Several weeks ago, I told you what an idiot I was when it came to the stupid things that leaped from my mouth when I met celebrities like Meadowlark Lemon and James Brown. It was a simple bumbler’s confession, and I thought that would be the end of it.
But then I heard from readers who wanted to throw their hat into the ring to be president of the Celebrity Stumblers Club. In a follow-up column a few weeks later, I named Loren A to the top post for meeting Bill Murray’s brother and mistaking him for Bill’s father. And I thought, OK, so that’s the end of it.
But, in true stumbler’s fashion, I was wrong again.
Since then, I have heard from a steady stream of stumblebums who have stepped forward to challenge for the top spot — so today I think I’ll just turn this page over to them and let them tell you their tongue-trip tales.
Ann M wrote to say, “My husband and I owned a restaurant in Iowa 2007 to 2009. We have a large employment firm in town whose president would bring in big-name speakers for his yearly employee banquet. This particular evening he brought that year’s speaker to the restaurant. Theresa, the server, was nervous but approached the table bravely and said ‘I’ve always wanted to meet you, Dick Butkus.’ The gentleman replied, ‘That’s too bad because I’m Mike Ditka.’”
Maybe that’s why Ditka stole Ann’s meatloaf recipe to use in his own restaurant.
Don R wrote to say, “A number of years ago I was in Toronto for a few days on a business trip. In the hotel room I read in a local publication that Norm Crosby, a popular standup comedian at the time, was in the city performing. It interested me because I always enjoyed his humor but also I knew that he grew up in a section of Boston called Dorchester where I too grew up. After dinner the following evening, I entered the elevator to go up to my room and lo and behold there was Norm Crosby! Now up to this point in my life I had always felt I could handle myself pretty well in most social situations. I reached out my hand and said ‘Aren’t you Norm Crosby?’ He was very nice, smiled while he shook my hand and said, ‘Yes, I am.’ His response then gave me the confidence to go further and I said,‘I understand you’re in Toronto.’ As soon as I uttered those words I thought what a dumb statement! He’s a comic and will undoubtedly rip me to pieces. I wanted to die. Fortunately, he was a real gentleman, or else felt sorry for the dim-witted stranger before him, and told me he was in Toronto to tape a show. For the rest of the elevator ride we shared our common experiences in the Dorchester section of Boston. I’m sure that evening he called his wife and told her about the idiot he met on the elevator while I called my wife and told her what an idiot I was — which, of course, she already knew.”
I have to offer a tip of the hat to Don’s wife for standing by her man-of-many-flaws. I’m fortunate to have a wife like that too.
But not all men are so lucky. Consider this bumbler note I got from James M: “Back in the early 1960’s, I was a Massachusetts Trooper stationed on the Mass Pike. I was assigned to escort Eddie Fisher’s limo into Boston. At the end of the escort, Fisher’s PR guy asked me if I wanted to meet him. I said sure and held out my hand for a shake. The PR guy nudged me and said that was not him, but Fisher was the guy next to him. I exchanged a weak Fisher handshake and left, wondering how this guy got Elizabeth Taylor.”
Well, Liz only put up with Eddie for five years, so a limp handshake can only get you so far, I guess.
And then I heard from Mary Jo C, who had this tale to tell about her search for the perfect bottle of wine in Big Rapids, Michigan: “Two men in our small town opened a wine shop. I’ll call them Bill and Rick. One week I bought a bottle of French wine that Rick recommended. A couple of weeks later I went back to the store, but Rick was on a tractor mowing the lawn. I told Bill I was looking for a bottle of French wine that Rick sold me. Here’s how the conversation went:
Bill, holding up a bottle: Was it bahtar mon rah shay? (Batard-Montrachet)
Me: No I don’t think so.
Bill: Was it shom bowl moo sih nyee? (Chambolle-Musigny)
Me: No I don’t think so.
Bill: Was it shatoh lansh bahj? (Chateau –Lynch Bages)
Me embarrassed and wishing I had never brought this up: No I don’t think so.
Then Rick walks in the back door. Bill says to him ‘Do you remember the name of the French wine you sold her?’ Rick says ‘Ahhbeeznestgatme’ and I said ‘YES! That’s it!’
Wait. What? Rick had gotten stung on the tractor: ‘A bee’s nest got me.’”
Anyway, whatever that wine was called, I’d like to pour a big glass and offer a toast to all the schlemiels who have tossed their hat into the ring to be named the next president of my Celebrity Stumblers Club. It’s nice to know that our moronic membership is still growing — but that’s all I have room for today.
So for now, if you’re still hungry to hear more from morons, stumblers and bumblers who want to be president, you’ll have to turn to CNN.
