by Terry Fallis
“May I ask why you do not acquire corrective contact lenses? I hear they are quite comfortable,” inquired the older man in the corduroy jacket.
“I’d sure like to, but they cost too damn much for my blood. And I really only need ’em for up-close stuff. Anyhoo, I’m married to the best girl in the world and we got ourselves twin five-year-old boys that just take my breath away every time I look at ’em.
“My fear? You mean other than Kryptonite?”
He laughed and we dutifully joined in.
“Well, seriously, this can be one bad-ass city. I seen some stuff down below that scared me white. Ah, no offence. So I do fear for my wife and boys. My dream would be to earn enough scratch to give up the city and head out to the country where it’s safer and I don’t have to go underground no more. Thanks.”
He sat down.
The young scrawny heavily tattooed guy, who’d been bouncing around in his chair since Clark had started, then jumped to his feet even before the applause had died away.
“This is too weird. You’re Clark Kent? Wild! Well, get this. I’m Peter Parker. Yes, that’s my real name, Peter Parker. It’s crazy that Peter Parker is sitting right next to Clark Kent. That is some crazy shit right there. Who’s next? Bruce Wayne! Wow. Too weird.
“So I’m a window washer on high-rise buildings. You know, one of the guys who dangles from the swing seat down the outside of skyscrapers. I know that’s hard to believe that Peter Parker likes to hang off of tall buildings, but it’s a cold hard fact. It’s not because I’m trying to be like, you know, Spider-Man. It’s more that I kind of like to be by myself, so window washing is a good job if you like working alone.”
The group laughed.
“I don’t have too many fears. I don’t mind snakes. I don’t even mind those ugly-ass lizards. But if we’re telling truth here, now don’t anyone laugh, I really got a hate-on for spiders. They just totally creep me out. Always have. I think my own name fucked with my head. Oops, sorry. But there must be bad karma going down when Spider-Man is scared of spiders.
“So, my dream is to, well, I don’t talk about it much. But, see, I really like to cook. You should see the dinners I whip up in my little bachelor. One day, I’d like to work in a restaurant.”
He sat down and we, of course, clapped.
The middle-aged corduroy jacket man rose.
“Good evening, all. I’m Professor James Moriarty. Now in case you’re wondering why that name is significant, because not everyone in this country is quite as familiar with it, let me point out that Professor James Moriarty is the name of the most diabolical criminal mind in the history of literature. He is the arch nemesis of Sherlock Holmes, the greatest consulting detective in the history of literature. So in the proper circles, my name is utterly infamous. I’m sixty-nine years old, widowed, and a professor emeritus of mathematics right here at Columbia. As you can probably tell from my accent, I was born and raised in England, but grew so tired of the baggage my name still carries in the country of Sherlock Holmes, that we came to America some forty years ago, first to UCLA, and for the last twenty years here to Columbia.
“Due to my name, you might think that I would eschew the Sherlock Holmes canon, but you’d be wrong. Despite my appellation, or perhaps because of it, I fell under Conan Doyle’s spell as a boy, and my love of his Holmes stories continues unabated. In my spare time, of which I have much, now that my academic responsibilities are on the wane, I research and write scholarly essays on Sherlock Holmes esoterica. A few have been published in Sherlockian journals.
“I’m sure a few of you might wonder why I don’t use my middle name to mitigate this infamy. Well, I’ll tell you why. No one in their right mind, particularly a mathematics professor, would ever wish to be called ‘Euclid.’ Like Mrs. Kennedy, I too lost my spouse prematurely. She died nearly a decade ago and life without her has at times been a formidable challenge. But, like Mrs. Kennedy, here I am.
“I would venture to say that I have two fears. One, deep water. I don’t swim. I can’t swim. And two, I fear that my cursed name might thwart my admission to the Baker Street Irregulars, the leading society for Sherlock Holmes aficionados, based here in New York, and to which I have tried in vain to be admitted for years. In fact, being accepted into that illustrious society would be my dream.”
