I met my favorite actor
And she treated me like....
My favorite actor is Tyne Daly. She may not be the most popular choice, but she’s been an honored presence in my television viewing my entire life, from “Cagney & Lacey” to “Judging Amy.” A big part of it was she played such ass-kicking, complicated characters who were protectors. And I love seeing People magazine photos of her at women’s marches. To me, she is motherly and fierce, beautiful and genuine—at least in her public persona. What is it about celebrities that make us feel like we know them? Like we’re friends? And what happens if we actually meet them?
During the 2000s, I worked at a regional public university in Oregon. Every March, I brought a small group of students to a journalism conference in New York City. Some of them had never been on an airplane before. We stayed in a nice hotel near Grand Central Station and I encouraged them to get out and experience the city based on their interests. The conference overlapped with St. Patrick’s Day and the big parade started outside our hotel. Some of the students had never seen a man in a business suit passed out drunk in the gutter.
Over the years, there were a few places we went as a group: “SNL,” Ellis Island, “The Daily Show,” The Empire State Building. But mostly, the students were set free with a warning if I caught them eating at the Applebee’s in Times Square, they’d be sent back on the next plane.
I had my own people to hang with, usually a good friend or two living there, and my BF from grad school came up from Philadelphia for a night. Over time I made friends with the other chaperones from across the country. But often I ventured out alone, and it was glorious. I love the energy of the city (in five-day doses).
Once, in 2007, there was an ugly storm of sideways wet snow that slushed up the streets and ruined my favorite leather booties. I had a ticket to see “The Year of Magical Thinking,” Joan Didion’s one-woman show starring Vanessa Redgrave at the Booth Theater. I magically thought the play might be better than the book, but it was not.
After the show, the ushers threw the theater doors open and the exits were immediately clogged with people heading out into the inclement night. I happened to notice a side door open and walked in that direction, barely noticing a woman standing in the shadows. But when I reached her, I stopped short.
“Excuse me,” I said, “Are you Tyne Daly?”
She nodded. My internal dialogue started freaking out. I was next to my favorite actor of all time. I knew I must say something to her but I didn’t want to annoy her. Or look stupid. I jumped in. “I saw you in “Rabbit Hole” last year,” I said. “You were wonderful.”
“Thank you,” she answered in her unmistakable voice.
I told myself to be cool, be cool. Don’t scare her. “Did you like the play?” I asked.
She said, “Well, I admired the actress very much.”
By this point, my brain was corn chowder in a high-speed blender. I wasn’t sure I could even form an intelligent sentence. “Oh, me too. She was fantastic. But you’ve always been my favorite,” I said, “Since Cagney & Lacey. I mean it.” I know I was grinning like Chucky.
“You’re very kind,” she answered.
My thoughts were racing; there were so many things I needed to tell her. Like how I travel to NYC every year and can only afford one theater ticket and I always check if she’s in something. I wondered what her next project was. I wanted to tell her how unforgettable she was in “Cagney & Lacey” when was held hostage and rescued and as she walked past the other cops, she covered her face with her shaking hand and snapped “Don’t look at me.” Does she hang out with her brother Tim? I had a million questions about her hair.
So I took a deep breath and said, “Well, have a good evening. Sorry to bother you.”
She smiled, shook her head and waved her hand like it was nothing. “You too.”
I walked out into the messy, biting wind and leapt like a ballerina, grand jete-ing down 45th street. I met Tyne Daly! I met Tyne Daly! I met Tyne Daly!
And she was lovely and beautiful. I was so relieved. I regret not telling her I thought her performance in Rabbit Hole was a much better exploration of a child’s death than Magical Thinking. But all in all, I was proud to get through the encounter while maintaining boundaries and not losing my shit; it was not easy.
Later, when I excitedly told the students I had met Tyne Daly, they all said: “Who?”
