Small Talk with Big People

November 2, 2007 at 11:14 PM

“Did you say Philly? You from Philly?” Nick Kendall’s ear latched onto the familiar word as he passed by my conversation with another violinist backstage.

“Ah, no, I was just explaining how I recognized your face from that interview you had with Caeli Smith a few weeks ago.”
“You know Caeli?”
“Well, not really... I had lunch with her mom when I was in Philly last winter. It was a good article, though.” (I’m never sure how to explain my relationship with the online community. Can I lay claims to friendships with those I’ve never met?) I quickly went back to dusting off my violin.

I’m not one for small talk with big names. Usually I end up bringing the conversation to a screeching halt with some random, unremarkable comment, all while avoiding eye contact. Just after rehearsal, for instance, when asked the usual, “How was your day?” by a fellow violinist, I responded with, “I hiked up Bird Ridge and there was a headless snowman on top of the mountain.” I had the entire story waiting to unfold, but no one took the bait. They just stared briefly, silently, and moved onto another topic amongst themselves while I took a cloth and wiped the rosin off my instrument once again, slowly. In hindsight, I could see how difficult it might be to respond to that comment. Maybe I should have said fine, and asked them how their day was instead.

You won’t usually see me in lines for autographs, either. In my mind, it’s always nice to meet famous people, but the way I imagine it is a little different than what usually happens. Ideally, we’d instantly connect, have a sincere, meaningful conversation about whatever interesting thing comes to mind–like how a steak should be cooked, or the spiritual truths of Bach, or how headless snowmen eat–over coffee perhaps, and it’d be like we’d always known each other. Maybe if you’re really lucky it works out that way, but for me it usually doesn’t. So I mostly keep to myself, so as to avoid any social awkwardness. Like the inevitable blank stare. Or worse, the turn of head and change of subject. I won’t say something unless I’m really compelled, especially around people with big names.

Saturday’s concert was the premier of Chris Brubeck’s violin concerto, written especially for Nick Kendall and commissioned by Anchorage’s Musica Nova society. This particular concert held a bit of extra positive energy, perhaps it was because the composer was there himself, listening and shaping the composition to his liking. Or perhaps it was due to the sincerity of Nick Kendall’s delivery, his spontaneous cadenzas and crowd pleasing flair (i.e. tossing his broken bow hairs to the audience like a rock star). Whatever it was, it was contagious. By the time Kendall wrapped up the finale, the crowd was standing, cheering, and he was spinning around celebrating as though he’d just scored a touchdown. Suddenly moved by his genuine enthusiasm, I uncharacteristically approached Nick as soon as we exited, stage left. Overcoming my inhibition, I exclaimed, “That was awesome.”

Did he dish me a plate of cold leftover “thank-you” with a side of “of-course-I’m-so-awesome”? Did he casually revel in the small bit of worship I offered and quickly exit to the lobby to dole out autographs to the next flock of worshipers? On the contrary; he immediately engulfed me in a hug that’s usually reserved for grizzlies, ferociously warm and undismissive. He then proceeded to buy drinks for the entire orchestra after the show. What a great feeling it is, to be made to feel important by someone who holds the stature of importance. I was glad I’d spoken after all; my gesture of congratulations was met with a gesture of appreciation.

But I had one more thing to say. As the crowds dissipated in the lobby, I made my way sheepishly over to the autograph table where he stood.

“I was told to tell you Hi from David Russell.”
“Oh, you know David Russell?!”
“Well, not really... We email back and forth.” I remember saying this over his shoulder as he engulfed me in another friendly embrace. I smiled awkwardly. He doesn’t even know my name. But it feels good to be liked anonymously, nevertheless.

I’ll keep the headless snowman for a more appropriate time.

From Pauline Lerner
Posted on November 3, 2007 at 4:43 AM

I love hugs. I'm glad you got two from a star.

From Shailee Kennedy
Posted on November 3, 2007 at 4:32 PM

So was the snowman's head somewhere nearby, or did he not have one to begin with?

From Emily Grossman
Posted on November 3, 2007 at 5:58 PM

I have a theory.

From Bill Busen
Posted on November 3, 2007 at 11:21 PM

OK, we're not going to just leave Emily standing there hoping someone will ask like THOSE people.

WHAT IS YOUR THEORY???

From Shailee Kennedy
Posted on November 4, 2007 at 12:09 AM

Hey, at least I asked about the snowman, which is more than they did! I wanna know if there were any clues about what happened to the head---any buckshot sprayed around anywhere, or blowtorches to melt it off, or tell-tale pipe and carrot nose and coal eyes and top hat lying around.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on November 4, 2007 at 6:25 AM

Nothing but a single set of footprints, that didn't come from anywhere, and didn't go anywhere.

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Small Talk with Big People

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