The show stopped in Denver for a week-long tune-up before opening in Los Angeles for an extended run.

The Los Angeles Times called on me to get some photos to accompany the review that was to be published before the LA opening. I contacted the show’s publicist and was told they didn’t want photographs during the show. So, would I mind meeting him in his dressing room before hand. Needless to say I was agreeable to that arrangment.

I knocked on the door to his dressing room and Quinn opened the door and silently motioned for me to come inside. Without a word, he walked across the room, put his hands on his hips and starting doing lip rolls and trills. I got about five shots before he told me to get out.

Standing distressed in the hallway, I was unsure about what to do. Shortly later, the door opened and he motioned me inside.

This time he got onto a sit-up bench. After several sit-ups, which I photographed, he got off and did a head stand. I snapped three frames before he once again told me to get out.

So again, I found myself in the hallway, mentally wringing my hands.

Again, the door opened and he motioned for me to come in.

Without a word he walked over to a table, sat down and began working on a miniature. He was known for his Cubism and Post-Impressionism influenced style. I quietly went about my business and photographed him as he worked. This time there were no objections

Then came the curtain call and he was leaving to go on stage. I was certain that I had not gotten what I wanted. As he turned his back and walked towards the door, I said, “Mr. Quinn, can you throw a Zorba at me?”

He lit up and became Zorba before my very eyes. In those final seconds, I made a handful of memorable images of Anthony Quinn, fully inhabited by the role that had followed him for decades.

It was that preparation, the physical rigor, the vocal work, and his unabashed love of the role, that fueled the energetic “Sirtaki” dance, the gravelly singing, and a performance that broke box office records in Denver before carrying on to Los Angeles and later to Broadway.

Even for a long-established and widely honored star like Fonda, the fact that he was only the eighth recipient made it a meaningful moment. His voice was husky as he accepted the award, and his eyes teared as he stood on the stage with it hanging around his neck.

It was my good fortune to be hired by the Los Angeles Times to cover the event—especially since it included a one-on-one photo session with Fonda and his wife, Shirlee.

He proved to be one of the most cordial and cooperative subjects I’d encountered. At one point he said, “This is like the kid on the block who gets a prize for eating the most fudge.” He paused, then added, “I like fudge.”

When I’d taken a few photos and was ready to stop imposing on his time, he asked if I needed any more. In my experience, that simple generosity was a rarity.

The American National Theatre and Academy, founded by Congress in the 1930s, played a major role in shaping mid-20th-century American theatre. Its short list of honorees reads like a who’s who of the American stage—making this moment, even late in Fonda’s career, one that clearly still mattered.

Eighteen years to the day later, I was once again watching Buzz Aldrin in awe. This time he was sitting across the table from me as we had lunch in a Boulder, Colorado restaurant. He was accompanied by his fiance, Lois Cannon.

We were attending “The Case for Mars III” conference at the University of Colorado. Aldrin was there as a participant and advocate. I was there to cover the event and to interview him, and later Carl Sagan, for Newsweek Magazine.

The conference featured discussions on political, technical, and scientific strategies for sending humans to Mars, including mission architectures, precursor robotic missions, in-situ resource utilization (using Martian resources like atmosphere for fuel and oxygen), human factors, and long-term base concepts.

Very notable was a four-hour “Spacebridge” teleconference via closed circuit TV, linking American and Soviet experts in Moscow and Boulder.

Over that lunch, we discussed Mars, the U.S. space program, the space shuttle, and what came after the Moon.

Aldrin was a prominent Mars advocate. And he was a critic of the space shuttle. He regretted not arguing more forcefully for a fully reusable two-stage system instead of the partially reusable shuttle design chosen simply to keep America in space while trying to figure out what to do next.

Some weeks later, Newsweek published a special report, “Lost in Space”. As was typical, much more hit the cutting room floor than got published. The Mars conference wasn’t even mentioned. From my copious notes, one quote of Aldrin’s first impressions of the space shuttle made it into print. As Aldrin told me, “I said, ‘You’re not serious. You don’t really mean this stack of three things with an airplane on it.’”

There was a bonus in it for me besides the experience: the business card he gave me. It’s so simple…”Buzz Aldrin, Astronaut”. Especially significant to me is his handwriting on the back providing his Laguna Beach address and phone number. He had invited me to stop in if I was in the neighborhood. I never managed that.

I’ve saved the card though. It’s one of the few artifacts from my reporting career that has not been boxed away.