who turned out to be as nice as she could be.

Yet another reason why the title of her autobiography—Confessions of a Prairie Bitch---just makes me laugh. Thanks, Nellie, for proving that sometimes it’s okay to be a brat, as long as that’s not the way you’ll always be. 

Been There, Done That: Pat Boone and Debby Boone

In 1975, I was still a student at Indiana University in Bloomington when music legend Pat Boone, his wife Shirley, and their four daughters, the Boone Girls, came to do a show at the Auditorium. I bought tickets and was excited to see the legendary Pat Boone in concert. But at that time, no one knew much about daughter Debby.

Her father, Pat had been a part of my entire life, or so it seemed. During the 1950s and early 1960s, Pat sold over 45 million albums, had 38 Top 40 hits and starred in more than 12 Hollywood movies, plus starred in his own television show.

In the 1970s Boone had taken his family on the road, presenting squeaky-clean concerts with a gospel slant. I don’t remember much about the show itself, but I know I had a good time. I also remember that he and Shirley had their daughters with them: Cheryl, Linda Lee, Debby, and Laury.

Two years before her super-hit “You Light Up my Life,” Debby was just one of the girls and Pat himself was still the ticket draw when it came to filling concert halls.

If there is one image that continues to shine about Pat Boone, it’s that he is NICE. And that’s how I viewed him that night, not only during the concert, but afterwards when I found myself backstage to meet him.

I had learned a little bit about meeting celebrities by listening to the Osmond fans I had met a couple of months before, so I decided to see if I could get backstage to meet the Boone family. As most people were leaving the auditorium, I made my way down toward the stage. There were a few others who had gathered toward the left side of the stage as well, autograph books in hand, hoping to get a chance to go backstage.

We waited for quite awhile and the theater was empty except for those of us who stuck around hoping to get backstage, and eventually we got our wish. An usher opened the stage door and welcomed us in. “Just line up along this wall and the family will be out to see you in a few minutes.”

I dug around in my purse and found a tiny little notebook and an ink pen which I got out so I’d be ready, and sure enough, in just a few minutes all four girls stepped into the hallway. They walked by us, saying hello, making small talk, and signing autographs. They still had on the long dresses they wore for the final part of the concerts. It was cool to meet them, but all my focus was on Pat, who I saw coming right behind his wife Shirley.

Shirley signed my paper, using a big swoopy handwriting that some might say showed the confidence she felt about herself. She had likely had experiences like her girls when she was nothing but a child since her own father, Red Foley, was also a famous as a country music star.

Then there was Pat. It was exciting to meet him. His was a face and a voice that I knew, and in my opinion he was more important than even Elvis. Actually, Elvis had been Pat’s opening act when I was a kid! After the meeting, those of us who were in the hallway filed out the backdoor of the auditorium and headed home. I couldn’t wait to get home and call my mom to let her know that I’d met him.

Who knew that just two years later, Debby Boone would be a star on her own, and that I would be singing her hit “You Light Up My Life” and remembering the day I met her, and her father.

Been There, Done That: Shawn Bradley

Back in the days when I was working for Alan Osmond Productions, one of my jobs included arranging for guest tickets to Stadium of Fire. Usually this meant pulling a block of tickets for local sponsors to bring selected guests to the show and having some pretty great reserved seats. Occasionally, we would get a request that was a little more specific: West side, center box or something along that line.

The most unusual, and specific request came to my attention probably in 1991 or 1992 when I was asked to pull a pair of tickets for then BYU’s then-center player on the basketball team, Shawn Bradley.

Now pulling a pair of tickets wasn’t unusual in and of itself; it was the location of the tickets that was much different than any request I’d ever gotten before. First of all, the tickets were to be on the West side, but they needed to be the last seat south on the top row before the nosebleed section and the seat directly in front of it.

“Is Shawn bringing a date that he didn’t want to have sit beside him or something?”I asked the person phoning in the request.

“No, Shawn is coming alone,” the caller told me. “But he needs two seats: one to sit in and the other one for his feet.”

His feet? I thought. Now, I’d never met Shawn Bradley before, so I had no idea why he would need a seat for his feet until I met him at the show that night.

Shawn Bradley is 7' 6" tall! Even with his legs crunched up, there was no way he would be able to put his legs in front of him in those narrow rows. And he couldn’t have anyone sit directly behind him because they would never be able to see.

