Over the years, I’ve crossed paths with people who became famous — and others who became infamous — for reasons that range from admirable to unthinkable. Some of them left me with lessons I didn’t fully appreciate until much later.
Before I was old enough to form a memory, my dad was active in the Jaycees in Odessa, Texas, and each year they hosted a celebrity guest for the local rodeo. One of those guests was Irene Ryan, better known as Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies. Family legend says she came to dinner one night and even held me as a baby. I have no memory of that, of course, but it still makes me smile to think that Granny Clampett once bounced me on her knee.
Fast-forward a few decades. I was in New York with my college chorale, and during a night off I caught a performance of Aspects of Love. During intermission, I spotted Mike Wallace from 60 Minutes — a hero to anyone who ever dreamed of being a real journalist. I timed my exit from the row just right so I’d meet him in the aisle. He looked up, and I said the most brilliant thing imaginable. “Hi.” He nodded politely and kept walking. To this day, I wish I could have that moment back so I could say something that sounded remotely intelligent.
I’ve also met men whose names ended up in headlines for far darker reasons. One was James Peter Christian, known in the 1970s as “The Slasher in Black Satin.” By the time I met him through my parents’ prison ministry, he had become gentle, humble, and truly devout — living up to his last name in a way he hadn’t before. The other was Bernie Tiede, who handled both of my grandparents’ funerals with remarkable care and kindness. Years later, he made national news for killing his employer, Marjorie Nugent — a story later turned into the movie Bernie, starring Jack Black. It’s still hard to reconcile the man I met with the man in the headlines.
And then there’s Ron Clark — famous for all the right reasons. His teaching energy, his methods, his ability to connect with kids — those things changed the way I approach the classroom. I’ve met him several times, and he’s as inspiring in person as he is in The Ron Clark Story.
If there’s a thread that ties these encounters together, it’s this: fame by itself doesn’t mean much. What lasts are the impressions people leave — the small gestures, the moments of grace, the sparks that inspire us to do better. Whether it’s a beloved TV granny, a hard-nosed journalist, a reformed sinner, or a teacher who lights up a room, every one of them left a mark.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
