The World is Round: Little Things, Like Mockingbirds

I've written before about the music of life, about how events, no matter how seemingly trivial, can affect you like a song with a good, solid hook. During these lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, my mind is apt to wander, and frequently it pulls up a long-forgotten memory like the one I'm going to relate to you now, a real gas.

Back when I was working in New York City, at one point my office was a couple of blocks from Grand Central Station. There was a Barnes and Noble bookstore just outside one of the entrances; being a book guy, I would often spend my lunch hours there, looking for some tome that would strike my fancy.

One drizzly day, I was engrossed in something I'd found in the stacks and lost track of time. I looked at my watch, and found that I had just a couple of minute to get back to work. I put the book back on the shelf and hot-footed it out of B&N, taking a shortcut through Grand Central. It was drizzling, and I had no umbrella.

I barreled through the pedestrian madness that is Grand Central, not really paying attention to anything in particular, when I saw that I was quickly approaching the revolving door I needed to exit from. All I could think was that I had to get back to work fast. My boss frowned on people who took more than their allotted hour, for some reason.

So, blinders on, I began to walk faster, the revolving door just ahead, when suddenly I smacked into a giant. Now, I'm six foot in my stockings, but this guy was at least another foot taller. At least it seemed that way. This guy was wearing worn dress pants, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a crumpled-looking thin raincoat. I had to crane my neck to see his face, which belonged to none other than Fred Gwynne, also known as Herman Munster.

I couldn't believe it. Here, smelling like tobacco was Herman Munster, the head of the household at 1313 Mockingbird Lane. We stood there, looking at each other (he had the easier, more comfortable perspective), and nothing was said until I managed to blurt out the only thing I could think of: "You're Herman Munster!" Gwynne smiled in that Herman kind of way, waited a beat, and said, "Yes I am. Now, can I go?" I blurted out a low-sounding "Of course," and the husband of Lily Munster was on his way. Me too.

On the way back to my office, I felt lucky to have literally bumped into Fred Gwynne. I had loved The Munsters as a kid, and still have a fondness for all two seasons of it today. When I think of that lucky bump into Herman, I provide a soundtrack to it in my mind. I don't know why, it's just the way I think. Everything is musical, in some fashion, with me. My soundtrack to this event is something akin to the theme song for The Magnificent Seven. Not the Munsters theme, but rather something more regal and exciting (not that Vic Mizzy's theme isn't either of those things). Something that says, I'm approaching, or, in this case, bumping into, the Holy Grail. A widescreen event, if you will.

I don't know why I started thinking about my strange encounter with celebrity, but I'm glad I did. I thought you'd want to know.

Remind me to tell you about the long, long walk that George Burns once took down the block to the 21 Club. That's one's a real gas, too.

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