15 minutes of fame in an old notebook

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By Bill Wundram | Saturday, September 13, 2008 |

By chance or by grand design, I’ve rubbed elbows with some famous and infamous people. They become part of a reporter’s psyche. As I leaf through old notebooks, the distinction between “celebrity” and “character” becomes blurred.

All but forgotten are personalities like the long-lost “pigeon man” who sat on a bench at the edge of LeClaire Park, feeding peanuts to pigeons all day, from noon to dark. The birds loved him so much that they perched on his shoulders. I once joined him for 15 minutes and ended up with shoulders full of pigeon doo.

Mostly, 15 minutes is the time granted by interview subjects. That’s the time spent with the great comedian, Jack Benny. He was in his underwear in a steamy, hot dressing room at Wharton Field House, Moline, and said, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you go to a drug store and buy me some baby powder. I have prickly heat.” He flipped me a five dollar bill, and when I returned we gabbed for no more than 15 minutes. I can’t recall a thing he said.

It always has been the characters — never the famous — who will talk your head off. It was never a mere 15 minutes with someone like Raymond “Choo Choo” Conwell, who fashioned himself as a railroad conductor. He wanted me to promise that his tombstone would read, “He finally shut up.” Choo-Choo is buried somewhere in Illinois, and I doubt whether that epitaph ever happened.

Some celebs like to talk. No 15-minute interview for crooner Tony Bennett. He shared a noon-day club sandwich and refused to talk about singing. He only wanted tell about his artwork and that night kissed my wife’s cheek.

Some celebs don’t like to talk. Singer Harry Belafonte was brief, maybe 10 minutes at most, and didn’t say much of anything. Gypsy Rose Lee, the stripper, brushed me off after a few minutes, and I might add that my interview was mostly a description of how well-endowed she was.

It wasn’t 15 minutes, but a whole afternoon with dancer Gene “Singing in the Rain” Kelly. He was at the University of Iowa, sizing up future dancers. It was to be a private session, but I slipped in and sat beside him. He offered me a stick of spearmint gum and we visited an hour. Guess he never knew I was a reporter.

Politicians will talk on all subjects. I sat in on a session with Al Gore when he was running for president. He rattled on about the rotten food on airplanes and his favorite movies. He signed my notepad: “This is the damnedest interview I’ve ever had.”

Comedian Bob Hope wanted to know whether Pete Rose was dealing at any of our casinos when we rode around the Quad-Cities. Until his death, he sent Christmas cards.

Red Skelton, the classic comic, had no intention of a 15-minute visit. We spent the day together. On my notebook he drew a clown, which he once was, with the circus.

While I waited to interview actor Mickey Rooney, his tall wife looked down on me and said, “You two are about the same size.” Mickey was tired and wrinkled, but my notebook says he animatedly talked about his movies with Judy Garland.

Musician Ozzy Osbourne, portrayed as being on the frantic edge, was a pussycat when we visited backstage.

B.J. Palmer, the emperor of chiropractic, welcomed long visits. He was never a 15-minute interview; it could go on for hours. If a session was at night, he’d abruptly pull off his shoes about

7 o’clock and say, “Time to go to bed.”

Always, at the end of a B.J. visit, I scribbled in my notebook, “Time to go to bed.”

Bill Wundram can be contacted at (563) 383-2249 or bwundram@qctimes.com.