1982-1986

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Writer sketches near-famous meetings

By OVID VICKERS It seems that every person who writes, whether they are internationally recognized or simply write a column for a weekly newspaper, will sooner or later, write a book or a sketch about famous people they ha"e met. Well, here's my contribution to that nounting collection of trivial journali

be and signed our football programs. Needless to say, most people in the stadium watched Micky Rooney rarhcr than the game. Agnes Moorehead who played the mother, Endora, on the long running television series Bewitched presenred an evening of skits and readings as a part of Mississippi State's Lyceum Series in 1970. After the performance, the Engli'h Department held a small receprion for her in one of the parlors of the si udcnt union. Because some members o f State'~ English Department had atrended East Central, I was invited to the reception. When Miss Moorehead had removed her makeup and arrived at the reception, she happened to sit in a chair next to mine. I had remembered seeing her in some o f her early movies like The Magnificent Ambersons and Jeanie Eagles. To my amazement she seemed more interested in talking about these films than her cur– rent television work. In fact, I remember her saying, "I act in television for the money. 1 act on the stage and in films because they demand some talent." Before the "Kitchen Debate" with Niketa Kruschief, before he became president, and before Watergate, I met Richard Nixon. This was in 1960, and Nixon was running against John F. Ken– nedy. The Republican candidate came to Jackson and spoke from a plat form in front of the Governor's Mansion. Nix– on was surrounded by secret service men, but I happened to be standing near the steps to the platform, so when he had finished speaking and came down the steps, he paused momentarily to shake hands with several of us who were near the steps. Meeting the famous and near-famou s is a fine game, but in the fin al alalysis it is the people who live next door ot r neighbors, who are the really important celebrities in our lives. They are the peo– ple who share with us the joys and sor– rows, the rewards and defeats of li fe a~ it is lived from day to day.

joined a group of Nashville's social set who v. 0 -e waiting backstage and moved with them it.:" the star's dressing room. While Miss Bankhead was going around greeting people and accepting com– pliments on her performance, she stop– ped in front of Claudia, put her· hands on each side of Claudia's face and said, "You are a very pretty young lady." ··!audia did not wash her '... ~e '.'or a week. 1 also managed to meet May West when she played the Ryman in the tour– ing company of Diamond Lil. The play, a typical May West theatrical vehicle, was about the seduction of a Salvation Army Captain. May, at the time, was about sixty, but from the balcony she ap– peared to be in her late twenties. When I shook hands with her in her dressing room, I realized what make up can do for a person. Under the wig, false eyelashes, and generous supply of makeup, one could see that she would never be young again . Her husky voice, sensuous walk, ample figure, and quick retort (She was fond of saying, "It's not the men in your life, but the life in your men.") made her a national institution long before Dolly Parton ever thought of operating a business in Texas. One of Micky Rooney's eight wives was Betty Jane Race from Birmingham. She was a beautiful red haired former Miss Alabama, and Rooney met her dur– ing the last months of World War II when he was stationed at Camp Sibert in the city of Gadsden which is near Bir– mingham. I was a tenth grader attending prep school in Gadsden at tlw time. One night some buddies and I were at a foot– ball game when a group of soldiers and their dates, including Micky Rooney and Miss Race, moved into seats just below where we were sitting. One of my classmates suggested that we all file down and shal& hands with this movie star we had seeri in so many Andy Har– dy films. Rooney was as nice as could

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