So, Shawn got to enjoy Stadium of Fire because I was able to accommodate his special seat request.

Flash forward nearly twenty years to this past weekend. I was in Anaheim, enjoying the day at Disneyland with my family when I saw a guy who towered–and I DO mean towered–over everyone else walking through Tomorrowland. I looked, then looked again, trying to be sure.

“Hey, Mike,” I called to my husband. “See that really tall guy?” How could he miss him? “I’m pretty sure it’s Shawn Bradley.”

“Didn’t he play for the Lakers?” my husband asked.

“I can’t remember for sure,” I said, “but I know he played for BYU. I got him seats once for Stadium of Fire. I’m pretty sure that’s him, but he looks a little different.”

“If it’s not him, then I’d still say that guy is an NBA player. Too bad the kids aren’t here right now,” my husband said as we returned to what we were talking about before I spotted him.

Later that evening, as we were leaving the park, Mike and the boys were walking far ahead of me—something they usually do because I can’t keep up—when we passed Shawn again. This time he was seated with his wife and sons, waiting for their bus back to the parking lot.

As I walked past, I could get a good look at his face—he was too far away before in both distance and height—and I knew for sure it was him. Mike turned around to look for me and I jerked my head toward Shawn and mouthed, “Yep. It’s him.”

Another man and his family had stopped to chat with the former NBA star. I motioned for Mike to come back with the boys and we waited for several minutes for the guy to stop talking, but he wasn’t taking the hint that others were waiting and Mike didn’t feel comfortable stepping into the conversation.

I did. I’ve done it many times before when meeting celebrities. HA!

When I got my chance, I stuck my hand out and said, “Lu Ann Staheli. We met several years ago when I was working with Alan Osmond Productions and Stadium of Fire.”

“Wow! That was like twenty years ago,” he said.

“This is my husband, Mike,” I said and then Mike introduced the three boys we had with us in Anaheim.

“Were you in Space Jam?” Chan asked.

“That was me,” Shawn said. The boys talked with him a few more minutes then we were on our way.

“Great segue,” Mike said as we left the park. “You’re much better at that than I am.”

“Practice, I guess. Just lots of practice,” I said.

The next day I found myself daydreaming as we stood in line for food in California Adventure, and I thought, Wonder if Shawn Bradley is back at Disneyland today. I looked over, and there he was. Standing four rows over and three feet taller than anyone else in the line to get a chicken sandwich.

I guess former NBA basketball players need to eat too, especially after a big day visiting Mickey Mouse. But I can’t help but wonder—how does someone like Shawn Bradley get his entire 7' 6" frame bent low enough to fit into the parachutes on a ride like Soarin’Over California?

Been There, Done That: The Bee Gees Lost Memory

A few weeks ago I was looking through my autograph book, deciding who I might write about for this series in the coming weeks. As I flipped through the pages, there was John Schneider, Solid Gold dancers, Cosby kids, members of the group Alabama, and the Bee Gees.

The BEE GEES!? When did I meet the Bee Gees?

I thought and thought and thought, and I couldn’t come up with a single, fleeting moment–no memory of any kind as to when I actually met the Bee Gees.

How is that possible? How could I forget such a moment as this? Come on—surely I would remember saying something to Barry Gibb. I knew of several occasions when I had met and talked with Andy, but not one thing could I remember about having met Barry, Robin, and Maurice–the brothers Gibb.

I knew I had gone to Las Vegas once to see them in concert—and a great show it was! Could that be where I met them? I made my mind sort back through the arrival, concert, and the end of the show, trying to sort though a possible moment when I saw them together backstage, at the cars, in the hotel lobby. Nope! Nothing came to mind.

Celebrities were always showing up in nearby Orem at the Osmond Studios. Had they been guests on an Osmond Family or Donny & Marie Show where I’d been a member of the audience. Not a chance.

I remembered that Maurice had produced an album for Alan, Wayne, Merrill, and Jay at their studio in Provo. Had all the brothers been there, I’d run into them, and simply forgot? I didn’t want to believe that was possible.

As a matter of fact, nothing seemed possible. I’d honestly think that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination, except there was the notecard pasted into my autograph books with all three signatures, and even a “Love” from Maurice.

