More Than Just an Autograph

While at a pool party this weekend, I chatted with a mom on the topic of autographs. We both know folks who enjoy collecting various celebrities' signatures—be it entertainment, sports, politics—but neither of us falls into that group.

I've had opportunities. One was years ago when I realized the greatest goalie in hockey, Patrick Roy, was standing behind me at the grocery checkout. But this event occurred before my son was born, and I didn't think until later that I should have asked on behalf of my neighbors' boys, who are big athletes and fans. Today, of course, I help collect autographs for my son. He's got a football signed by dozens of Broncos, and, this weekend, when we attend an Outlaws lacrosse game, he'll aspire to get some of those players signatures, too.

I have to jump back decades to when I last desired someone's John Hancock. It was my birthday, and I was headed to an independent bookstore, which had scheduled a visit by a major (I mean four-star) celebrity who had written a book. I was a fan. Not for his literary work, although, it has great charm, but because of him.

Anyone wanting to listen to the author and get his autograph had to have a ticket. I arrived in time to get a number that was low enough to give me a chance at both being able to hear (and see) him read from his works and have an opportunity to get his book signed before his scheduled time at the store elapsed.

I loved listening to this man. Again, not because his work was brilliant, but because he read those words in his enthralling signature voice.

After the reading, it was time for the audience to get his autograph. The staff had told us we wouldn't be able to have our pictures taken with him or engage in a conversation. We were supposed to hand our book copy to an assistant, who would then place it in front of the guest author to sign. However, we would receive it back directly from the author.

Finally, it was my turn. I passed the book to the assistant and watched as the superstar signed his name. The book was coming back to me. This was my chance. I boldly said: “Thank you, Mr. Stewart.”

He looked up at me then with those striking blue eyes and stammered: “You-you-your welcome.”!

That was it.

So simple.

But a memory forged into my mind and heart forever.

I still have Mr. Stewart's book “Jimmy Stewart and His Poems”. Last September, I pulled out my copy to read “Beau” to memorialize my family's own beloved dog, Bo, who had passed away.

As I reminisce, I realize that it isn't Jimmy Stewart's autograph that has appealed to me over the years; it's the whole experience of meeting such a captivating, iconic man and sharing a cherished memory with others.