One of the most surreal weeks of my (now) 63 years began the Sunday afternoon I checked into the Orlando Omni in 1990. And there in the lobby, entirely unanticipated on my part, stood one of my music gods, Stevie Ray Vaughan. It turned out we were both at the in Orlando for the same reason, work. And we were at the Omni because that’s where we were working; myself in the hotel teaching five days of computer seminars for Clemson University, and he literally across the street, walking distance to the Bob Carr Center for a show on Thursday night. Though tempted, I was very aware of the personal demons he had defeated, and how much he had come to value his privacy. As well, in the entire week, when I encountered him at least a dozen times, I’d have been the only person (to my personal awareness) so gauche as to bother him.
As often as I encountered him, passed him, or stood within feet of him in the elevator, I almost felt that I had met him. But wearing a suit on every occasion also caused me hesitation, largely because he was always dressed as one would expect, including a denim jacket with an airbrushed Dr. King, Jr. on the back. In fact, his attire was so typically how we would imagine that after he exited the elevator one night, the other passenger commented, “They’ll let anybody stay here.” (Apparently this person thought I was the one worthy of his respect! The suit, I’d guess…) I didn't bother to respond.
Thursday, after I was finished with my seminar, I noticed him entering an empty conference room on an upper floor, and knew it was my last chance. I followed him in and called to him. Despite my suit, he could not possibly have been more kind or generous. I told him the story of how a friend had gathered several of us to hear this new album (SRV’s first.) And how much that experience meant to me. And how I had enjoyed watching his success grow, and how excited I was to finally have a chance to see him perform just a few hours from that moment. Twice, I shook that hand. And then, after talking for several minutes, we went our separate ways. (I just now remembered that the show was in the first half of April, because that night he performed Taxman.)
And a few months later he was gone.
In my 63 years there have been perhaps a handful of experiences that have led me to believe that just possibly, I have done some things in my life worth being rewarded for. That week is very near the top of that list. To paraphrase Steel Metal Jacket, “There are thousands of SRV stories, but this one is mine.”
Thank you for sharing this article, and for reading a story I’ve told fewer times than might be imagined.
