Are You Freakin’ Kidding Me?
(Original post date: December 8, 2010)
Radio City Music Hall holds close to 6,000 patrons. It only stands to reason that a celebrity, well-known personality, or pundit would be that number. And over the years, I’ve run into a couple of them. There’s the time I ran into Hugh Jackman at the stage door as I was returning from a break. And there’s the time I encountered the lovely Brooke Shields and her family in a backstage hallway after a show and non-challantly walked into a wall after exchanging pleasantries with her. But what happened tonight between shows marked an all-time high for close encounters of the fame kind.
Typically, during the course of the show, a number of cast members can spot celebrities out in the house from their vantage point on the stage. I, on the other hand, can not. I’m never in any one place long enough to pick anyone out in the audience. I probably couldn’t find my own mother in the audience, even if I walked her to her seat before the show; but she’s not coming to New York to see me in the biggest production of my life (if not the whole of New York City) so I have nothing to fear.
Usually, at the end of the show, the Town Crier (one of my Elfmates who has picked up the mantle of breaking news correspondent for all things sublime and ridiculous) announces to me while we’re onstage during the curtail call that the head of security is moving down the aisle to spirit some notable personality to safety via a secret door.
On this particular night, after the last show of the night, the Town Crier was a little off his game and no announcement was made. I leisurely got into my street clothes, chatted briefly with a few cast mates, and plodded down the nearest flight of stairs to the stage door.
As I went down the stairs, I heard a small entourage coming up from the stage level. As they arrived at the landing first, I stopped about three steps from the same landing. I recognized the head of security at the door and figured I’d just wait and let the accompanying group pass. I can only assume the group heard me walking down the stairs as one of the men in the group turned around, stared me dead in the face, recognized me from the show and said brimming with Christmas cheer, “You were great in the show,” and extended his right hand.
And in a split second I recognized the man. It was none other than Glenn Beck.
A barrage of thoughts raced through my mind.
What is Glenn Beck doing here? Nobody’s going to believe this! I should ask him for a picture. Would he pose for a picture? Do I really want a picture with Glenn Beck?
When I regale this story to friends, they ask the same question time and time again, “What did you say to him?”
And in much less time than it took to bat an eye, I instinctively withdrew my right hand from overcoat pocket—where it was wrapped around my camera—and returned the gesture in kind and said—
“Glenn? Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
I shook his hand and followed his entourage out the stage door into the night.
Looking back, I’d like to think that I reacted the same way I would want him to react if I were in his studio—gracious, regardless of his political views.
I should have asked for a picture. It would’ve made a nice addition to this post and raised your eyebrows a good foot off your head.
I tweeted Rachel Maddow and Keith Olbermann in the hopes that they’d swing by the Music Hall, since it’s only a block from their studios, to fully round out my politicized Christmas experience.
But I still have this little jewel—
Fuzzy pict of me and Hugh. Jackman.
