A legend and a lovely man
There’s a myth that there is something very special about people in show-business, a myth that they are nicer, happier, brighter than “ordinary” mortals, that their lives are richer, better, more glorious and glamorous. People look up to them, set them on something of a pedestal, are envious.
It’s all rubbish, of course. They are no happier, no more fulfilled than anyone else. On the contrary, they have their problems, their upsets, their quarrels, their miseries and all those things that plague everyone else. Plumbers and teachers, nurses and dustbin men, bus drivers and policemen, shopkeepers and bricklayers, street-sweepers and bankers, all share the same problems and emotions as actors and singers, dancers and comedians.
Some of them are lovely people and some are total shits; some are boring and some are arrogant; some embrace others and some shut others out, and, if you spend any time in the business, you will meet all kinds, just as you will meet all kinds of plumbers, teachers, nurses and so on.
There was one British comic actor, very famous on TV and film, who played panto at the Empire, and proved he could empty a bar quicker than anyone else I’ve ever met. No matter what you’d done, he’d done it better—and more often! Nice enough guy but, hey, so wearisome!
But one of the nicest people I ever met was one of rock ‘n’ roll’s greats, real music royalty, Chuck Berry. When he played the Empire, as you would expect, he really pulled the punters; every drain-pipe-trousered, beetle-crusher-wearing, DA hair-styled Teddy Boy and his pony-tailed, petticoated or pedal-pushered girlfriend with her little white socks, both young and quite frankly ageing (even pretty geriatric!), were there, full of enthusiasm and dancing in the aisles. There wasn’t a spot of trouble and a really good time was had by everyone.
After the show, I went, as I always did, backstage to the Green Room, the private bar for cast, crew, theatre staff and guests, got myself a drink and sat down at a table to sort out my cameras and other gear. After about ten minutes, a voice said, “do you mind if I join you?”
I looked up and there he was, Chuck Berry, pint in hand. He sat down. We introduced ourselves (as if he needed any introduction!) and chatted for about fifteen minutes—he wanted to know all about my job and the people I’d photographed, about the theatre—and then we began to hear chanting in the street outside: “We want Chuck! We want Chuck!”
He stood up.
“I gotta go see my children,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Peter.” He shook my hand and off he went.
When I left about half an hour later, he was still out there in the street, chatting to a big crowd of fans and it looked like they were set to talk for a long time yet. According to the stage-doorman, he was there for well over an hour.
A real king of rock ‘n’ roll and a nice, friendly man who really liked people and for whom his fans were clearly very important. One of the good guys!