“You know, Professor, they have swimming lessons here at the Y, just in the basement,” offered Jackie Kennedy. “I’m thinking about signing up. They run them on Tuesday afternoons.”
“Very kind of you, Mrs. Kennedy, but I think I’ll have to work up to that gradually,” he replied. “Thank you all for having me here this evening.”
I did a mental count while clapping. Six down, three to go. This was taking some time to get through, but everyone seemed interested and fully engaged. I certainly was. It was very cool to meet eight other people who carry famous names. Kindred spirits.
Next up, the youngish Italian/Spanish-looking shy guy.
“Hi. I’m, um, a student at NYU. I’m studying botany, you know, plants and such. I live at home with my parents. Oh yeah, sorry, my name is Mario Andretti. Does everyone know who he is?” he asked.
Hat answered. “We most certainly do! He’s one of the greatest American racing drivers in history. I think he was the Indy 500 champion as well as the Formula 1 world champion. Not many have done that. Not many, indeed.”
“Right. Well, Andretti is not an uncommon Italian name, especially in Italy, where my parents were born. And, of course, Mario is a very popular first name, even more so in Italy. Anyway, I think Mr. Hemmingway may be on to something when he says we’re connected to our famous names in strange ways. You see, the funny thing is, well, it’s not that funny to me, but I’ve failed my driver’s test four times and still don’t have my licence. I’m a very nervous driver, a very bad driver, I guess.”
“Who needs a driver’s licence in this city? The subway takes you everywhere, man,” said Clark Kent.
“Well, I really want my licence. I really want to drive. When my grandfather died, he left me his bright red 1980 AMC Pacer. You know, the amazing car that Mike Myers drove in the Wayne’s World movie. I’ve spent five years restoring it, and, man, it is beautiful. I just can’t drive it and that really bugs me. Anyway, my major fear is, obviously, driving. My dream of course is to pass my driver’s test so I can pull the tarp off the Pacer and, like, hit the road.”
“You really think the Pacer is an amazing car?” asked Peter Parker, clearly perplexed by the idea.
“I guess it’s a matter of taste. But I know it’s the car for me,” replied Mario.
Applause. Then the tall big-boned black woman stood. Her dark hair was closely cropped, and she wore dangly gold hoop earrings.
“Hi, I’m Diana Ross, and yes, I can sing, but only when in the shower or under the influence of alcohol. I work in human resources at the NYPD. I get along well with everyone, but I think I pay for being so good-natured. A lot of my colleagues at the office like to have fun with my name. Kind of like Clark’s experience. It never seems to get old for them but it’s been old for me since I was about thirteen. And because I don’t appear to mind, it just keeps on happening. I have heard them all. And I’m telling you, it is getting tired, and I am getting tired!
“The current thing is for them to hurl lyrics from Diana Ross songs in my face, just for the hell of it. This morning I was walking by the accounting department and an older guy who works there just up and said, ‘Stop, in the name of love.’ You know, holding up his hand and all. Then he laughed himself into a coughing fit so bad, I almost called the paramedics. The other day on my way to the bathroom, someone else popped up with ‘Do you know where you’re going to?’ So I just pointed to the bathroom and kept walking. Anyway, that kind of thing happens a lot.
“Singing on stage is probably my greatest fear, unless of course Johnnie Walker is supporting me. I just get paralyzed. But my dream is to be able to sing in public one day, when I’m still sobe
r enough to drive. This is fun being here. Thanks for listening.”
Clap, clap. The last member of our little group, the well-dressed youngish black woman, stood up.
“Good evening. This has been fascinating so far. I had no idea there were so many people with famous names living in New York. I’m Jesse Owens, and I’m a dentist. I run a clinic in the part of Harlem that’s still kind of rough. I grew up as an only child in a nice, reasonably affluent urban neighbourhood here in New York. My father was a doctor. His much older cousin was the great Olympian Jesse Owens himself. When my dad was old enough to read about it all, he was just so proud of his cousin for sticking it to Hitler at the Berlin Games. Whether I’d been born a boy or a girl, I was going to be named Jesse. I lettered in three different sports at university and was an All-American softball player. I’ve always loved sports.
