C is for Calling Stephen King; A to Z Blogging Challenge

CALLING STEPHEN KING

(yes, I really did!)

The year was 1983.

I was almost 13 years old and already a die-hard Stephen King fan.  

That summer, I had just finished reading, "Salem's Lot" and I was hooked. The book was so good and the writing had moved me in such a way that I wanted to talk to the author.  I had to tell him that he had inspired me to become a writer as well.  I wanted to pour out my young heart and soul to this man whom I felt understood the dark passionate things that lived inside me too.  I felt connected to Mr. King in a way I hadn't felt about another writer.  It wasn't a crush, it was sheer love and admiration of a man who wrote about the demons and the dark side that were beginning to emerge and blossom in my adolescent soul.  

So, I picked up the phone and called him.

Let me tell you how THAT went ...Remember, we are dealing with early 1980's "technology".

I go to the kitchen and get the phone, take it into my room, pulling the cord under my door.  I shut my door and lock it.

I get my copy of "Salem's Lot" (hardback of course) and flip to the back of the dust jacket.  I know that he lives in Bangor, Maine.

I got my handy-dandy phone book and looked in the front section for area codes by state and region.

#AtoZchallenge

Finding the area code for Bangor, Maine (207), I picked up the phone and dialed (literally, rotary dialed) the following number.  If you are over 40, you'll recognize it immediately.

1+207+555-1212.

Back in the 80's, you could dial any area code plus the "555-1212" and be connected with a live, local operator and ask for a specific phone number.  This real person would then look it up and read it back to you.  Live.  (Really, I'm not making this up.)

I dial Bangor information and wait.  The operator answers in her thick New England drawl.

Operator:  "Bang-ah infahmation, what listing please?"

Nervously, I say, "Stephen King, please."

Operator:  "One moment please.(clicking and whirring noises in background) That numbah is two ah seven...(and oh how I wish I still had the rest of this information...)."

Me:  "Thank you."

Operator:  "Thank you for calling New England Bell."  (Click.  Dial tone.)

I place my finger over the handset cradle, resetting the call, and proceed to dial Mr. King's house just like a kid calling her uncle on his birthday.  I have no idea what I'm going to say or if I'll even get to speak with him. I'm not nervous,  just giddy with excitement.

A man answers on the third ring.

Man:  "Hello?"

Me:  "May I speak with Mister Stephen King please?" 

(my parents raised me to have impeccable phone manners)

Man:  "Speaking."

Me:  <shocked silence>  "Oh...HI!  Um, hi, um, my name is Tammy and I just wanted to call you and tell you I love your books and I want to be a writer just like you."

Stephen King:  "Oh, (chuckle) well thank you very much.  I'm glad you like my books.  (pause) Which one did you like?"

Me:  "Salem's Lot.  It's soooooooo good! It's really scary and I'm gonna read it again."

Stephen King:  "Glad you liked it.  So, you want to be a writer?"

(At this point I am THRILLED to be talking with my literary hero and the *famed writer* Stephen King.  I am ecstatic.  My heart is pounding in my chest, my tongue is doing knots and twists, but I manage to eek out a somewhat cohesive thought in the English language.)

Me:  "Oh yes, I love to write and I write all the time and I keep a diary and I do really well in English class at school."

(Floating on air and feeling like I've died and gone to Heaven,  I think to myself, "I am ACTUALLY having a conversation with Stephen-Freaking-King"--when I am rudely knocked back down into reality by...)

*POUNDING ON DOOR*

My mom (gawd love her):  "Tammy SUE! Is that LONG DISTANCE?"

Stephen King:  (background laughter) Um, ya know I should probably let you go now.   Ah don't want to get you in trouble.  Thanks for calling me though, I appreciate hearing from my fans. Keep writing."

Me:  "Okay, um, sorry, it's my mom. It was really awesome talking to you Sir.  I will keep writing, I promise.  I gotta go.  Bye."

Stephen King:  "Bye." (Click.  Dial tone.)

Me:  "Maahhhh aaaamom!  That was Stephen King! I'm totally embarrassed."

Mom:  "A boy?  You called a boy?  Who is Stephen King?  Was it long-distance?"

Whatever the 1983 version of the *facepalm* was, I did it.  It was probably something akin to an eyeball roll combined with an angst-y sigh.  

I still couldn't help but smile, even though our talk was brief and cut short by my mom's knocking.  From that day forward, I read every Stephen King book that I could get my hands on.  I never did call him back and I never told anyone his phone number.  I know I wrote about that call many times in my diary but I didn't brag about to my friends.  To me, it was something sacred that I wanted to keep to myself and treasure.  I cherish that memory but I thought it was time to take it out, dust it off, and share it with the world.  I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Well.  There you have it. 

My one claim to literary fame.

I'll never forget that phone call for as long as I live.

And Mister King, if you ever read this, THANK YOU.

I never did stop writing.

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