> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://tombeaverbooks.ghost.io/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Celebrity Encounters - URL: https://tombeaverbooks.ghost.io/celebrity-encounters/ - Published: 2026-10-05T20:08:40.000Z - Updated: 2026-10-08T03:48:38.000Z - Author: Tom Beaver - Tags: Book: Movies And TV, #Import 2026-10-09 17:51 > GUESTREADABLE: xxx > RSTATUS: xxx > ESTATUS: xxx > CHAPSECTIONNAME: xxx > CHAPORDER: xxx > ITEMCHAPNAME: *Year 2021* > ITEMORDER: *xxx* > ITEMTYPE: xxx > ITEMSOURCE: MoviesAndTV\_v3f.vellum > ITEMNOTE: xxx > ITEMINTRO: *x*xx *STORYSUBTITLE: May 2, 2021* PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-5.png) Since we’re mentioning our brushes with fame, I’ll tell you mine. Let’s see. I once had milk, cookies and conversation with the stars of a favorite childhood TV show (*Leave it to Beaver*). I once hit on **Jennifer Connelly**. I once embarrassed myself before **John Goodman**. I almost got in a fight with **John Krasinski**. Those are the first ones that come to mind. --- Meeting **Jennifer Connelly** was quite pleasant. I was in downtown Manhattan on a nice weekend, shopping and walking, when I saw a very good looking woman across the intersection, standing and gazing around like she might be lost. What I remember are slouchy jeans, long dark hair, a slender body and a face that somehow radiated its good looks. She struck me as a hippie chick, laid back and cool, prettier than she realized. I crossed the intersection fully intending to start a conversation with her. In those days I did that a lot. I think I acquired my share of phone numbers. But as I got to where this woman was standing, I recognized her. I thought, “Well, of course she caught my eye!” It was Jennifer Connelly, the famous and famously beautiful actress. The crowd was flowing around her, not seeming to notice her, and she was just standing there in the summer light, in the slow weekend crowd, her thumbs hooked behind her on her belt or pants top or belt loops. I slowed down and stopped a little distance from her and said, loud enough for her ears only, not wanting to spoil her anonymity, “Jennifer Connelly!” She looked at me with those well-known green eyes, those defining dark eyebrows, that face made for the giant screen, and gave me a welcoming smile. “I just wanted to tell you, Jennifer, I love your work.” I remember her smile became the very beautiful, very inviting one I’d seen many dozens of times before on film, where she’d been paid for it. Here the smile was just for me, and free. “Thank you so much,” she said, looking me in the eye. She held my eye in a patient, interested way, indicating we could talk some more if I wanted to. But I just wished her a good day and moved on. I have a policy of bothering celebrities to compliment them and then getting quickly out of their hair. But I did hang around nearby, just to take her in. I would have to say there were sexier women passing by, but still, she was the one who had caught my eye. The long dark hair, the lithe form, the folky clothes, that high-contrast pretty face, the I-don’t-know-what that made her so easily approachable. A few minutes after our personal moment, she was joined by a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, with a baby on his back, pushing a stroller—her husband, Paul Bettany. I recognized him, too. I wouldn’t have wanted to fight him for her. He doesn’t look big on screen, but he did on the sidewalk. It was her baby and husband that Jennifer had been watching and waiting for. That was all right with me. He asked her out her first. I was satisfied. I was satisfied to have gotten a smile from a woman I’d admired for years with an upward kind of gazing, and maybe from her point of view I was a man who had made her smile. Maybe she’ll think about me once or twice more in her life. That was as good in its way as getting a phone number. --- The **John Goodman** story was sort of nice, because Mr. Goodman was nice, but it wasn’t pleasant. This happened around 1998 when I was working at a big ad agency. Models and celebrities would sometimes come in to perform or audition for a commercial or photo shoot, and would go to a certain floor—let’s say the 12th. It wasn’t unusual to see someone famous or very beautiful or both, walking down a hallway or entering or leaving the building. You would sometimes find yourself riding an elevator with one. One morning it was me and John Goodman in an elevator. Tom: SMSU. John Goodman: Yep. Tom: That’s my alma mater, too. John Goodman: Nice. He wasn’t as surprised as me