“I’ve been close to a couple of other famous people and have seen how it changes their lives, and not usually in a good way. My second cousins are the hip-hop brother-and-sister stars J Flash and Cara Tune. Some of you may know them. They can’t even go out on their own any more. It’s sad. That’s why I’m happy it’s only my name that’s famous. None of us here has real fame. We just have what I call ‘namefame.’ ”
“Your cousins are J Flash and Cara Tune?” asked Mario. “That’s incredible. I love their stuff.”
“Second cousins. Yeah, they are good, aren’t they?”
I’d never heard of them. But then again, James Taylor and Neil Young were more my speed.
“Anyway, my dream is to expand my dental clinic into a full-blown community health centre. The families who live in the area are having a tough time making ends meet, and it would make their lives a lot easier if they could come to one building to deal with anything and everything related to their health. It’s going to take a lot of work and a lot of money, but that’s the dream.”
She paused for a moment and then continued.
“My fear is a simple one, that I’ll die alone with my dream unfulfilled.”
She sat down to more polite clapping.
“Am I too late?” asked a breathless voice by the door. “I hope not. I got here as soon as I could.”
I had seen this woman somewhere before. She was very familiar. Lovely southern accent, too.
“Hello, you’re just in time to introduce yourself,” I said as I waved her into the one remaining empty chair. “And tell us one fear and one dream. We’re just getting to know one another.”
I could see that she recognized me as well.
“Oh, hi again! Fancy meeting you here.”
I still hadn’t quite placed her but I knew I’d recently met her.
“Yes, nice to see you again,” I bluffed. “Come and join us. The floor is yours.”
“Okay, then. Hello. I’m sorry I’m late. I’m from the south and have recently moved to Manhattan and opened a café-bakery.”
“Marie! You’re Marie!” I nearly shouted when her name finally dropped into my brain box.
“Yes, that’s right. You’ve got a good memory. My name is Marie …”
“Antoinette! You must be named Marie Antoinette,” I interrupted. “It all makes sense now.”
I put on a self-satisfied look, feeling pretty good about my powers of deduction.
“That’s right. I am Marie Antoinette, and I own Let Them Eat Cake!, over on Bleecker. And making a go of that, well, that’s my dream. I don’t actually mind my rather ridiculous name any more. I’ve always tried to embrace it. For instance, look at the name I chose for my café-bakery. Yeah. Embrace the name. That’s my philosophy.”
She noticed Peter Parker looking perplexed.
“Okay, here’s the quick hit. Marie Antoinette was the Queen of France around the time of the French Revolution. When told that the peasants had no bread, she apparently replied, ‘Let them eat cake!’ After the revolution, the people remembered and she was sent to the guillotine. I know it probably seems harsh to y’all, but those were the times.”
Man, I could listen to her melodic southern voice for a very long time.
“Anyway, I just moved up from my home in Baton Rouge. So I’m new to the city and I don’t know too many people. I stumbled across the ad and thought I might as well meet some fellow New Yorkers with famous names. And here I am.
“As for fears, well, I don’t really think I have a burning one, other than the failure of my business, of course. I try to keep my eyes, my mind, and my heart open, but I sometimes worry that I might miss something while I’m so focused on other things, like baking cakes. My dream is quite simply to live long, and do lots.”
“I thought you were about to go all Vulcan on us there,” I joked.
“Well, I do hope to prosper, too.”
I stood up again.
“Well, it sure went fast, but it looks like our hour is just about up. Can I just say that this has been wonderful for me. I never dreamed that nine other people with famous names would show up. I’m amazed. Jesse said something that really struck me a few minutes ago. She said we don’t have fame, we just have ‘namefame.’ What a perfect word to describe our, um, affliction. I move we call our little group NameFame. All in favour?”
Ten hands shot up.
