Kevin Bacon six degrees of separation story time...
Right out of high school I had a graveyard shift night job at Sherman Oaks News, a newsstand on the corner of Ventura and Van Nuys boulevards. Frank lived up the hill off of Mulholland.
Once a week or so in the wee hours, some musician or other, most often the drummer Vinnie Colaiuta, but once or twice Frank himself, would come down to the news stand and buy cigarettes. They would buy a couple dozen packs of smokes, all different brands. Like, "Ah, gimme one of those and one of that and a couple of the blue ones". No plan or list, just a bagful of whatever.
One night I asked Vinnie ******? He told me Frank and most of the other guys smoke a lot and so Frank likes to have an assortment laying around to choose from.
(Of course that was decades before Frank got cancer and said his favorite vegetable was tobacco.)
I could tell a hundred stories from that job.
Paul Stanley, without makeup, but before Kiss publically took off the makeup, who pulled up and got out of a limo with a matched set of blonde bimbos...right as I was straightening the music mags and actually holding one in my hand with Kiss on the cover. We made eye contact and I looked at the mag, looked at him, looked back at the mag, back at him. He knew I'd made him. There was a moment of uneasy tension, then we both just cracked up laughing, because it was pretty comical.
Pat Benatar and Neil Gerardo. Tom Petty. A dozen others, and a whole bunch of jazz and blues guys who played in the clubs nearby.
And don't even get me started on the film and TV stars. James Coburn was one of the coolest guys I ever met. Unpretentious. Drove a Ferrari that had never been washed and had rubbish all over the floor.
(Or the CHP officer who stopped by regularly and one night sold me a Raven .25 auto and told me exactly what to say in the police report if I ever had to actually use it.)