to be meeting, in New York of all places, a fellow alumnus from Missouri. I thought he might be playing it cool. But I didn’t challenge him. That would be unpolished. Tom: I’ve really enjoyed your work. John Goodman: Thank you. John Goodman is not making eye contact, but he’s smiling his familiar cheerful smile, and that gives me confidence. Tom: You know, it’s a real coincidence, but I was thinking about you just this morning in the shower. I hear it right after I say it. I don’t why I’m not more shy at times. John Goodman continues looking cheerful, but doesn’t respond. Tom: I mean, I was thinking about The Big Lebowski, just randomly. How much I liked the movie. And your performance in particular. This is all true. And truth is something actors talk about as their stock in trade. But nothing from Goodman. Tom: Just an interesting coincidence. John Goodman: Yeah. It can take forever to rise 12 floors. Tom: Nice talking to you. The doors open with a big sigh of relief. On behalf of us all. John Goodman: You too. He says it after he has almost completely exited, without turning his head even slightly. It’s like his back said it. PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-6.png) --- The **John Krasinski** encounter took place around 2010 in a pastry and coffee shop in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I’d been walking a lot and was tired. I waited my turn, then stepped forward to state my coffee order. Someone to the side of me spoke before I did, with a question. I’d probably been tolerant of pushy sidewalk walkers for the previous few hours and felt it was Tom’s turn in life. “You know, you could just wait your turn,” I said, or something of that kind. “Sorry,” said the guy. “I was over here waiting for my order. I ordered a while ago.” It was Jim from *The Office*, at his soft-voiced, super-cool best. My face flushed so fast and hard I could feel it. I shrank about three feet. I stammered a confession—that I’d been very uncool. “No problem, man.” The nicest guy you could ask for, making me really stand out in contrast. It can take people forever to make a coffee. As I left, I said, “I really love your work on…the show.” I couldn’t remember the name of it. All the blood in my brain had gone to my face. Krasinski-Jim said, “Oh, thank you man. That’s so nice of you.” Like he’d never heard a compliment that penetrating and kindly meant before. His graciousness knew no bounds. I got redder and shorter and left. But soon I was fine. I’d been called “man” by one of America’s coolest dudes. And learned a valuable lesson—be cool, Tom! Be cool! PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-7.png) —I met the stars of *Leave It to Beaver (* **Jerry Mathers, Tony Dow** and **Barbara Billingsley** *)* in 1988 at a television trade show in L.A. I was there on a work assignment. Production companies had converged to sell new TV shows to local TV stations around the country. One of these new shows was *Still The Beaver*, a movie-plus-TV-series followup to the old TV show. The star, Jerry Mathers, was sitting there giving autographs and talking up his product. I said, “I grew up with your show and loved it,” and I’m sure gave some specific compliments. Then I told him my last name was Beaver, and that I’d resembled him enough in grade school that kids called me “Theodore,” his screen name. I said I’d actually felt that he and I were some kind of brothers. Someone produced a camera and snapped a Polaroid of us, which Jerry signed for me. The nice woman who was serving cookies and milk at the booth turned out to be Barbara Billingsley. She signed the photo, too:“Your #2 Mom.” I have the picture somewhere, but not instantly at hand. I asked Jerry Mathers how it felt to know he’d been The Beaver. He said, “You should know. You’re the real thing.” --- you want to hear some others? I might as well get them all down, or all I can remember at the moment. I had an encounter-once-removed with **Norah Jones**. I had gone into the a local drug store and asked the pharmacist if he had any lozenges or other product to help with a scratchy singing voice. He said he did not, so I thanked him and walked away. He called me back. “Actually, I have these.” He held up a small, thin box like they package cough drops in. It came from a basket that was sitting on the counter, basically right in front of him. I said, “What are those, lozenges?” He said they were. I asked, “To help with a scratchy singing voice?” He answered in the affirmative. He went on to tell me the famous singer Norah Jones, a resident of the neighborhood, buys