My memory bank did have a story about Barry Gibb having stood outside of the Orem ZCMI one afternoon and some woman going up to ask, “Are you Barry Gibb?”

His reply, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Why are you standing outside the ZCMI?” she asked.

Barry nodded his head toward the store and said, “My wife. She’s inside shopping.”

That was the only explanation the woman needed to help her understand.

Now I was trying to understand—did I know that woman? How did I know that story? And where in the heck did I meet the three of them?

You have to know, I have a pretty good memory. I can tell you plots of books I read when I was in junior high, for Pete’s sake, but I couldn’t remember anything about this event at all.

Embarrassed at having forgotten or not, I had to know so I took the chance at a recent dinner with several old friends.

At first I asked Jess. I thought she had gone with me to see them in Vegas.

“No, we didn’t meet them there. I would have remembered,” she said.

That’s what I thought, I laughed to myself.

“Mary, when did I meet the Bee Gees?” Mary and I had also gone to lots of concerts and celebrity events together.

“How in the heck would I know?” she asked. I thought I had to be losing my mind, until she came to my mental-health rescue. “But they were at the studio one time for a telethon.

Telethon! That had to be it. Celebrities passed in and out of both the front and back lobbies at the annual Children’s Miracle Network telethons all the time, sometimes in a hurry, and others taking life slow enough to stop for an autograph and photos. That had to be it! It must have been at a telethon where I met the Bee Gees.

I’ve managed to convince myself this is the truth because there is no other choice. But it should would be nice if I could somehow remember something more about that day. At least I’ve still got the autograph to prove I’m not completely crazy.

Been There, Done That – Strait Talk

Many years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Nashville, Tennessee, with Marie Osmond to work at her booth at Fan Fair. One of the extra perks of that trip was attending a series of concerts by my favorite country singers, and an evening spent backstage at the Grand ole Opry!

Marie was co-hosting a music awards show, and the group of us tagged along to enjoy the atmosphere, even though we didn’t see anything of the actual show.

When we arrived in Marie’s oversized “green room,” we found the room “decorated” with used whiskey bottles, beer cans, and empty snack packages on every surface. There were no chairs, and the place smelled like a brewery.

“Who was in this room?” Marie asked the person in charge of getting the celebrities where they were supposed to be.

“Bocephus, himself,” the woman said. “Hank Williams, Jr.”

Figures, I thought.

We tried to move a few of the items into a nearby garbage can, but our efforts didn’t seem to do us much good.

“I’ll send someone in for all that,” the woman said.

“We’ll just wait outside,” one of the other girls with me said.

Marie said she needed to go change into her wardrobe for the show, so the woman took her away, and the rest of us went into the waiting area not far from backstage.

Somehow I ended up holding Marie’s son, Stephen, who was fast asleep. I think he was around two years old. (See, I told you it was a long time ago!) I was sort of rocking him and bouncing him, surprised the child could sleep through the noise and confusion of being backstage during a show. I guess he was used to it after being with his mother constantly on the road.

After several minutes, I heard a sweet-voiced lady say, “What’s you name, honey?”

At first I didn’t know she was talking to me because she was somewhere over my right shoulder. When the woman repeated her question, I turned around to look. I recognized her right away, and I was certain she couldn’t be talking to me.

“Me?” I asked. “Oh, I’m nobody.” I wasn’t a celebrity, and all I was doing was rocking Marie’s baby, so I knew this woman didn’t care to meet me.

“Now, honey, everybody’s somebody,” she said. “I’m June Carter Cash, now who are you?”
I had known she was June Carter Cash without her telling me, and I was stunned that she thought she had to, but I managed to spit out my name. “Umm, I’m. . . I’m Lu Ann Brobst.”

“Well, Lu Ann Brobst,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand and I gave her mine for a shake. “You have a good time here tonight, okay?”

“Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

She cocked her head and looked at Stephen. “Cute baby,” she said, and before I could say anything more she was gone on stage.

The other girls who were with me sort of huddle around a minute, all of us surprised at home nice June Carter Cash had been to me. A few minutes later, the others had spread back out, sort of making the rounds, trying to see who else they could see.

Soon I realized someone else was standing halfway behind be, head cocked, looking at little Stephen sleeping.

“Why, that’s Marie Osmond’s little boy!” the cowboy drawled.

“Yes, it is,” I said as I turned around and looked right into the face, and hat, of George Strait.

