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This is a true story. In the late seventies I had an appointment at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC to show my work. They weren't very impressed, which made me kind of depressed, so I went out and sat down on the steps of St. Thomas' Church on 5th Avenue to watch the people walk by. I see the guy who played Sulu on Star Trek go past, and I think to myself, "I guess today's my day to see celebrities," and I get on the bus and head downtown.
At about 17th Street I look out the window and see John and Yoko standing on the corner waiting for the light to change. I think, "Holy shit, John Lennon!" and jump off the bus at the next stop. I start running uptown with my big portfolio and my new Frye boots are killing me. Then I start wondering what'll I do when I catch up with them, and decide that I'll give them a picture. I reach into the portfolio, pull one out and catch them on 23rd Street. I run up to them and hand the print to Yoko saying "Here's a present." She jumps back and takes it. John looks at it and says, "Nice!", sounding just like John Lennon with that Liverpool accent and all. I walk away and look back once to see Yoko holding it and John hailing a taxi cab.
I go home and call all my friends. For the next year I'm fantasizing about where the picture is hanging. In the white house in London or at the Dakota? Maybe he's looking for me to do an album cover or something. I'm looking for cryptic messages in the Village Voice.
About a year later I'm doing an art show on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. Three ladies with baby carriages glance over at my stuff and make a beeline for this particular print that I gave to John and start talking excitedly amongst themselves. I go, "What's up?" One of them says that John Lennon bought this picture and gave it to her husband as a present. "What do you mean, he didn't buy it, I gave it to him!" So then I'm wondering who her husband is, maybe he's a big shot in the record business, so as they're about to leave I ask, "By the way what does your husband do for a living?" She says, "At the time, he was a cab driver."
- Bernard Zalon's blog
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Comments
That´s love
to give away something that you love yourself!
Be proud!
Lucky Cab Driver
What a wonderful story. "Looking for cryptic messages in the Village Voice." Love it. And your work is intriguing. A lot of precision there. I love the computer heads. (forgot the title) Could be a cover for the New Yorker. Lucky cabbie.
That is reallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllly funny
Made me laugh
JohnYoko Story
Yeah, man, you gotta love them Frye Boots, baby!
Great story
I liked Frye Boots too, back in the day. I wore them in the 70's almost exclusively.
I didn't realize the first comment posted. Sorry.
That's a great story. I was
That's a great story. I was a wearer of Frye Boots in the 70's, too.
That's a great story. I was
That's a great story. I was a wearer of Frye Boots in the 70's, too.
Yeah, and Earth Shoes too.
Yeah, and Earth Shoes too.
They're All Just People Too
This is one of the best things I have read on this website Community page. It is an important statement about the relationship between famous people and the rest of us. You tell your story without editorializing and without judgment. You unabashedly tell us how you felt at every turn of events. We all want to be noticed and appreciated in this world. We all want to feel like what we create matters. There is no shame in that.
When a famous and admired person notices us for just a second, it makes us feel so good that it is easy to forget how that person is not much different from the rest of us. Like anyone else in the street who might notice us, we can never know what that person is really thinking or if that person gives us a second thought.
There is a dark side to being famous, and that is a weight that people like you and me never have to carry. We often forget this.
I often try to imagine what it must be like never to have the freedom of being unknown, and, in the best case scenario, to be approached by harmless excited people who want to express their gratitude in some way. I also try to imagine the worst-case scenarios, and all the in-between scenarios. It would be life-threatening, and that alone would be overwhelming, but I think that even all the best case scenarios would make me crazy, unless I developed an effective way of dealing with it. I think every famous person finds his or her own unique way of dealing with it.
John Lennon died because he wasn't careful enough. Bob Dylan is alive because he has protected himself well, and I am eternally thankful that he has. I don’t care what he has had to do to protect himself both emotionally and physically.
To me, all the whining, complaining, and hostile criticism that has been hurled at Bob Dylan over the decades by the "press" (look up the meaning of "press" in the dictionary), by all forms of media, and by ordinary people, is just a lot of noise; meaningless static like frustrated radio signals trying to be heard. That is how I experience it. I have intentionally tried my best to ignore it from the moment I discovered Bob Dylan's music in 1969.
But your little story is really the Big Story of the relationship between famous people and all of us appreciative and well-meaning ordinary folk, as told from the free world of the unknown.
Carol Shriver residing in NYC and Upstate New York
Thanks
Ha! Great story :) Thanks for sharing it. Frye boots, I remember them :)