them from him all the time—to help with her singing voice, and that they work wonders. I was happy to hear about Norah, but completely baffled by this pharmacist. I walked down the sidewalk once with **Annasophia Robb**, a young actress I like. A very attractive one. She came out of a doorway and was suddenly a few steps ahead of me, wearing gym clothes, her blonde ponytails swinging, and earphones plugged in. She had the kind of zest in her walk that comes from listening to music, or from a good gym workout, or both. Or just from being Annasophia Robb. She emits liveliness in her movies, too. We walked about half a block in this quasi-together way, then she went into a building. In and out of my life that fast. But I always felt her zest and attractiveness again, for years afterward, whenever I walked that block. This probably happened around 2012\. I once saw the actor **Wally Shawn** getting into the back seat of a black livery car and riding away. He sat very low in the seat, which made me feel bad for him, because it seemed like a punch line. I saw **Julianne Moore** getting out of a car and joining some friends along the sidewalk. She was dressed in a rather ordinary way, and her beautiful red hair looked almost ordinary that day, too. She seemed flustered or shy as she and her friends traded greetings, which somehow confirmed my view of her as a good actress. I saw **Eric Estrada** accepting excited hellos and compliments on the sidewalk one day. He was with a woman and was pushing a baby stroller, but had stopped walking and was talking warmly with his fans. A friend of mine once said, “That was **Richard Gere**.” I said, “Who? Where?” She said, “That old man we just passed.” She might have had it right, but my feeling at the time was that she hadn’t. Richard Gere was far from looking old in those years, and there had been other times my friend ws convinced of something, but I wasn’t. I watched **Jerry Seinfeld** and **Roseanne Barr** performing standup at a comedy club in 1988\. This was the same week that I met Jerry Mathers. While The Beaver was at the TV syndication event to promote his series, Jerry and Roseanne were there to promote their as-yet-unseen, soon-to-be-huge new shows. I was 20 feet or so from these two comedy giants when they were still just slightly higher in America than average. --- A lot of celebrities lived in and around my various Brooklyn neighborhoods. When not surrounded by movie magic, they could blend into the scenery. I probably passed them many times without a clue. Some that I did catch sight of are **Gabriel Byrne** (standing on a sidewalk looking forward and back, like he was lost or on the lookout for someone). I worked alongside **Mary Stuart Masterson** for about an hour in a coffee shop once, she writing on a laptop, me reading a book on programming. She didn’t know I was a fellow artist, but I did, and thought of that encounter, then and later, as one between creative near-equals. One time as I was stepping into a store, **Julia Stiles** came stepping out of it. We passed so close I could see the pores on her face. And her blonde hair didn’t look very yellow or very brushed. I was disappointed. She didn’t look stellar. I say that to criticize myself, not her. I like it when everyday women go outside without makeup and fuss. I should have liked it in her, too. With hindsight, I do. PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-8.png) When my sister Sue was in town once and we were standing outside an off-off-Broadway show, waiting for the doors to open, who should we see also waiting but a good percentage of America’s top-grossing comedy talent: **Adam Sandler**, **David Spade**, **Colin Quinn** and one or two others I’m not sure of right now: **Rob Schneider** maybe. They were off a little to themselves and kind of scouting the surroundings with subtle glances, everyone in charge of a different direction. They didn’t look especially funny or happy. They weren’t even talking much. They look bored, like they could all think of someone more fun to be with. But I think they might have just been a little pissed at having to stand watch like that. Sandler caught me looking at them, but his eyes kept moving—lest I come over and start something awkward. He might have talked to John Goodman. A co-worker once told me she was aunt or second cousin or something to **Marisa Tomei**. The co-worker said Marisa came to her house fairly often to visit. I asked if she might want to set us up. I was joking and I wasn’t. I could be very confident at times. This was back in the 90s when I