“Motion carries. We’ve just made our first decision. Another housekeeping matter before we break up. I was asked by the staff here at the Y if we’d like to register a team in the Y softball league that plays across the road in Central Park on Thursday nights. I don’t know if there are any baseball fans in the room, other than Jackie, here, and of course our varsity star, Jesse, but if you like, with the number of people we have, we could actually put in a team and tonight is the deadline. It’s all co-ed and just recreational. Just for fun. We could meet here a bit earlier on Thursdays, have our meeting, and then head to the park to play some ball. And the games only run for the summer.”
“I’m in!” said Jesse Owens nearly before I’d finished.
“Me too,” chimed in Hat and a few others.
We kicked it around for a few more minutes and in the end, much to my surprise, everyone agreed. In fact, Diana, Peter, and Clark were arguing over infield positions. I had just asked because I was instructed to by the Y community liaison coordinator. I certainly wasn’t expecting the group to say yes, other than Jesse. Even Jackie said that while she didn’t feel she could play, she’d be there to cheer us on and heckle the other team. As required by the Y, I then collected mailing addresses from everyone for the team list to go along with the email addresses they’d already provided.
“Okay then. A second decision made. I’ll register the NameFame softball team tonight. I’ll send around the team list to everyone so we can stay in touch. We can meet here next Thursday, same time. Believe it or not, the games start next week, too. In our second meeting, I thought we could talk about a model I’ve been kicking around that might make it easier for us to identify the different kinds of people who have famous names. I think you’ll find it interesting and it might help us all think about how we’re affected. We can categorize ourselves and see if it works.”
“Intriguing,” said Professor Moriarty.
“I’ll certainly be here. No doubt,” Hat chimed in.
It was time to sum up and bring our first meeting to a close.
“Look, I want to thank you all for taking a chance on this. I had no expectations of anyone showing up, yet here you all are. We all have something in common. And it’s hard in this city to meet ten people in one place who all have something in common. I hope this is the start of something fun and interesting for us all.”
“Thanks for bringing us together. I gotta say, this is kind of cool,” replied Jesse Owens.
“Just before we go, I baked cookies,” said Jackie Kennedy as she pulled a tin from her bag and passed it around.
“And, please do not forget, I still have butterscotch!” Hat added.
Something happened in the twenty minutes that followed before everyone went their se
parate ways. The somewhat formal structure of the meeting gave way to clumps of casual conversations, and the real bonding began. We seemed to have taken a few fledgling steps toward “one big happy family” by the time I restacked the chairs, turned off the lights, and locked the door. That’s the power of common ground and shared experiences.
Mahatma Gandhi, Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Jesse Owens, Diana Ross, Professor James Moriarty, Jackie Kennedy, Marie Antoinette, Mario Andretti, and, of course, Earnest Hemmingway, all in the same room. Who knew?
Before leaving the Y, I met again with the community liaison coordinator to submit our baseball registration and find out about our jerseys, the schedule, game rules, and the team registration fee. The fee wasn’t a lot of money, so I just paid it. I didn’t really like the sample jersey she showed me so I cooked up a plan that would save the Y the expense of producing our jerseys. She was happy and so was I. I called one of the designers from Macdonald-Clark on my way home and she agreed to help. It would be simple, but would still have to be a rush job.
As agreed, the next morning, Friday, I boarded a flight bound for Chicago. I wasn’t looking forward to the trip. I never looked forward to Chicago.
CHAPTER 5
When I left home for college, I didn’t stray far. I studied business at DePaul University, right in downtown Chicago. I lived in residence my first year, but then moved into an apartment with a couple of friends after that. The business program was not my first choice, or my second, third, or fourth. But my father was paying the freight and held quite strong views on the matter. I had learned to pick my battles. Students enrolled at DePaul’s Driehaus College of Business were permitted to take several electives over the four-year program. I didn’t clear these non-business courses with my father. Had I sought his approval on them, there probably would have been a battle. Since I didn’t, there wasn’t. I guess I won that one. Over the years, every elective I took was either in English literature or creative writing. My father would not have approved. His idea of literature was board minutes and annual reports.
