It is a truth almost universally acknowledged that what the average civilian really craves in life is a little proximity to celebrity. If a star does grant access, then a hitherto hidden portal abruptly opens up. Entering it can prove easier than exiting.
In 1971, Elliot Mintz was a twentysomething radio host in Los Angeles who one day interviewed the avant-garde artist Yoko Ono on his show. Ono was used to existing within the shadow of her more famous husband, John Lennon, and so was thrilled to claim a little solo limelight. She liked Mintz, and called him up the next day for a chat. This soon became a daily event, and she then recommended that John call him, too. Mintz was a good listener, patient, irrespective of his own schedule. If they rang in the middle of the night and woke him up, so what? They liked that he pandered to them, didn’t fawn. Then, when they’d run out of conversational steam, they’d simply hang up on him. “They rarely bothered to say goodbye,” he notes.
