Sign Here

Later today, we are heading off to NYC for the weekend, where, tomorrow we will be seeing a show... and maybe getting an autograph?

When I was fourteen, my mom took me to see my first Broadway show, A Chorus Line. Afterwards, I stood outside the stage door and waited for someone, anyone, to come out and sign my program.

Finally, the door opened and the young man holding the costume had barely put one toe out before he was mobbed like he was the last chocolate bar in the Halloween bag. To this day, I'm not sure whether he was a member of the cast or the wardrobe assistant, but I got his autograph. (I also lost it about week later...oh well, it probably wouldn't have gotten much on E-Bay anyway.)

A few years later, Tim and I drove to Binghamton, NY with my mom and two of her friends to see the ice capades (Hey, we were young, crazy and living on the edge). Peggy Flemming was the big star that year and one of the friends (also named Peggy) couldn't wait to see her. All the way there, it was Peggy, Peggy, Peggy. (It was enough to make you swear off the Capades forever!)

Disappointingly, Peggy did not perform that night after all (really? a cold?), so when my mom, Tim and I mistakenly found ourselves backstage after the performance (note: never, never, follow my mother when she says she knows a shortcut) we couldn't pass up the opportunity to forge Peggy's autograph and give it to our Peggy, along with a story so outlandish that Mother Goose would have been embarrassed to publish it. Hahaha.

Turns out the joke was on us. Peggy swallowed it hook, line and sinker, and made such a fuss over it that we were too ashamed to admit what we had done (wait till she tries to sell that one on E-bay!)

Knowing this story, it was no wonder that a few years later, when we were at another Broadway show, there were those among us who doubted the authenticity of a few autographs.

Standing in line waiting to get in, I thought I recognized the woman in front of us. After a fierce, whispered debate,(you to, no, you go) Tim approached her and found out that it was indeed Angie Dickinson. He got her autograph, a kiss and total disbelief from the rest of the group who were further back in the line. (Yeah, and who was she with...Raquel Welch and Bridgette Bardot?)

He endured the good-natured ribbing all during the fifteen mile hike up to our $10 seats on the roof, and then all the way down again to the lobby at intermission for a smoke(that tells you how old this story is!) where he was able to prove the authenticity of the signature, because, there she was...and with Harry Reasoner no less.

Naturally though, when the smokers all returned for act two, I didn't believe a word they said. Angie Dickenson sure, but Harry Reasoner's autograph? That was pushing it beyond the bounds of believability.

Enlisting the aid of the local Sherpa, we trudged all the way down again, only to find an empty lobby and not even a cigarette butt to prove Tim's claim. Ha!

I kept the autograph, of course, but to this day, I'm still not sure I buy the story. I was, after all, the one who forged Peggy Flemming's autograph.