A black-and-white picture hangs on the wall at a local bagel shop.
The picture is from a movie, 1938's "Love Finds Andy Hardy." It shows a teen girl and lovelorn guy sitting at a soda fountain counter.
As soon as I saw it, I smiled.
Judy Garland is pictured on the left, while my pal Mickey Rooney is on the right.
OK, maybe "pal" is an exaggeration. But I share a connection with the screen and stage legend. I interviewed Rooney, then 88, in 2009 before he performed in concert in southern New Jersey.
I spent hours researching his life and roles ahead of our scheduled call, only to have him tank the interview with short answers (I was later told he wanted to eat his lunch, but given the elder abuse accusations that emerged following his death in 2014, who knows. Maybe it was just Mickey's way of getting out of an interview he really didn't want to do). Perturbed, and needing input to fill out my story, I called him again the next day and we had a more thoughtful conversation.
After the whole ordeal of jumping through hoops to talk to the man, his wife Jan invited me to their upcoming concert. I typically wasn't one to take free tickets, but my article wasn't changing either way, I felt this connection from all of the questions and coordination, and I thought it would be rude to reject the invite. Plus, who can say no to a night with Mickey Rooney, the number one star in the world and biggest box office draw from 1939 to 1941?
So, I went. I was the youngest person in the room by 35 years.
Mickey's boyish looks and vocal range had long since been sanded away. But still, the man could put on a show. He sang and played piano and performed alongside Jan. It was inspiring to see him still going strong.
Near the end of the show, Mickey was dancing when his shoe landed awkwardly on the stage, and he started wobbling. He grabbed onto Jan for balance, but alas, Mickey and Jan toppled over in a heap. For a moment, I wondered if I might have to file an article about an acting icon getting injured.
Thankfully, Mickey and Jan rose and finished the show in good spirits. Whew!
I decided to wait for them afterward and tell them hi, or thank you, glad you're OK ... something. Mickey passed in a huff — maybe he was hungry again, or just generally tired from a lifetime of putting on shows. Jan walked behind him, waiting to talk to the supporters who'd stayed behind. I introduced myself and mentioned the article, and Jan gave me a big hug.
"We loved the article, Jeff!" she told me. "You did such a great job."
I was glad she liked the article. But who was Jeff? I'm used to being called Dave or Don or Doug. But Jeff? Even though Dan and Jeff were nowhere close to each other, I had no desire to correct her. I took the compliment and wished her well, she said goodbye to "Jeff," and I, confused, was on my way.
I stopped for gas on the drive home and picked up a local newspaper on the newsstand, and was flipping through when I found someone else's preview of the concert.
It was written by Jeff. This was Jeff. This was the article she was referencing.
After all the trouble, did they even read what I wrote?
I'm still proud of my article (you can read it here).
I've told my Mickey Rooney story often in the ensuing years. But revisiting the story recently gave me new insight.
You see, in August 2009, Mickey and Jan filmed footage for a reality TV show, The Rooneys. While it was never developed into a full series, video still exists online.
At one point in the video, Mickey and Jan are eating at a restaurant when a woman approaches them.
"I just wanted to tell you, I've seen a lot of your movies," she says.
"Thank you," Mickey responds.
"And I think you're great."
"Thank you very much." Mickey says gruffly. He wants this conversation to end. Now. But the woman and Mickey's wife continue talking further.
"We just did our two-person musical in New Jersey," Jan tells her.
She's referring to the show I attended. That show in New Jersey. As the conversation continues, Mickey covers his forehead with his hand and grows more and more heated, as though he's going to turn into a volcano and explode.
The man just wanted to eat his meal in peace, which was the same lesson I learned when I first called him all those years ago.
It's interesting how we can interpret events and actions differently with the benefit of hindsight and more information.
And it's fitting that the guy who cared so much about his meals gets to peer down as I order my breakfast bagels.