Close Encounter of the Third Kind

When my father brought home tickets for Michael Crawford's concert in Cleveland, I knew right away that I wanted to give something to Michael. Being an artist of sorts, I decided to paint him a Phantom picture and write a letter to go along with it, and try to get it to him somehow at the concert (it was the only way I could think of to get a letter to him without joining the MCIFA). I had a month and a half before the day arrived- the painting took one day. It took me the whole six weeks to write the letter!

June 24 finally arrived, and I was so excited I think I actuallly woke u[p in a cold sweat. Michael's concert was, of course, wonderful. I saw about 3 other teenagers there, but one was sitting right behind me. We hit it off right away, laughing about the elevator music playing in the background. Of course, when Michael came on, we stopped talking. The concert seemed to fly by, and before long it was almost over. Just as he was taking his bows, my father saw him carrying a rose form an audience member and told me to go up and give him my painting. I edged past a dozen disgruntled audience members and got to the front of the arena just as Michael was saying, "One Last Song?" Thus I got to sit on the floor of Aisle 2 and watch "Papa, Can You Hear Me" with all the MCIFA people- although come to think of it, most of them were in chairs. When the song ended, a guard at the stage beckoned me to go up to the stage and give Michael my painting...so there I stood, and when my he came to bow at my end of the stage, he leaned over across the vast barricade of speakers to take it from me. He looked right in my eyes, smiled the smile we all know so well, and mouthed, "Thank you."

I think I might have said "You're welcome." I turned around and headed back toward my seat, but had to lean against the railing for a minute, shaking like a nut, and watch as he bowed, clutching my canvas, then walked offstage with it. Dad said he also showed it to the audience; unfortunately I wasn't watching.

The next day, Dad decided at the last possible minute to take me to Farmington Hills to meet Mr Crawford- our ride over there was like something out of the French Connection. Or possibly Condorman. Anyway, just as we pulled up to an intersection a few blocks away from the record store, a long white limosine pulled up right in front of us...now I don't know who was in there, thanks to the tinted windows, but I have my suspicions! Eventually, after a long time, I worked my way up to the front of the line to meet Michael. We talked about the night before for a little while ( he actually asked me if I had enjoyed his concert!), and I got to shake his hand. I still remember what it felt like- very big, smooth, and firm. My father and I stayed and watched him until he left. He was apparently in a hurry, because in his effort to run out the door he ran into a poster of himself, blushed, and had to re-exit 9 (my dad got a perfect shot of that moment!).

My last encounter came in the mail on a Thursday, when my mother picked me up from work. As I got in the car, she waved an envelope at me, asking, "Who do you know in L.A.?" Michael had sent me a very kind letter with a very nice autographed picture, which he asssured me could make a fine dartboard should I be dissatisfied with it- but of course I was far from that!

news & gossip*krista's desktop*credits*faq & bio
discography*mc links*media*encounters & lit
anecdotes*fan chat*guestbook*quiz

site by Krista, erikog@one.net