Many people long to meet famous men and women. “Should I go on a grapefruit diet?” an acquaintance asked before her favorite writer came to town.
I thought not, but then I am immune to the charms of famous men. First, I have no conversation, unless the famous person wants to discuss the blue wave. Second, I am not the sort of woman who gallops down the hall by the side of John Updike as he approaches the stage. Yes, my acquaintance seductively jogged beside him, but he out-jogged her. Third, I wasn’t wearing the “little black dress” recommended for such occasions. And fourth, it is possible I didn’t wash my hair. I stuck a lot of barrettes in it so I would look as if I’d tried.
I love John Updike, and think he should have won the Nobel, since he was one of the most stunning American writers of the 20th century, but I am not an autograph hound, and after nodding at him – maybe curtseying – I simply ate my dinner at the trestle table with the other fans.
When I meet extreme fans of great men or women I think of what Colette said in the beginning of her autobiography, My Apprenticeships.
“I have never had much to do, in the course of my life, with men of the sort others call great. They have not sought me out. For my part, I have shunned them, saddened to find them, for all their renown, already on the wane, already anxious to fit their niches, to live up to their reputations, a little strained, a little broken down, secretly begging for mercy and determined to ‘put over’ charm by exploiting their weaknesses, when not attempting to dazzle by a forced display of their declining light.”
Colette is brusque on the subject, and makes it clear that she prefers the company of quirky, unknown people. As for myself, I don’t think in terms of “great” or “famous,” because we live in a quiet town described by a friend as “a good night’s sleep.” If I made a list of the famous, it might be short, because I mostly read the dead. And I’ll never get the chance to meet Joel McCrea or Dodie Smith, so I’d better catch up on the contemporaries, no?











