The Autograph

By Jaye Lewis

It was June of 1968, and I was fleeing for my life, carrying my
two-month-old, baby daughter. My brother had managed to scrape
together enough money for a first class ticket on an airplane traveling
from Atlanta to Detroit. My first marriage had become too dangerous,
and as I flew home to be with my family, I felt very agitated. Anything,
God, I silently prayed. Anything to break the monotony of my
own tortured thoughts.

At that moment, my baby bobbed over toward a smoker, a bit
of drool dripping from her chin. As she studied him with wide-eyed
wonder, she let out an enormous belch, right in his face! It was all
I could do to keep from laughing! The man gave a disgusted grunt,
and stepping over us, he retreated down the isle into the back of the
plane. I never saw him again.

Behind me, across the isle, I heard someone laughing. Turning to
look at him, I saw a man with a beet red face, nearly helpless with
amusement. Our eyes locked, and we both cracked up.

"Out of the mouths of babes!" Said my conspirator, with a wicked twinkle
in his eye. We laughed for some time, and then we began to visit. He was
heading home to visit his parents in Detroit, Michigan. My daughter and
I were also on our way home to stay with my parents, who lived just
southwest of Detroit.

"What a beautiful child," he said, gazing at my little girl, with her
soft dark curls and her big brown eyes. I agreed. Something about
this man was vaguely familiar, but I just couldn't place him. We talked.
He was warm, kind, and funny. I was pensive from time to time, but it
was a relief to have a kindred soul to distract me from my troubles.

I introduced myself, and he told me that his friends called him "Chuck."
As we were visiting, I just could not get out of my mind, that I knew this
man from somewhere. I certainly knew no one who traveled first class,
and it would have been unlikely that we had ever met. He was traveling
from Los Angeles. I was traveling from the south, and we had no similar
points of reference, except Atlanta.

His voice was mesmerizing. It was so familiar. Strong and evenly tempered.
Where had I heard that voice? All of a sudden, I knew him! I was sitting
across from a very famous man. Charlton Heston! I couldn't believe it, and
we were talking like we were old friends! Should I tell him that I recognized
him? What could I say?! "I just loved you in The Ten Commandments?!"
How stupid would that sound? Tell him that he was the famous Charlton
Heston? I don't think so. I was pretty certain that he knew exactly who
he was. I didn't think that he needed me to inform him. And breaking into
his privacy, to ask for an autograph, was simply not going to happen.
So, I never said a word.

He was charming and kind. He held my little girl, and he played
the typical baby games, speaking to her in a warm and coaxing way.
She crowed in his face and giggled. I don't remember what we talked
about. Ordinary things. We visited for three and a half hours. I didn't
tell him that I was fleeing for my life, and he never told me that he was
a famous movie star.

All too soon our trip was over. The plane landed and we both got our
carry-ons. Mine was a diaper bag. His was something more Samsonite.
He gathered his things, and I picked up my infant daughter. He left the
plane to be greeted by the press and cameras. I left to obscurity. We
both hugged our families, and my last sight of him was to see him
smile and nod his head at me, as he began to answer questions
from someone holding a microphone. I smiled back, and we parted forever.

I didn't watch the news. I didn't see the interview. I don't know the
rest of his story. I did tell my parents, who doubted that the man
was famous. After all, on the plane we were simply two travelers,
passing time. Somehow, this event was a pivotal point in my life.
I had respected the privacy of a famous man, simply because I could.
After eleven months of married hell, he had made me feel, well, normal.

Now, that he has passed-on, I remember a man who gave me my first
glimpse into a normal life, one where humor and kindness saved the day.
Mr. Heston could have been aloof and superior, but somehow I don't think
that was a part of his character. Often in the tumultuous days of my bitter
divorce, I would think of that very famous man, who touched my life with
so much grace.

Now, nearly forty years later, it occurs to me, how blessed I am, that
I did not invade the privacy of that famous man. He gave me a
precious memory, and, by the way, he did give me his autograph.
He wrote his autograph upon my life!

Jaye Lewis
jayelewis@comcast.net

Write Jaye and let her know your thoughts on her story!

Jaye Lewis is a Heartwarmer Gem and contributing author to
Chicken Soup for the Soul. She lives and writes in the beautiful
mountains of southwestern Virginia. Jaye says, "This encounter
with "Chuck" Heston remains one of my most precious memories."
Jaye's website can be visited by going to www.entertainingangels.org
and you can view her personal blog at www.entertainingangelsencouragingwords.com