My first landing in America was in California in the late winter of 1982. My second was in New York City in the summer of 1983.
In Los Angeles, my radar was switched on full. I clapped eyes on a couple of movie stars, James Stewart and Stewart Granger.
I also was treated by my host to a night of "Showtime," that being the Magic and Karim Lakers. What a town!
New York City. Again, what a town. Who knew what star of stage, screen or sport might be just around the street corner.
So, again, my radar was switched on full. Being a newspaper reporter there was an extra edge to it. Reporters are supposed to notice things, people, personalities.
But I was nearing the end of my stay in the city and no big spots.
Until.
It was a warm day in June and I was doing a little shopping before flying back to Ireland from the city that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would be my future home.
It was Central Park South and I was inspecting a t-shirt stand. I Love New York stuff was all the rage and t-shirts with hearts and apples were a good bet for the family and friends back in Dublin.
The t-shirt guy was impatient. I was being slow and choosy.
My inspection of the various shirts on offer was about to come to a screeching halt.
Something, radar, a little voice in the head, made me pause and look to my right.
Needless to say there were a lot of people on the sidewalk between the park wall and 57th Street. Lots and lots.
But there was one that my eyes fixed upon like twin laser beams.
He was walking purposely in the throng, from my right. He was walking unrecognized. But I knew him, or at least knew who he was.
He walked right behind me. I wheeled as he passed by just a few inches away.
So, was I going to actually buy something. My t-shirt guy was now seriously agitated. Okay, it was a hot day.
"That's Franz Beckenbauer," I said, expecting an immediate "wow" or something along those lines from t-shirt guy.
Instead I got "who?"
Beckenbauer, who at that time was playing his final season with the New York Cosmos, disappeared in the strolling masses.
Returning to earth I bought a few t-shirts and saved the seller from a retail coronary.
So, I could now leave New York City with a big spot after all. Der Kaiser in the Big Apple.
Franz Beckenbauer died a few days ago. But in my mind's eye he still lives, on a Manhattan sidewalk where he could pass in near total anonymity.
Near, but not total.
