A Brush with Greatness at the OC Swap Meet

You can be scared and or exhilarated with every brush with greatness, but be sure to enjoy the heck out of the moment as I did 31 years ago.

At age 31, I had been living in Southern California for four years and I belonged. I was with my partner Kathleen; I had friends and family; I had a marketing manager position in line with my field of study in communications and business.

In 1989 it was still pre-GPS for the masses, but really, who needed it? I knew how to whip around the myriad of freeways, avoid LA’s “Sigalerts,” and even explain that traffic alert system devised by radio DJ Loyd Sigmon. Another "tell" that I lived in Southern California, when referring to each freeway, I added the perfunctory “the” before the number. The 55. The 405. The 91. The 57. The 101. And of course, the 1. Dude, there were like a million freeways and I knew each one.

The windows of my office overlooked the 22 and was one block from Disneyland, near the Harbor Boulevard. Kathleen and I maintained Disneyland Annual Passports to hop a Splash, Space or Big Thunder Mountain ride over lunch and to take my ever-visiting family and friends from Fargo to the Happiest Place on Earth.

As with the freeway system, I knew the ins and outs, and entries and exits of Disneyland, such as: how to merge counterclockwise in the park to avoid tourists; that when Walt was alive, he kept an apartment above Main Street to people watch; and that the secret, high rollers “Club 33” sat above the Blue Bayou and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Yup. I had arrived. Belonged. A grown up.

At least I thought so until a brush with greatness at the Orange County Swap Meet in Costa Mesa one beautiful sunny October Saturday challenged that earned belief.

It was shortly after 10 a.m. when Kathleen and I picked up our friend Shawn in Huntington Beach to spend a few hours looking at, and eating, stuff.

After a bit, Kathleen and Shawn went to look at framed art while I stocked up on t-shirts as Christmas presents for my growing brood of nieces and nephews. We planned to meet up again at the food stands for lunch. I arrived first at our rendezvous spot and enjoyed the sounds, smells, and sights of the festive morning.

I smiled as I thought about how good I looked and felt. Yeah, it was the 80s—a decade of big, bright hair, clothes, and music. Sporting a recent perm and golden highlights, I wore big, black Rayban sunglasses under a lime green visor.

In the middle of my people watching, I sensed a person standing to the right of me. I turned my head slightly to glance at him momentarily, then resumed my gaze directly in front of me.

“Gee,” I thought, “He’s a good-looking man.”

A few more people walked by, but my mind stayed on the strikingly handsome fellow hanging near me.

“Heck, if he were a little taller and a bigger, this guy would look a lot like Donny Osmond,” I thought. “I always thought Donny was so cute. Marie too. I miss their show. Wonder how many kids they have now.”

A pile of young dark-haired boys ran by me.

“Hey, Donny do you want a hot dog?” the man next to me called to one of the boys.

“Whaaa,” I thought.

“Nooooo. Is it really?!” I thought.

My heart raced a little. I licked my lips. Then slowly, slightly, I turned my head back to my dear friend standing next to me. Trying to remain Southern California cool, with my right hand, I pulled down my black Raybans a bit so that I could sneak a peak over them with no filter for my 20-20 eyes.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh my gosh! It IS Donny Osmond!”

Now my heart was pounding. I tried not to gulp air. My knees locked like they used to when I was five before my parents put me in black leather, doctor-prescribed, sensible, pronating-correcting shoes.

“Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap,” I thought. “Where the heck is Kathleen and Shawn? They won’t believe this.”

But as quickly as he had appeared, Donny Osmond—the “Happy Holidays” little kid sensation on Andy Williams’ Christmas Show, “Puppy Love” teen heart throb of the 60s and 70s, “I’m a little bit rock and roll” portion of the Donny and Marie duo, and the #2 position on the billboard 100 for that year’s “Soldier of Love”—that Donny Osmond—left me when he walked to the hot dog stand.

“Jeez, you look flushed,” Kathleen said, when they rejoined me a few minutes later.

“You won’t believe who I saw. I’m telling you guys, it was a brush with greatness,” I chattered.

“Donny Osmond is here,” I said, not waiting for them to respond.

“Really?” Shawn asked, suddenly losing her California cool that she too had gained since moving there.

“I LOVE Donny Osmond,” she squealed, not waiting for me to respond.

“I know! Right?” I said.

“Jeez you guys,” Kathleen laughed, trying to retain her native Californian cool. But clearly, her excitement sizzled just slightly beneath the surface.

“Okay. So where is he?” Kathleen asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s find him. Let’s find him. I want to see him. I want to see him,” Shawn said.

“I know! Right?” I said, wringing my hands like a “Saved by the Bell” walk-on.

Beads of sweat had begun to seep through my lime green visor, turning the creased portion of the visor touching my forehead to an ugly olive green.

“I think they went that-a-way,” I said, pointing to the West.

Forgetting about snagging lunch, we trotted to the end of the aisle and turned left. We spotted Donny, his wife and three sons at a blue jeans vendor about midway down the row.

Not wanting to chance losing them again, we cantered, then galloped to the booth to corral the couple. With unbridled starstruck enthusiasm, Shawn outmaneuvered me and ponied up to the right of Donny. I resurrected an old high school basketball spin move doing a quick roll behind them to nab a place to the left of Donnie’s wife, Debbie. Not fully broken free from the shackles of Southern California coolness, Kathleen tailed us, inconspicuously standing a step behind before sheepishly moving to my left to take her place at the now crowded jeans table.

Shawn and I each picked up a pair of small jeans and looked at them in pretend wonder. Donnie remained smiling and relaxed, ignoring our shenanigans. After a few precious, awkward moments, Donnie and his family vacated the booth, leaving us holding 4T jeans and a story for life.

It would be another 30 years before I saw him in person again—when he and I were out of our “just starting out in life 30s” and into our “how have I done in life 60s”—when Kathleen and I flew from Colorado to watch Donny and Marie retire their talented brother and sister act in Las Vegas after a successful multi-year run.

If you’re searching for a life lesson, this one is pretty simple. Enjoy to the hilt every brush with greatness that you run into in your life because it will be filled with fun, laughter, and excitement.

And remember to brush daily with your own greatness. Don’t let new and surprise situations with other people make you feel less than. Stay cool; stay true; be kind. As always, look for and celebrate greatness within yourself and others.

Learn about:

Donny

Marie