Lynda L.'s Close Encounter with Michael

When Michael Crawford performs Andrew Lloyd Webber came to Pittsburgh a few years ago, I had only been a fan for about two years. In fact, I wasn't even a member of the fan club at the time. That didn't matter, though, I was totally drawn in by that spell of his, that voice that just charms all the sense right from your head! Actually, the first time I listened to the heartbreak of Phantom of the Opera, my undying fanaticism was already his. These four years of Michael induced bliss have just been a period of deepening my love and fascination for him. It was really funny in those early days, because I only had one video of him in addition to the music. It was about five minutes long and I used to watch it, reapeating with him word for word what he said and laughing at jokes I'd heard before. He was an image on the screen to me and a voice resonating in my head. I think it is safe to say that when I found out that that image, that voice was actually going to be in my town, in the glorious flesh, I was a little excited . . . well, a lot excited.

Unfortunately, due to some mix ups with dates and lack of crdit cards, I wasn't able to get the best seats for the show. I was about two rows from the top, but when he stepped on stage for Gethsemane, I felt a cold chill run through my body. I swear heaven descended on me right there and my spirit was charmed inexplicably from my body as I sat entranced at the mere sight of him. No more was he an image on the screen, but a person, as real and as three dimensional as my Grandmother sitting next to me. Of course, I knew this would be true, but to experience it is a different story entirely. Then he began to sing, the opening strains of Gethsemane drifting melodiously throughout the theatre and hitting my ears with a marked familiarity. Yet, it was as if I was hearing him for the first time as note after note hit a slightly different shade of emotion that didn't quite come throuh the recording. He was suffering and, as far away as I was, I could see it on his face, could feel his agony. He held the long note and I felt something within burst with emotion, whether from the emotion of the song or from the power in his voice, I'm not quite sure. For anyone who has ever seen him live, you know that it is like this the whole time. I was never so distraught as when I heard "Music of the Night" begining because I thought that was the end. That song was beautiful, too, succeeding once again in astounding me with its freshness. I don't think I've ever heard him sing "Touch me, trust me" with as much sensuality and longing as I heard from him that night. Imagine my suprise and delight when he sang two more songs. Still, at those ending notes of "Tell Me on a Sunday," I didn't want to see him go. He did, of course, but my mind reeled with another way to see him again, to drink once more of the intoxicating drug that is this captivating man. There just had to be a way. . .

. . . And there was. I remembered where the stage door was, and as I turned the corner to seek it out, I knew I had found the right place: there were about thirty people already standing there. I elbowed my way to the front, needing to see him, trusty pen and paper in hand, just in case a miracle occured. Then he came out and I remember being awestruck. There he was, Cornelius, the man I watched since I was a kid, the Phantom, a man who pulled my heartstrings with such adept cunning, Michael, a man I truly admire and adore, the man standing just two feet away. I waved my book, but he had plunged headlong into the crowd while signing, already too far to see or reach my notepad in the unending sea of hands and arms. I had been close to him and that was enough . . .

. . . Well, not entirely enough. He was still in town for a few more days and I just had to see him again. Now that I knew he came out the stage door and actually signed autographs, I wanted my moment in time with him, too. Fortunately, I had a friend whose Grandmother had gotten sick and was unable to go to the show with her. The seats were about fifteen rows from the stage. Can you say, "Walking on Cloud 9"? Again, it was wonderful, except this time I shivered when I heard the music from the Phantom and was completely entranced when Michael came on stage. I also used binoculars from that row, so I had a very good view, indeed. My friend still makes fun of me for that, but those not entirely captivated by him just don't undertstand.

Being that this second show was a matinee and my friend was not a crazy person like me, I didn't get to do the stage door thing this time. I was sad, but now I had a plan. I'd go down there with a few camera toting people and get the man's autograph if it kills me!! So, at about a quater to ten, I had my Mother drive me, my friend Anita who had a telephoto lense, my brother who is really tall with a regular 38mm, and my little sister who is a die-hard Hello, Dolly! fan down to the stage door. We parked behind a really nice Lincoln Towncar and joked we were going to keep the motor running so we could jump into the car to pursue. My Mother turned the car off with a definitive "no!" and hid the keys in her purse. There were about three people there, the door was open and I could hear the end of "Love Changes Everthing". It was wonderful even from that distance. So, I set up the troops for maximum picture taking effect. They both stood by the car, on either side of the back door and got themselves ready. I was the third person form the door, holding my meager notepad once again, and getting nervous. All there gathered listened in ecstacy to the ending of "Tell Me on a Sunday" and then prepared to stand our ground. Within seconds came droves of people hurtling towards the doorway to muscle their way thourgh. I held my ground and watched him come down the steps, already thinking that this must be a dream. He was wearing dark pants, a "Make-a-Wish" sweatshirt, and the now-famous green searsucker blazer. He looked fabulous if a bit tired. We surged towards him. I watched in fascination, my mind slowing everything down for maximum remembering effect, as he chatted with people in front of me. I was shocked at his accent and how much better it sounded coming directly from him only a few feet away. I heard him laugh and wondered at the genuiness of it. Why hadn't I noticed this before? So, then he started coming forward and I suddenly found my self staring at some guy's back who had his arms outstretched. A bodyguard. Well, being short and not about to miss this chance, I ducked under the arm and thrust my notepad towards Michael. That's when I saw his hands, long and elegant holding a sharpie magic marker. My notepad bumped them and I was mesmerized by them. I couldn't look away. All that existed were those hands. Imagine my disbelief as the hands took my notepad. I saw him pause, then just write his name and hand it back. Unfortunately, I hadn't realized the guard had moved on and I was standing face to face with him. I couldn't stop looking at his hands when I could have been looking in his face!!! I didn't even say thank-you, I was just so amazed that I was actually there! I felt like such an idiot, but he was gracious enough to sign my notepad anyway. I followed him down the sidewalk like a lost puppy. I was looking over his sholder when I saw my friend Anita snapping pictures. Not being one to miss an opportunity again, I shadowed him on tip-toe, keeping my head just above his shoulder and smiling at the camera. I watched him get into the car, watched his car drive away, and sighed. This was his last night here. *sigh*

I looked around me and realized I had forgotten entirely about the camera brigade. They were all very excited despite only a passing interest in Michael and the Phantom. My friend Anita cooed hysterically that he had actually stepped on her foot. I was so jealous. Then they looked at my notepad and saw the signature and we all laughed. They asked me what I had said, and I related the whole embarrassing thing. I still get teased about it to this day because I'm not the person who is usually at a loss for words. Only when it is really important do I suddenly contract laryngitis! Anyway, I got some really good pictures of the whole thing. Only about three of the telephoto ones turned out, but one of the ones that did is of me peaking over his shoulder. It proves to me I was really there! It is framed along with the notebook where I can see it everyday. My brother managed to get some really good pictures, too, but I think he flashed the camera a bit too much in Michael's face. As a result, he looks like he's standing in the sun squinting and not looking too happy about it! They're still really cute pictures.

Despite all that went wrong that evening, I am still glad I had the chance to stand so close to him. I wish I had said something to him, but I'm sure he experiences it all the time. It makes me want to try to meet him again. If I ever do have the great fortune as to get a second chance, I'll be sure to have something rehearsed just in case I, like him, forget my lines again!

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