THE CHEAP SEATS with STEVE CAMERON: Meeting the 'Say Hey Kid,' and other celebrities

My dad told me over and over …

“If you have a chance to meet somebody famous, say thank you and walk away.”

His logic was very simple.

Someone whose deeds you admire, someone you believe can only be described as awesome…

In person, face to face, that person almost certainly will disappoint you.

My father’s advice was handed down BEFORE I became a journalist, and then a sports columnist.

In other words, I would make a living as just an ordinary schlepper — but also a guy whose job would put him in the company of people who’ve stepped off magazine covers.

Since then, as the years have sailed past …

Occasionally, I’ve had the good fortune to chuckle and think: “Dad was wrong this time.”

For instance, Princess Diana was one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met.

I understand how she was loved by millions.

THREE OF us, all media folk from the United States, made contact with the princess by accident at Wimbledon — and we bowed according to custom.

“If I see you in America,” she said with eyes twinkling, “we can forget about THAT business.”

Our conversation lasted just minutes, but she maintained eye contact, smiled happily when she learned that I worked in Denver (“I’d love to visit the Rockies someday!”), and never acted like, well …

A princess.

Meanwhile, in the sports world …

I was truly a kid reporter when assigned to hand a massive trophy to Mean Joe Greene — in the glare of a spotlight as a couple thousand people put down their dessert forks for the big moment.

Joe knew instinctively that I was nervous, and put his gigantic hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, you only have to remember my name, and it’s on that plaque,” he said.

“I’ve got to speak to these rich folks for five minutes, and talking in public scares me to death. I’ll trade places with you.”

We both laughed, and he said, “The only bad news is that you’ve got to play defensive tackle.”

Joe and I spent some time together after the banquet, agreed we’d both rather be at a football game, and honestly enjoyed ourselves.

Some well-known celebrities are simply wonderful to meet – and you’re amazed at how well they handle the pressure of being recognized, all day and every day.

On the other hand …

Dad was right about anticipating the thrill of being up close to someone you consider an icon.

His warning was spot-on from time to time.

I’m reminded of that experience every year during the All-Star Game.

There’s no doubt that dozens of people will meet their heroes before or after the Midsummer Classic tonight at T-Mobile Park.

For all their sakes, I hope those moments go well.

I’ve been in that spot, and, um …

It wasn’t exactly rainbows and lollipops.

THE GAME was in 1973, at Kansas City’s brand new Kauffman Stadium.

It was called Royals Stadium back then, and I was a lot different, as well.

In fact, this was just about the same year that I almost came unglued from nerves on that stage with Mean Joe Greene.

Prior to the All-Star Game, I was SO excited.

I planned to remain professional, no matter what, but I knew I’d have to work at it because …

It was a chance to meet Willie Mays.

Since I’d grown up in the San Francisco area, and watched Willie perform his version of magic, I was convinced he was the best baseball player of all time.

(I’m even more certain of that now.)

I took the chance to visit the National League clubhouse after a workout the day before the actual All-Star Game.

There must have been 20 of us, all drawn to Willie.

And then came the first question …

“Do you really think you deserve to be an All-Star this year?”

OMG!

Background: Mays was 42, playing his final season (poorly) for the Mets – ultimately hitting .211 and making some shocking errors in center field.

The logic of the reporter throwing out that question was basically correct.

Willie was at the ASG as an honorary invitee — and since this was before interleague play, it was the first and only chance fans in Kansas City would ever get to see him play.

Still …

Never mind logic.

You do not ask an insulting question of Willie Mays.

Especially THAT question.

And believe me, he didn’t take it well, frowning at all of us with his eyes glaring.

“What about the other 24 All-Star Games I’ve played?” Willie hissed. “Did I deserve to be at those?”

NOBODY answered.

Most of us got the hell out of the clubhouse, and I remember being so hurt that my all-time icon was angry at me.

Not me, personally, but …

You know.

Then I thought about it.

Willie was right.

He didn’t deserve such a slap in the face, not after what most consider the game’s greatest career.

As for that All-Star Game itself, Willie came on as a pinch-hitter and struck out on three pitches — but only after reliever Sparky Lyle dawdled and fiddled, tied and re-tied his shoe, taking practically forever, so that the crowd could give Mays a rousing, almost endless ovation.

And, yes …

I’ve met Willie since then, and things went SO much better.

He’s now 92, but still busy with the Say Hey Foundation, with his scholarship program and other community work in San Francisco.

I even told him about 1973.

“Oh, man,” he said. “I wasn’t happy with anybody then. I couldn’t hit a beach ball, and it was embarrassing to be there.

“But I know it was for the fans, and they are baseball’s life.”

Bottom line: I’ll have my yearly happy memory tonight.

Thank you, Willie.

“Say Hey.”

Email: scameron@cdapress.com

Steve Cameron’s “Cheap Seats” columns appear in The Press four times each week, normally Tuesday through Friday unless, you know, stuff happens.

Steve suggests you take his opinions in the spirit of a Jimmy Buffett song: “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On.”