Last Friday I posted a guest article over at the Day Dreamer blog. I know it’s hard to believe that someone would invite me, but Christine Bryant did. Well, okay, she didn’t technically invite me. She sent a note out to thousands of writers calling for fun, witty authors who might want to write at her blog. I’m thinking that when she accepted my offer, she must have mistaken me for Dave Barry.
Okay, what? Yes, Dave Barry and I do look alike. He has brown hair and I have hair. He has eyes and I have eyes. We’re dead ringers for each other! In fact, he’s one of the many important people that I know. And if you click here, you can read all about how Dave Barry and I became personal friends.
But just so you’ll know, he’s not the only important person I’ve ever known. Roy Rogers is also on my list of best friends. He happened to be in Nevada in the ‘60s—that would be the 1960s, not the 1860s as my husband, Russ, might insinuate—and something broke down. I don’t think it was his horse, Trigger, and I’m pretty certain it wasn’t his wife, Dale Evans, but regardless, Roy ended up at the Air Force base in Tonopah, where my dad worked. Back then Tonopah was a little dinky town, sitting in the middle of a dust devil, in the wastelands of Nevada. Now it’s a little bit bigger dinky town, sitting in the middle of a nuclear, glowing dust devil in the wastelands of Nevada. And they call that progress!
But, I digress … so, I was just a kid but since Roy Rogers was my hero, my dad introduced me to him and Roy gave me his autograph. I’m sure it wasn’t given under duress, either. Well, pretty sure.
I sense that some of my readers might not believe me, so I’m posting the highly personalized autograph here. All right, all right, so it wasn’t really personalized to me, but was on a piece of 2x3 paper ripped out of somebody’s notepad, and signed by Roy. It's the signature that counts! In addition, the fact that I had my picture taken with him and he had his hand on my shoulder indicates our close, personal friendship. I would have gone to his funeral, years later, except I didn’t know where it was. And I’m sure the fact that I wasn’t invited was an oversight.
In addition to Dave Barry and Roy Rogers, I’ve also known Richard Nixon. Well, kind of. From afar. As in, “Seen him on television.” But, for what it's worth, I do have Nixon’s autograph. Honest, I am not making this up, because if I were going to pick a president to give me his autograph, it would surely not be Richard Nixon. It would be Abraham Lincoln—which might be a little tough because he’s dead.
That’s the way life goes, though. One minute you’re watching a play and the next you’re learning the strings on a harp.
Now I want everyone to realize that I’m not bragging. In fact, I’m not even sure why I’m bringing this topic up, except possibly because I have a blog due and these are the only thoughts in my brain at the moment.
So, onward and upward. The next important person in my repertoire of personal friends is … ummm, who else can I make up … er, I mean, who else do I know?
Oh yes, back to Richard Nixon. I have a picture of him and Vice President Spiro Agnew, who—for those who don’t remember Agnew—was also a crook. They’re shaking hands with people in a reception line. And I’m beginning to wonder why I have so much memorabilia from a vice president charged with extortion, bribery, and income tax evasion, and a president who was impeached and run out of office.
It just occurred to me that, despite what Russ says, I am far too young to remember Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew and even if it weren’t so, I would never have voted for them—much less been personal friends with them. So, I’m thinking that the Nixon picture and autograph are actually Russ’s junk. Umm, I mean, Russ’s treasures.
In the meantime, it wouldn’t be polite to
Until then, drop off a comment and tell me who your friends are, if they're as important as mine, and if you have their autographs.
(Sorry, but the Incredible Hulk is not a real person and so his signature does not count. No, not even if he did save your life once.)
------© C.L. (Cindy) Beck------
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