October 19, 2001 – NYC
My neighborhood in TriBeCa was mad stenchful from the largest office fire in history: the molten slag pile that used to be The Twin Towers.
In my cube farm at work today, in Jersey City, an employee opened a letter, and some white power fell out. The Police & the NJ Dept of Health converged, and sealed off the affected area; which meant that most of us, about 40 people, were on the non-exit side of a large room. We were trapped here while crime scene investigators collected evidence, including 2 peoples’ clothing, and gave them white paper ‘clean suits’ to where home. Fun.
I had yellow tape stretched right outside my cubicle, saying “Police Line, Do Not Cross.” This was a Mad Serious, Don’t-Breathe-Unless-You-Have-To Anthrax Scare.
And I had to pee.
Cut to 53rd St, Manhattan, 10.30pm. I’m walking west towards 7th Ave with 2 friends. We had just come from a movie at MOMA, and were looking for food. Suddenly, we hear some kinda commotion behind us. We turn. Two women come up to us and say “OMG, that was Paul McCartney!” In the distance, a small shadow of a man walked away.
Quickly, I ask my friend for a piece of paper and a pen; she produces a yellow sticky note pad and a pen; close enough. Armed for an historic (or hysteric) encounter, I take off after what was claimed to be, and who we thought was Paul, the most famous person on the entire friggin’ planet (too bad the Fab Four never got to play Mars; Brian Epstein blew the deal, I hear).
I would never have pursued Paul unless I had my brand new, 3-wheeled, convex-shock-absorbing-boarded, K2 Trifecta Scooter. Not only was this thing quick, it handled like a BMW.
I pushed off, and surfed the sidewalk heading east, catching up to “Paul” in short order (no pun intended, but he’s only like 5′4″), about 30 yards from 6th Ave. I passed him and stopped ahead. I pulled out my yellow sticky note pad & pen just as he was passing me on my right, dressed in a tuxedo. My timing was perfect, and my script was ready; I turned to him, and said:
“Excuse me, Sir Paul, would you sign this, please?”
I suppose I coulda some something lame, like “would you Please Please Me, & sign this?” But lame’s not my game.
He stopped & looked at me; Holy Mother Of Music, IT REALLY WAS PAUL <friggin’> MACCARTNEY, the most famous person on the planet. He extended his hand to me and said:
“I’m sorry, but I don’t sign autographs in public — but I will shake your hand”
This was unintentionally, but pricelessly ironic: the guy who wrote “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” wanted to hold my hand!
I put my pen in my other hand, and held his hand; we shook; I mumbled something original, something about being a big fan, and said thank you. And Paul walked off into the night.
Of course I didn’t wash that hand for twenty whole ……….. minutes, just before we had dinner. Rejoining my friends, we found a diner; I don’t even remember what or where. I just remember joking that maybe I’d passed on some Antthrax to Sir Paul, and it was all on me if something should happen to him; we’d better keep an eye on him.
The next night, I saw him on TV, doing the live Concert For New York City, from MSG, Pauls’ gift to the citys’ emergency workers (police, fire, EMTs, etc). I read in the paper soon after that some people threw Paul a banquet to honor his generosity, the night before. So I must’ve met him on his way to or from his banquet, especially as he was dressed in a tuxedo.
Too my bad cell phone didn’t have a camera back then.
Yeah, yeah, yeah ! Paul is Dininity. One of the Four Angels sent to us by the Creator to show us how to love one another. Our world is alot brighter thanks to the music of Sir Paul.