| [image] BY RICH REILLY | |
| Dennis Rodman is sleeping with a truck driver. It's true. Call him up and ask him yourself. He's in the white pages. Den- nis Rodman, Wentzville, Mo. He's a short Italian-American housepainter, married to a lady trucker and stuck with a very troublesome name. The other day it took him a half hour to go through the drive-up lane at the bank because the tellers wouldn't give him back his driver's license. They were making photocopies. At night he's usually home alone, answering calls. "Is your hair purple?" kids will ask. Depends on how messy I've been, he'll say. "Do you have women's clothes in your closet?" Plenty. You can give Michael Jordan a buzz, too. I did. He'd just given a guy a shot in the mouth and was getting thanked for it. He's the dentist Michael Jordan--one of 13 Michael Jordans listed in Chicago--and you wouldn't believe what he puts up with. The other night he made reserva- tions at a hot new restaurant downtown. When he and his wife got there, the hostess had scratched out his name. "Sorry," she said, "we thought you were kidding." They had a long wait for a table. "Yeah, well," Dr. Michael Jordan says. "I could have been Dr. Charles Manson, I guess." It gets weird like that. The other day the director of a Little League called Rusty Staub of New Paltz, N.Y., and asked him if he'd mind putting on his old uniform and talking to the kids. "Sorry, I'm not that Rusty Staub," said Rusty Staub, who is owner of a computer store. There was a long pause, and the guy on the other end said, "Could you come anyway? We're desperate." This Rusty Staub once went to a business lunch with a banker |
named Calvin Klein and another guy. When they approaced the maître d', Rusty Staub said, "We have a reservation. It's either under Rusty Staub or Calvin Klein." The maître d' scratched his haircut, looked at the third guy and said, "Who are you, Joe DiMaggio?" Don't be silly. Joe DiMaggio lives in Syosset, N.Y., works for TWA and sometimes wishes he'd been born Ralph Smith. He won't even give his full name much anymore "because they look so disappoint- ed when I show up," says Joe DiMaggio. A guy could get a complex. Joe, you've got to go with it. Ask Larry Mize, a manager in the AT&T office in Atlanta. Twice a month for a year he had to fly to Kansas City, Mo., on business. He'd check in late at night at the same hotel. The first two times the desk clerk got excited and asked, "You're Larry Mize the golfer, right?" Larry Mize the AT&T manager said no. Finally, on the third visit, the same clerk said, "You're Larry Mize, the golfer, right?" Larry Mize was too tired to fight it anymore. "Sure," he said. "Great!" said the clerk. "I've upgraded you to a suite! No charge!" Larry Mize got that suite the rest of the year. There are people all over the U.S. whose lives have been altered because of what some stranger can do with a ball or a sand wedge or a pair of figure skates. According to one Internet source, there are more than 200 Jerry Rices, 109 John Stocktons, 61 Willie Mayses and 11 Orville Moodys. There's a Herschel Walker in Savannah, a Richard Petty in Valdosta, Ga., and a Bobby Thomson in Wachtung, N.J. Oops, that's the Bobby Thomson. He's actually in the book, as are Bobby Bowden, Mark Fidrych and Byron Nelson. For the average Joe (Montana), sharing a name with a celeb gives him a dollop of power that he otherwise wouldn't taste. Take George Steinbrenner. He runs a lawn and garden equipment com- pany in Stafford, N.Y., but he gets a lot of mail for a certain fa- mous despot. The other day he received a letter from a very sincere woman who said her father's dying wish was to have his ashes sprinkled in centerfield at Yankee Stadium. Could Mr. Steinbrenner find it in his heart to grant her this small favor? George Steinbrenner thought about it for a half minute, called her up and told her, "All you do is wander out into the stadium any off day, wait for a wind blowing toward home plate, take your fa- ther's ashes, throw them up in the air and go, 'Adios, Dad!'" The woman, half grateful, half stupified, said thanks and hung up. Hey, George, think you can get us a new stadium? |
| Joe DiMaggio lives in Syosset, N.Y., and works for TWA. |