We Have a Winner

One consequence of advancing age is an enhanced interest in the obituary page. Once jokingly referred to as “The Irish Sports Pages”, its notices now receive serious scrutiny. You soon begin to see a recurring theme. Obituaries about an otherwise uncelebrated individual often contain recollections of interactions with a noteworthy person with whom the recently-deceased had crossed paths. “He especially enjoyed the time he sang Karaoke with Henry Winkler . . .”; “She liked to remember having her photo taken with Julius LaRosa . . . .”; or “He and his brother played catch with Bobby Richardson at spring training in 1965 . . . ”. You get the picture; it’s not being famous or well-known – most of us aren’t – it’s being near or close to someone who is. A kind of elevation by association.

For reasons best known to a yet-to-be-visited mental-health professional, I became fascinated with this phenomenon. For me it turned into a parlor game of asking others to identify the most famous person they had ever interacted with. But there were rules: it had to be “interacted with” – a handshake or a verbal exchange. It couldn’t be if you were in the audience when the great one spoke or performed. There had to be a genuine interaction. So, using this standard, I began to ask others with whom I actually did interact to give me a name. This “most famous person” question became sort of a contest into which those questioned were unknowingly entered, vied with unknown competitors, and whose accomplishments were measured only after the contest was over. And I was the only scorekeeper.

Whatever. The responses were fascinating. Let me share some.

I started, of course, with myself. My most famous was the late Ruth Bader Ginsberg with whom I shook hands at a conference many years ago. (Suffice to say, up to the time of her demise she had absolutely no recollection of our “interaction”). Not bad, I thought. Famous. Respected. Influential.

An old friend did me one better. He, too, listed Justice Ginsberg as his most famous person. The difference was he actually knew her, spoke with her, and she actually knew his name. Now, that’s pretty good.

Another friend races old sports cars as a hobby. He had several times raced in a group in which Paul Newman also competed. My friend had actually spoken to Newman several times over the years during down times at one particular track. Newman may not have known his name, but he knew who he was, kind of. Now that’s not bad.

There were others, each impressive in its own way and for its own reasons. One friend had shaken Bill Clinton’s hand as he worked a rope line while campaigning. Meh. Another, much more impressive, had shaken JFK’s hand at Hyannis after he’d won the 1960 election but before inauguration. Now that’s real good. Another, as a youngster, had been on the stage with and spoken to Harry Truman as Truman campaigned for re-election to the presidency, in Providence. My friend’s grandfather was in politics, my friend was along for the ride. Very impressive. Still another friend met Gerald Ford, a law school classmate of his dad’s, and, also, he interacted with President Joe Biden before his presidency in a local campaign context. Two presidents; that’s pretty good.

There are others less famous. Local politicians whose “fame” was geographically limited. And still others – entertainers and sports figures – Ted Williams, Tim McGraw, Michael Bolton, Sam Waterston, Brian Dennehy, Yogi Bera, Carl Erskine of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Each impressive to a degree. The most famous in that category was Mickey Mantle who told the driver of my friend’s mother’s car that her parking lights were on. There is something special about that one. For some of us, Mantle gets a lot of play. And someone recently chose to interpret famous as notorious (acceptable) and apologetically and embarrassedly offered Rudy Giuliani. Nice try.

All of this is interesting, amusing to varying degrees, depending on the celebrity, the context and, of course, the listener. Up until recently I tended to give my silent award to the JFK handshake with Truman a close second. But that was then.

A couple of weeks ago there was a game-changer. I was at a friend’s home and after dinner, I asked my game show question to people around the table. Someone offered Tim Tebo, quickly recognized the frivolity of that response, and immediately apologized and retracted the entry. But then Pat, a prominent medical professional, responded very casually that her most famous person was Mother Teresa. She had met Mother Teresa while engaged in a project in Kentucky. Wait. Who? Mother Teresa? Mother Teresa, the Saint?! Yes. That Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa the Saint. She had actually met a Saint.

So, where do you go from there?

That’s it. Game over. How do you beat a Saint? That one response propelled my trivia game to a new level. We’re not talking home run leaders, spelling bee champs or even Nobel Prize Winners. We’re talking about knowing and interacting with a Saint. A real Saint.

So that’s it, really. It really is game over. I guess I’ll keep playing my silly game, but no one is ever going to beat a Saint. For everybody else it’s kind of like Larry Bird’s remark at the NBA three-point contest: whose playing for second place?

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll spend more time with Sudoku and Spelling Bee.