and Marisa were both at our prime of sexual attractiveness. Still, our primes were on two different levels, and I don’t think the co-worker even replied. About 15 years later, I let my imagination run wild again. PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-9.png) My friend Rob, an acting teacher, said one of his students knew **Lauren Graham**, that stunning female wonder from *Gilmore Girls*, and said Lauren was single at the time, and unhappy. I asked Rob to think about setting us up. I said I’d be glad to make her happy. Nothing came of that, either. I didn’t think it would, but I’m a writer, and I imagine things. I ran into **New York Mayor Ed Koch** at the movies two times or more. I picture him surrounded by moviegoers and the chatter running both ways. He was a bachelor and, I guess, a man of the people. I didn’t follow the news enough to know much about it. But for me to encounter any public figure more than once in a movie theatre in that city of a thousand entertainment venues is mind boggling. Around 1984 I interviewed **Reba McEntire** for a feature story in the Missouri newspaper I reported for. Sat in her famous-musician motor home on the fairgrounds, right across a small table from her, asking personal questions. I remember she was fun to talk with and a good sport about my nervousness. As we talked, she was looking out her picture window at the fairgoers walking past. A kind of silent movie in living color. A little girl out there did something Reba thought cute. “Oh, lookie!” she said, wanting this small-town reporter to see it, too, not as a reporter, but as the person she was sitting there chatting with. In 1987, I interviewed **Rudy Giuliani** for a Brooklyn newspaper. I don’t remember anything but a sense of oiliness about the face and hair. Oh, and that he was getting a lot of attention as someone who was, at that time, on the side of fighting crime. In 1983, during my last semester of college, I took photos of **George Plimpton** when he came to the campus to speak. It was such a small turnout he might actually have remembered me in after years—“That college kid swarming all around me with a camera he was still figuring out” (my brand-new 35mm Canon AE-1). Plimpton was, and is, a literary hero to me for his interviews of famous authors. I’d been reading and re-reading those interviews for a decade by that point, and now, more than four decades later, am still re-reading them: two of them just last week. PHOTOINLINE: ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/39/f1/39f18017-63c0-47af-a3cd-fbc79cd81aba/content/images/tbb-migration-20261009-5ab27b3f/2026/10/image-10.png) George Plimpton visits Drury College — Approximately April 1982\. Photo by the author. I’ve seen some other authors give talks, too. **Paul Theroux**, the great novelist and travel writer. **Janet Daly**, the writer of romances. **David Harrison**, a writer of illustrated children’s books—the only ones I can remember. While living in New York I had countless opportunities to meet famous writers, reading from their books. And countless times I told myself, “There’s always next time.” I’m realizing now that I should have said, “there isn’t always.” A girl I was seeing in 1994 said she’d been out with friends just a fews weeks before and **O.J. Simpson** was there. He came up to her, flirted with her, and said she would be his next wife. She told me this as news was breaking that Simpson had murdered his then-current wife. Another girl I was seeing, about eight years after this, said she had run into **Leonardo DiCaprio** two or three times recently at parties. This girl was trying to get me to go out partying more. If I had, I might have Leo to talk about here, too. Well, I do have him to talk about: as one of the celebrities I didn’t meet. I know there must be other encounters and near encounters I’m not remembering. But I’ll leave it at that. --- I’m definitely someone who likes seeing celebrities. Yes, I’m a little dazzled by them. By the special stellar glow they put out, it can seem. I know they don’t, but I sense it anyway. But more than that I’m dazzled by the very fact that my path has crossed with theirs. I felt the same way when I first saw the HOLLYWOOD sign. And when I watched a movie in the West Village once, then stepped out on the street, and it was the street I’d just seen in the movie. There was even a door I’d seen in the movie. Such encounters tell me, “This planet isn’t big. The probabilities of life on Earth are as strange as magic, but real.” \~ May 2, 2021 / *Facebook conversation with Shaun Gavin*