Meeting Stephen J. Cannell (Part II)

This is a continuation. To read from the beginning, click here.

The day went by quickly, and at the end of school I was gone as if I had been shot out of a cannon.

On to Chicago, normally two hours away. I am an idiot, and it took me three.
Why? Sleep deprivation is the most likely culprit. I can’t begin to justify the route I took, although at the time I thought I was going to save money on tolls. (The last time I went to O’Hare, I think I wound up spending about $10, but that’s a different story.)

Have you ever pulled an all-nighter to write a paper? Sure, when you’re writing it, all jittery from No-Doz, you’re thinking, “Hey! This shit is brilliant!”

Then you wake up, read it again, and wonder what six-year old hijacked your paper.

My wife had to guide me in via cell phone and internet. As it turns out, I could have taken I-294 basically all the way to the Barnes and Noble where the book signing was being held. For the whopping cost of 80 cents.

Hitting the B&N with an hour to spare, I ran into my old college roommate Jonny, rocking his black motorcycle jacket pretty hard. He’s a little stouter these days, as am I, but he’s a guy who’s never been ashamed to like what he likes, and the perfect wingman for an adventure like this.

We asked each other cordial questions about each other’s lives and families, the kind of things adults do when they get together, but if I’m going to be honest, I was pretty distracted. I’d like to think of myself as a fairly focused, heady guy—-not the kind of person who gets star-struck—-but frankly my radio was all over the dial. I started noticing the oddest things:

This Barnes and Noble is huge!

I wonder if they carry Strategy and Tactics here, and if so, if they have the version that comes with the game.

Why does my finger hurt so much?

Yeah, that last one…about ten minutes after I arrived, I mindlessly put my hand in my pocket. My debit card was in there, and I bamboo-chuted myself with it. I pulled a bloody finger out of my pocket. It hurt like crazy.

Idiot.

We found the corner of the store where the shindig was to take place. I hadn’t known what to expect. Perhaps a rope line. There was a podium, a heavy rectangular table, and maybe a dozen rows of chairs. There were some older people already seated, and a number of well-dressed gentlemen milling about near the back. We settled in over by a post, standing and watching.

Then it happened. Quickly.

I turned, and there he was in front of me. This is not hyperbole. It was as if he had beamed in right next to me.

“Hey, how you doing?” he asked, shaking my hand vigorously.

Stephen Cannell is a tall guy. Or I’m a short guy. Probably both are true. He’s seen a lot of California sun, and has grayed, but is still good-looking for his age. He was wearing a jacket, which Jonny would shortly afterward describe as “pimping.”

“Great, great,” I gushed, responding in kind.

“You Sigma Ki?” he asked.

Click! Now I understood who all these people were. He had come early to meet and greet his Sigma Ki brothers.

“Uh…no?”

Well, that’s me. Always there with the mot juste.

Next time: Ice Spiders!

To read the next installment, click here.