by Tim Smith
They say, “Never meet your heroes,” and perhaps that is good advice.
It spares us from discovering that they are human, just like the rest of us: flawed individuals with feet of clay. Yet, that truth does little to diminish our desire to meet those we admire, those who have inspired and entertained us.
I have been fortunate enough to meet a few of my heroes, and I have no regrets. The encounters were brief and limited, but they remain vivid memories I will always carry.
Now a senior citizen—sixty-something—I belong to a generation that experienced countless films, both in theaters and on television. When I was a child, there was no bigger movie star than John Wayne. He was the quintessential American: rough and tough, yet kind and steady—dependable, always the hero. He rarely, if ever, portrayed a troubled soul searching for identity. I doubt Rooster Cogburn went to therapy. His characters knew exactly who they were, and we loved it.
As a sophomore at Louisiana Tech in 1978, I had the opportunity to photograph the Independence Bowl in Shreveport. I wasn’t particularly qualified—I wasn’t even a very good photographer—but I had a friend on the Lagniappe yearbook staff who managed to get me a sideline pass for the 1977 game against Louisville. One of my photos even made it into the yearbook.
In 1978, the Bulldogs were invited back, this time to play East Carolina. I didn’t have a pass for that game, but I still had the one from 1977.
Hmmm…
I figured it was worth a try.
The previous year, I had been able to photograph General Omar Bradley, the first recipient of the Spirit of Independence Award. This time, however, it was even more meaningful to me. John Wayne was being honored with the same award, and I wanted the chance to see him—to meet my hero.
It worked.
Once again, I found myself on the sidelines at State Fair Stadium (now Independence Stadium). I suppose the statute of limitations has long since expired for any rules I may have bent to get there.
I will never forget the moment. There he was—tall, statuesque, and …Grand. By then, he had already been diagnosed with the cancer that would take his life just six months later, but you would not have known it from his presence. He stood on the field, conversing with bowl dignitaries before the game, when I quietly made my way into their circle.
He noticed me and smiled.
I reached out to shake his hand, and he took mine. I don’t remember what I said—or if I said anything at all—but I can still hear that voice, that unmistakable voice from the movies: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”
I remember little else about the game itself. Louisiana Tech lost, and since I was taking photos only for myself, I remain the sole keeper of those images. But that moment—that brief exchange—is more than enough.
It may be risky, heck, it may not even be allowed, but if you ever have the chance to meet a hero, don’t let it pass you by. Take the chance.
It is worth it.
