Hi Everyone,
Recently, I was reviewing questions submitted by members of my fan club for our monthly newsletter’s Q&A section. One question, in particular, stopped me in my tracks:
“How does it feel to be famous?”
Wow, I thought. What a question to ponder! How could I possibly answer that adequately in our limited space? After much consideration, my honest answer is: I truly don’t know.
This isn’t false modesty; it’s sincere honesty.
You might disagree, but to me, “famous” describes someone universally recognized – across the nation, perhaps even globally. Someone instantly identifiable in photos, movies, TV, recordings, or in person, anywhere from restaurants to airplanes to the street. True fame, by this measure, is rare today. Think John Wayne. Winston Churchill. Elvis Presley. Mickey Mouse. Dolly Parton, in full glam, embodies fame. But strip away the artifice – the ball cap, hoodie, dark glasses, beard or clean-shaven look – and who remains recognizable? Jason Aldean? Garth Brooks? Paul McCartney? Little Jimmy Dickens?
Little Jim, you’d assume, would be a sure bet. Yet, I witnessed a lady at Nashville airport photograph Little Jim with her son, only to later tell her son, “Someday you’ll be proud you got a picture with Ralph Stanley!”
In my Opry dressing room, dedicated to songwriters, hangs an old photo of a young Willie Nelson – short hair, clean-shaven, suited and tied. Visitors constantly ask, “Who’s that?” Upon revealing it’s Willie, they often disbelieve me.
Those of us with some public recognition shouldn’t confuse ourselves with the truly famous. As a sports devotee, and with a friend immersed in movies and TV, I see the divide. Her “famous” figures are unknown to me, just as she wouldn’t distinguish LeBron James from Sonny James. So, who truly qualifies as famous? By my yardstick, neither her stars nor mine.
My former manager recounted escorting Marilyn Monroe on incognito outings in New York. Dark wig, sunglasses, baggy clothes – years of trips, and never recognized. Jennifer Lawrence, an Oscar winner – recognizable in a WalMart checkout line? Justin Bieber? Taylor Swift? Famous within their massive fan bases, certainly. But would your grandmother spot them in a crowded elevator?
Recently, a young girl approached me at a gas station, asking, “My mother says you’re a country singer. Is that true?” I admitted it. Then, “What’s your name?” In a moment of whimsy, I replied, “Charley Pride.”
The girl dashed back to her car, announcing to her mother that I was Charley Pride. Her mom leaned out, yelling, “Thank you, Mr. Pride! I knew you were somebody famous, just couldn’t place the name.”
Famous?
I leave that judgment to you.
