“How are you, Governor?”

The man’s words didn’t really register with me until I saw him looking intently at me with eyes expecting an answer.  Have you ever had one of those moments when life around you slows to a crawl while your brain goes into hyperdrive? 

“I wonder who he’s talking to?  Is someone famous close by?”  I looked up and down the deserted hall where we waited for an elevator.

“Is this guy British? Aren’t they the ones who call everyone ‘Guv’nor’?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I’m not from here in California.  I saw your governor on the news last night and you reminded me of him.”

Now I know what you’re thinking.  The governor of California is a rugged, good-looking, former actor most notably known as The Terminator and maybe Mr. Universe before that.  And while I do bear a startling resemblance to him in a sort of non-rugged, homely kind of non-terminator way, I should point out that this was several years ago – before Arnold ran for office.  So maybe it’s not so remarkable that I reminded the man of a former governor who is smaller, a non-actor and actually not much of a politician.  After all, he was replaced by The Terminator.  Downstairs, I looked at a paper in the lobby gift shop.  “I don’t look like the governor! What was he thinking!?”

But mistaken identity or not, this brief meeting in a hotel hallway was one of the highlights of my trip to the West Coast.  Something intriguing about someone thinking you are somebody.

It happened again the other night in our supper club.  A woman kept looking at me in a strange way – like she knew me, almost.  But I knew we were only brief acquaintances.  Finally, she leaned over to her husband.  “Doesn’t he remind you of our friend in Lubbock?”  Her husband gave the stock husband answer, “If you say so.”  Then shot me the universal shrug of the eyes that in man-speak says, “Never saw that coming.  You’re on your own, pal.”

She let the topic pass.  On the way home, I started to ask Nancy what she thought there was about me that reminded our supper club guest of this friend in Lubbock.  Then, recalling some conversations where Nancy had employed advanced wife-speak on me, I decided to forego the obvious answer.   After all, what I wanted to hear was that it was probably my rugged, good looks.  And since my previous thoughts about my lack of resemblance to Arnold have already been shared, I didn’t see the need of having someone I love dearly say something like, “Well, maybe the friend is a short man with glasses and thinning hair.”

I’ve always wanted to be famous -- somebody people would recognize.  As a child I dreamed of being a rock star or a professional athlete.  As I get older, I sometimes just wonder if I might be recognized for just being me.

In a moment of wonder and vanity, I launched a popular search engine and surfed the web for what people were saying about me.  Not really much there.  I was intrigued, however, with a listing on a blogsite that featured a Joey Cope.  A few more clicks and I discovered that Joey Cope was a vocalist and guitarist for a punk rock group, Lagwagon.

How about that?!  Joey Cope actually made it as a rock star.  That fact would have made a great ending for this little article.  And then I turned responsible and did a more refined search.  I discovered that the blogger had misspelled the musician’s name.  His real name is Joey CAPE.  And my allusions of having my name live on with thousands or even millions of spiky-haired, tattooed teenagers died.

With fame fading (albeit pseudo-fame), I was pulled back to the reality of my real place.  I am me.  I’m not remarkable because of me.  But, I am famous and my identity will never be mistaken if I follow one simple commandment: Love others.

As the song said, “They will know we are Christians by our love . . .”

When His name becomes mine, I’m at the pinnacle of my fame. 

Shine On!

Copyright 2006 Joe L. Cope

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