The Spice Rack

 

The Spice Rack

By Ginger

The Observer (Deerfield, Florida)

December 12, 1974

    This week, we got a call at the office asking if anyone wanted to interview George Harrison on Saturday. Wanted????  I got so excited I couldn't think of anything else for two days. I filled up a steno pad with intelligent-sounding questions so I wouldn't come across too dumb. I rehearsed my introduction over and over. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison. Oh? George?"

     Then, Friday night, I memorized all the album jackets on my kid's Beatles records. I went to a record store to check on George's recent albums. By Saturday morning, I'd taken four showers and decided on my clothes. I styled my hair for the unfussed look, not quite Zsa Zsa, but not t00Joan Baez,.

     I went on a diet, hoping to lose 12 pounds by two that afternoon. "This is it," I thought, "The end of an epitomeless career. Eat your heart out, Miami Herald. Call my secretary for an appointment. New York Times!

   I was to call my contact at 1:45 to check that everything was all set up. "Is it all set?" I asked.

 "All set. He's sitting here in the backyard right now."

 "Terrific. Does he know I'm coming?"

"Of course."

"And he's staying anyway?"  I was relieved. 

"Yeah, he has to wait for a call from George."

"George, who?"  I asked with the sharp pain in my stomach.

 "George Harrison, naturally. He just called from Montreal.

" Montreal? Montreal? If he's in Montreal, who's sitting in the backyard?"

"Harry."

"Oh, Harry! Who's Harry?"  I tried to stay calm.

 "Harry is George's father, and his brother's here too."

 There it was, the old bridesmaid syndrome again. It turned out Harry Harrison is a delightful man and a  very interesting subject --- just my type. He wasn't George the famous Beatle, but I had a great time talking to his father, brother, aunt and uncle. Eat your heart out. Adela. Have a good day.