Everybody's Somebody

The city block between parking and the office is usually a cheerful walk, owing to the many garden centers and nurseries in full bloom that scent the air and color the space between my commute and my workday. Some days, like today, it's even better than pleasant.

This morning I was overtaken by the scuttling figure of a small elderly man, folded over and clutching a brown suede bag to his chest. The bag had fringe, cowboy-style, and since I did not catch a glimpse of him until he had run past me, I wasn't even certain at first whether it was a man at all. White turtleneck, black velour pants. A man in black velour pants?

A parking meter was his destination. What caught my eye, though, was the unusual vehicle in the spot; despite having grown up in the culture of the classic car clubs of Fresno, I had never seen one of these before. I slowed my pace to look at it.

And the man (yes, man, I could now see, though the suede bag was still puzzling) noticed my admiration. "You like the car?"

"It's beautiful," I said. And the car was beautiful, in a diamond-in-the-rough sense that I knew my dad would appreciate. It was a little beat up. Original paint for sure. Kind of a greenish...brownish...gray.

"1959 Morris Minor."

"Morris? Wow. I've never even heard of that."

"Oh, yeah," he began, suddenly very much in my personal space and very excited to brag about his baby. "Morris Minor. I like it because it sounds Jewish, and I'm Jewish. Great car. Drives like a dream. I had a Mercedes once -- you didn't drive the car, the car drove you. But this one, you have to shift. Drives beautifully. You wanna take it for a spin?"

I laughed.

"Just kidding, sweetheart. You remember 'Bonanza?'"

"Sure."

"You remember Hoss?"

"Yep."

"He sold me this car. Fifteen years ago, I bought it for $1,800. The next day, a woman offered me $5,000 and I said no. You know what this car is worth today?"

"How much?" I grinned, smelling Hollywood.

"Twenty-five thousand."

After a brief tour of the car -- he pointed out the "Morris" on the front and the "Minor" on the side, and opened the passenger side door to show me that he was in the process of restoring the interior -- he seemed to remember that he had run out here to feed the meter. The quarters plunked in for an extra thirty minutes, which I feared might be spent with my head under the hood of the Hossmobile.

He asked, "Are you just coming from the doctor's office?"

"Um, no." (Do I look sick?) "I'm on my way to work."

"Well, have a nice day. Thanks for asking about the car."

"Thank you for showing me the car!"

I was a few steps away, when I heard, "Oh, wait!"

The man crossed my way, becoming all personal-spacey again, and extended his hand. "Andre Philippe."

"Nice to mee--"

"Ever heard of IMDB?" He still had a grip on my hand.

"Absolu--"

"Andre Philippe. I'm directing my first feature film."

I'm incredibly sorry to say that I didn't catch the title, because he then released my hand and used his index finger to point one by one to the knuckles on his other hand, simultaneously listing a cavalcade of celebrities who are starring in his magnum opus. Unfortunately, the only two I remember as of this writing are Mel Brooks and Nicole Kidman.

And, of course, Andre Philippe himself.