Now, I was thrilled to meet June Carter Cash because she’s a legend, but I was ecstatic to meet George Strait because I was a HUGE fan!

He tipped his hat and introduced himself to me. I gave him my name and shook his hand, trying hard not to wake Stephen in the process. I know I tried to say something that sounded intelligent, but I doubt I was able to succeed.

He reached out and brushed his hand again Stephen’s hair, and said, “See you around,” then he was gone.

It’s a good thing for me, that wasn’t the only time I met George Strait. The next couple of times, I was able to actually say something that made sense, proving that once I got over my stage fright at meeting a big name celebrity, I actually could talk strait!

Been There, Done That -- Joe Montana

In case you ever wondered, the Law of Attraction does work. I’ve used in many times in my life, but never so much as it’s been successful in my quest to find celebrities. Of course, now in retrospect to my paparazzi days, I see this as true. During the time, and many years before I’d even heard of The Secret, I was using it in a regular way. If I’d only known!

Once when I was traveling from my home state of Indiana back to my adopted state of Utah, I found myself sitting in the airport in Cincinnati, Ohio, waiting on my connecting flight and with nothing much to do. So, writer that I am, I started thinking about unfinished book projects I had waiting for me once I got home.

One of these projects was a book proposal for a book about how to meet celebrities. All of my experiences had proven to me that meeting famous people could be accomplished easily enough, if you knew a few simple strategies about what to do. I thought I would be able to sell a publisher on the idea, and so I was outlining a few of the things I had learned about what to do.

If I only had a couple great quotes from celebrities to accompany the article, I thought.

Right then, I noticed a tall, blond man walking toward me. He was surrounded by a group of women, all holding out magazines and pens. This was a scene I’d been part of many times before. This guy was someone famous, and those women were asking for his autograph.

But who was he? I had no clue.

Then he sat down beside me!

This was too weird. I wanted a celebrity, and now here one was, sitting right beside me and I didn’t have an idea in heaven who he might be. How could I interview him without knowing his name?

I eavesdropped into the women’s conversation, but that didn’t give me an idea either. I knew they were holding out magazines and I could see the guy’s photo on the front cover, but I still had no clue. I did catch a glimpse of the cover—Sports Illustrated. I’d never read an issue of that magazine, so that explained why I didn’t know who he was, but here was my celebrity—someone who might be able to give me a quote for my book, if I only knew a name!

This was back in the day when you could leave your suitcase alone for a few minutes in an airport terminal, so, while the man was still engaged in conversation, I slipped over to the nearby newsstand. I scanned the magazine covers until I found the Sports Illustrated. Joe Montana. The guy’s name was Joe Montana. I thought I’d actually heard of him. He was on his way to Kansas City, and so was I to meet my connecting flight.

I walked back to where I had left my carry-on and took my seat. Mr. Montana was now alone, all the women having gotten their autographs. He looked up and said hello to me as I resumed my seat.

“Hi,” I said, then I sat there a few minutes trying to think of exactly what I wanted to say.

Joe was flipping through a magazine of his own, trying to be inconspicuous, I suppose.

Finally, I worked up my nerve and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Montana?”

He turned toward me with a genuine smile.

“I’m a freelance writer,” I continued, “and I’m working on a book proposal on a book about how people should act when they meet a celebrity. Do you mind if I ask you a question to be quoted in my book?”

“I’d be happy to,” he said.

“When you are out in public, how do you feel about fans coming up to you to ask for autographs?”

He gave a big sigh then said, “When I’m in situations like this, I don’t mind at all. . .as long as they don’t make me miss my plane.” He chuckled then continued, “But when I’m out with my family, like for dinner or something, I wish they would let me have my space, you know what I mean?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I’d spent enough time on the road following the Osmonds to know when fans were appreciated and when they were tolerated.

“I understand exactly,” I said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Good luck with you book,” he said as he turned back to his magazine.

I wrote his quote on the back of my ticket receipt and continued thinking about the book I was proposing.

“Celebrities can really be nice, if you approach them at the right time and in the right way. This chapter will teach you how.”

Yep, that would be a good start to the chapter on what to do once you find your favorite celebrity. Soon, we were called to board the place, on our way to Kansas City, where I had no idea I’d run into a second celebrity.

Find out that story on Wednesday’s blog.