Famous People I Almost Know

I am a mere step or two from the elbows of many celebrities.  The people to whom I refer are (or were) quite well known, and though I wish I could list them all here, propriety forbids full disclosure.  I'm forced to leave out some truly notable stars because I'd have to mention the specific person through whom we're connected.  Some people aren't comfortable exploiting their famous friends.  Yeah, right, whatever. 

I'll begin with a huge name that might even thrill royalty:  Katherine Hepburn.  Many years ago I lived on a quaint little island in SW Florida where the legendary screen star wintered.  Kate and her entourage kept to themselves for the most part, but no one will forget the night she sat in the front row of our local production of Greater Tuna.  The cast almost peed itself when they learned that Ms. Hepburn was in the house.  Afterward, she sent us a gracious thank you note along with blossoms from her garden.  What a lady!

Fifteen years or so ago, Allen Ball, the then future award-winning director of American Beauty and upcoming creator of Six Feet Under was in Sarasota for a staged reading of his silly play Six Girls Wearing the Same Dress.  I was cast against type as the vulgar girl.  He was decidedly charming and if I'd known that he stood any chance of achieving such power, I might have been more solicitous. 

One of Ball's best friends, Nancy Oliver, was also a friend of mine.  We both got our belly buttons pierced to memorialize milestone birthdays a few years before she became the head writer of Six Feet Under, and a few more years before she was nominated for last year's Best Original Screenplay Oscar for Lars and the Real Girl.  She once observed that we were both members of the "Dead Brother Club".  Nancy, obviously, has a rare sensibility.  

My sisters are both quite a bit younger than me.  Damn it.  Anyway, I was "away at school" (epic story) during the time that Janet Reno was their babysitter.  She attended law school after leaving the Florida Press Corps where she had been among my Dad's colleagues.  I don't remember her at Dad's memorial service eighteen years ago, and neither do my sisters, but Mom swears she was there.

Another famous face that wouldn't know me from Adam belongs to Edward Albee.  (Oh yeah, I almost know some very highbrow literary types.)  He used to attend an annual kid's playwriting festival at Sarasota's not so famous Florida Studio Theatre.  Thirteen years ago I worked the festival as Dame Dime-a-Rhyme, and recited, or rather, PERFORMED kooky limericks for any kid with ten cents.  Mr. Albee was there, of course, but sadly, offered me no spare change.  Still, I think he did manage to send a weary smile in my general direction at the festival's closing ceremony. 

Two summers ago I sat behind the late Roy Scheider on a puddle jumper from Philadelphia to Islip.  Actually, we were all late that afternoon, but since then Mr. Scheider has died.  There was no mistaking his handsome hatchet-nosed profile, but I was captivated by the whorl on the back of his head.  I tried to sneak a photograph, but could never get close to his face.  He accidentally dropped his boarding pass, which slid back to my feet.  I kept it, of course.  He was onto me, I think, and practically trotted into the airport to retrieve his luggage.  I tried to be über casual with my camera, but Mr. Scheider had successfully evaded paparazzi for years.  Still, I'm able to offer some flimsy evidence.

I could go on and on, but instead I'll leave you with just one more tidbit.  I am kind of a neighbor of Dick Smothers.  I became aware of this two years ago when I was visiting my storage unit.  While rearranging the sturm and drang of my life, I heard a familiar voice laughing in the hall.  It sounded like a Smothers Brother.  I hurried to the front entrance with an armload of crap to discover Dick and his son struggling with the automatic door.  It finally cooperated, and Dick held the door open for me!  He said something flirty like, "There seems to be something wrong with the door." Quick-witted, I responded, "It's always that way with doors these days."  I'm sure he would have been interested in pursuing a more intimate acquaintance, but it was too late.  He had already seen my car-the second ugliest sub compact in Sarasota County.  Dick and company must have thought that I lived in my storage unit. 

So there you have it, a small sampling of my perpetual obscurity.  Doomed to remain the opposite of famous, I finally accept that the limelight isn't all that flattering, and adds ten pounds to your ego.  Who do you almost know?