Danny Glover was not my first brush with fame. When I was a teenager, my family went to eat breakfast at a tiny little restaurant in tiny little Skagway, Alaska. While we were waiting to order, I recognized Charles Martin-Smith sitting at one of the tables. At the time, I had no idea that his name was Charles Martin-Smith, but I recognized him from movies I had seen and I spent the next 20 minutes trying to convince my parents in hisses through a plastered smile and clenched teeth that the bass player in The Buddy Holly Story and, for crying out loud, the guy from American Graffiti was RIGHT THERE. Eating pancakes! They did not believe me. Oh, the sweet victory, when on the way out of town we drove past huge spotlights and big cameras set up on the side of the road . . . he was starring in the Disney film Never Cry Wolf, which was being filmed just outside of Skagway.
Then there was the time I saw Brigitte Nelson walk past me in a Las Vegas hotel . . . a heavily-tattooed Axl Rose riding his motorcycle sans helmet in the lane next to me on the Pacific Coast Highway . . . Halle Berry in Florida. Oh, and we can't forget Sterling Knight at the mall.
How about you? Ever surreptitiously stare at a movie star as he tried to eat his morning meal?
Dinner last night: ham steak with pineapple sauce, baked potato, green beans