Our topic today was prompted by a conversation I had after my dear friend Bill Thrash’s funeral a couple of weeks ago. His surviving sister told me that when my pal, about whom I thought I knew everything, was 16, around 1954, in the small southeastern Oklahoma town of Ada, he commandeered a shitload of dimes and tried, to the very best of his ability, to call his hero, Frank Sinatra.
I started thinking then about how many of us have attempted to be in touch with our favorite movie star, director, producer, writer, composer or author? I used to do that very thing a lot when I was single and bored.
Here are two stories that are so personal that I’ve never written about them before... [...]