It happened.
I didn't handle it all that well.
I went to see "Road Show," at City Center, and there was "Steve" Sondheim, at the post-show reception. He wore a plain yellow polo shirt, untucked, and it didn't fit too nicely. He hovered on the perimeter of the reception, maybe not thrilled to be there, and the minute the congratulatory remarks were finished, he made a bee line for the exit.
This is where the story takes on a "Cinderella" aura. Bear with me. I suddenly understood that I could not continue to make the small talk I was making. I hastily murmured goodbye to the very polite person who had been talking to me all evening, and then I more or less body-slammed a stranger so that I could reach the staircase.
(Sondheim is past eighty years of age, and I'm not sure why I thought he would be racing at 100 mph for the door, why I thought I wouldn't catch up, but this is how my brain works.)
City Center has grand, wide staircases--and there was Sondheim, wandering down one, with a friend, and no one else was in sight. This was like spotting Moby Dick--being utterly alone and in silence while spotting Moby Dick.
Let's continue with the metaphors. Like Laura Benanti in "Into the Woods," I threw myself down the stairs; I envisioned myself in a gown, clutching a glass slipper. I caught up with Steve, doubting I'd have the nerve to say anything, and, randomly, I found the words:
"You changed my life."
And he replied without missing a beat: "I hope for the better!"
And I thanked him.
End of story. I believed, at the time, that Sondheim's rejoinder was the freshest sentence ever uttered, but now I imagine that dozens of people approach him on a daily basis to say their lives are changed--and he consistently says: "I hope for the better!" We'll never know. What I think I learned from all of this: Do say something to your idols, if you spot them. They might reward you with a memorable remark.
I didn't handle it all that well.
I went to see "Road Show," at City Center, and there was "Steve" Sondheim, at the post-show reception. He wore a plain yellow polo shirt, untucked, and it didn't fit too nicely. He hovered on the perimeter of the reception, maybe not thrilled to be there, and the minute the congratulatory remarks were finished, he made a bee line for the exit.
This is where the story takes on a "Cinderella" aura. Bear with me. I suddenly understood that I could not continue to make the small talk I was making. I hastily murmured goodbye to the very polite person who had been talking to me all evening, and then I more or less body-slammed a stranger so that I could reach the staircase.
(Sondheim is past eighty years of age, and I'm not sure why I thought he would be racing at 100 mph for the door, why I thought I wouldn't catch up, but this is how my brain works.)
City Center has grand, wide staircases--and there was Sondheim, wandering down one, with a friend, and no one else was in sight. This was like spotting Moby Dick--being utterly alone and in silence while spotting Moby Dick.
Let's continue with the metaphors. Like Laura Benanti in "Into the Woods," I threw myself down the stairs; I envisioned myself in a gown, clutching a glass slipper. I caught up with Steve, doubting I'd have the nerve to say anything, and, randomly, I found the words:
"You changed my life."
And he replied without missing a beat: "I hope for the better!"
And I thanked him.
End of story. I believed, at the time, that Sondheim's rejoinder was the freshest sentence ever uttered, but now I imagine that dozens of people approach him on a daily basis to say their lives are changed--and he consistently says: "I hope for the better!" We'll never know. What I think I learned from all of this: Do say something to your idols, if you spot them. They might reward you with a memorable remark.
!!!!!
ReplyDeleteJohn Bracken? John Dixon? To both Johns: Steve was everything I could hope for! The wrinkly yellow polo shirt was a real plus.
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