my brush with literary fame

I don't remember if I've ever told this story on my blog before. This post started out as a comment on another blog. The following is a true story.


I'll admit it, I've never gotten into the writing of Stephen King and never even knew what he looked like.

I went to a Red Sox game once and the usher who helped me find my seat told me that "I was the lucky one."

I had no clue what he was talking about until I saw my seat, which was on the aisle on the first base side. Sitting in seat #2 was a thin, gaunt looking man with glasses who had a big hardback novel in his lap.

My initial impression was, "who in the %&*!^&*$*# brings a freaking novel to a baseball game! If you love to read your book so much, stay home and read it!! What a freaking moron!"

Then I heard the names, "King" and "Stephen" mentioned (apparently by his wife and son) but not in the same sentence, as I took in the sounds and conversation of the pre-game ballpark crowd. Then it dawned on me who I was sitting next to and why the usher called me lucky.

So I asked him for his autograph.

He politely refused, reasoning that if he signed something for me, then he'd have to sign stuff for everyone else and his enjoyment of the ball game would be ruined.

Having been, at one time, an autograph seeker groupie I respected and understood his reasoning for refusing my request, instead of being mad and considering him a freaking a$$hole.

Another fella recognized him and came up and asked him for his autograph, which he also politely refused.

As the course of the game went on, we started talking about baseball, the Red Sox and the game we were watching. We even high-fived on one occasion when the Red Sox were doing particularly well.

Late in the game King asked me if I thought the Sox would let the rookie (making his major league debut that night) bat in a tight, crucial situation. I told him that I did and my reasoning why. He seemed to find my explanation sound and appeared to agree with me.

If memory serves, I was rewarded when the rookie not only batted in said late game situation, but also got a hit which scored some runs for the Red Sox.

When the game ended (the Red Sox won) and we were about to leave, King reached over, grabbed my program and signed it, because I didn't hound him for an autograph and because for three hours that night, we became friends.

If you asked Stephen King about it today, I doubt that he would remember me. He might remember the game, being the renowned Red Sox fan that he is, but probably not me. But that's okay, it's certainly a night I'll never forget.

BTW, the year was 1992 and the rookie was John Valentin, who wore #13 and primarily played shortstop during his time with the Red Sox. I can't remember the score of the game, but I believe the Red Sox were playing the Texas Rangers that night.

Yes, I still have the autographed program somewhere and maybe the ticket stub from the game too.

And I've still never been able to get into the voluminous mass of Stephen King's published work.