Have you ever met a celebrity and found they were much kinder or ruder than you expected?

Have you ever met a celebrity and found they were much kinder or ruder than you expected?

I walked past Jerry Reed, the actor and country-western singer, at a Stuckey’s off U.S. I-30 in Arkadelphia, Ark., in the spring of 1979. He was on a payphone just outside the men’s room. As I opened the bathroom door, he looked toward me and, in mid-conversation, smiled and waved in my direction as if we had known each other for years. At first, I wasn’t sure who he was, and I went into the bathroom with a thought he was perhaps an old family friend or a forgotten acquaintance from somewhere: “This is someone I know. Come on, Pete. Who is he?”

Within a few seconds, I knew. Of course. Jerry Reed was near the height of his fame, two years removed from the release of the blockbuster movie Smokey and the Bandit. He also had several cross-over hit singles to his credit. Superstar that he was, he smiled and waved again as I walked past for the second time, and I stood among candy racks and souvenirs until his phone conversation was complete.

“Pardon me, sir,” I said as a twenty-year-old college sophomore. “Are you Jerry Reed?”

I will never forget.

“I sure am, partner,” he said. “Tell me what your name is.”

He asked if I were in school, what my major was, what I planned to do for a living, and so on. We talked for a handful of minutes, and he seemed in no hurry at all, as if he were as pleased by the moment as I. Theretofore, I had seen and admired several of his appearances on Johnny Carson. He always seemed pleasant and down-to-earth, like an old family friend, and I was delighted to learn I had not been fooled.