Every one of us has two sides — the public one that everybody sees and relates to and the private and hidden side we keep mostly to ourselves.
Although everyday people don’t give it much thought, privacy is at the forefront of the high in the public’s eye notables, near famous, and already famous. They have learned how critically important it is to keep their private side under control.
That calls for a logical and automatic disconnect. That is, the greater the fame, the greater the need for privacy. Sometimes, no matter how discreet, what’s required to remain private even when in public can still be identified.
For example, soon after we entered a small but crowded restaurant one evening near Nashville, the host luckily found a place for us to sit. Not until after we had gotten comfortably seated did we realize that back of us and within arm’s reach was Reba McIntyre. Seated with her at two pushed together tables were several members of her immediate family.
Only the restaurant staff and a few observant customers were aware of her presence. All of them, however, had quietly kept their respectful distance so as to not intrude.
Later and as the family stood to leave, Reba’s body language revealed what her strategy would be for making sure that privacy would continue.
After making sure the family members were ready to leave, she looked ahead toward the front door and without hesitating led the way to the outside with her family close behind. For her to have made eye contact with anyone would have instantly made her vulnerable to an outpouring of meet and greets and autograph signings. To her, however, the time that would have been needed to do that belonged not to her fans, but to her family.
Yet, there are rare times when circumstance and impulse come together and equally serve both the famous and their admirers. That happened to me and Don, a fellow employee.
After a busy day in the field, we had driven to New Orleans to spend the night. After dinner we were sampling the city’s always intriguing French Quarter when we found ourselves in front of the club owned by trumpet player Al Hirt and his band.
Impulsively, we walked in. The place was packed. We felt lucky to be given the last available table even if it was in the least desirable location at the somewhat isolated left end of the stage.
Since Don and I were familiar with Hirt and his music, we were looking forward to seeing him in person. Little did we know then that only a few months later, sales of his Java record would hit the million mark and that he would win one Grammy award and be nominated for seven more.
Immediately noticeable when Hirt took the stage was his size. He was big, broad-shouldered, and so well rounded that in musical and entertainment circles he eventually became known as “The Mound of Sound.”
The more he played, the more we admired his mastery of the instrument. Then, and all too soon, it was over.
After two resounding encores, he gestured a goodbye to the standing and wildly applauding crowd, took the few steps toward our end of the stage and passed directly in front of us.
Without even thinking, I called out to him by name and told him how much we had enjoyed the show. He smiled, hesitated, looked straight at us and motioned for us to follow him down a narrow hallway that led to his small dressing room.
He pulled up a couple of chairs for us, dug out three cold drinks from the fridge, and eased himself into his big chair. Then he told us how delighted he was that we were there. That in an instant he surprised himself by deciding that rather than be alone after the show, it might be nicer to be with two new friends as he relaxed and reviewed that night’s performance.
The next half hour was truly magical. Don and I weren’t strangers nor was Al a famous musician. Instead, we were a threesome talking about whatever popped into our minds — stories, jokes, and comments that seamlessly and logically edged into the grand theme of what life is, or what we believed it should be.
And then it was time to say goodbye — him saying how deeply he appreciated our company, Don and I telling him how delighted we were in being with him, Al Hirt, the Big Man, as he played his way through yet another memorable performance. He answered with a broad smile, a handshake, and the comment that he somehow knew the evening would end on a high note.
We felt honored and privileged to have seen Al Hirt’s other side while knowing he felt deeply satisfied in enjoying ours.
