Bryan Ferry :: Photographer Unknown
American Icons Program Poster – Front Cover
30 August 1988
It was a typical Tuesday at work until I received an afternoon phone call from my friend in the Performing Arts Department. “Hey, Craig. What are you doing right now? Are you busy?” “I’m working, but I can talk.” “Are you sitting down?” she asked. “No, I’m standing. Why?” “Bryan Ferry is in the building.” “What? Bryan Ferry is in the building?” I said. “Yeh, he’s sitting on the terrace outside the restaurant as we speak” “Bryan Ferry is in the building? I repeated. “Yeh, he’s on the terrace,” she repeated. “Wow. OK. Hang on. I’ll call you back!”
I hung up the phone and walked across the hall to the conference room, climbed up on the white built-in, waist-high, Formica cabinet that lined the entire side of the room along with the windows, and looked down to see if I could spot him. I couldn’t see anybody no matter how hard I scanned and pressed my face against the glass. I walked back to my desk and called her. “I looked out the windows. I can’t see anybody on the terrace. Are you messing with me?” “No! Can you see the whole terrace?” she asked, “Not really.” “I’m telling you he’s sitting down there. That’s directly from my friend who’s working in the restaurant right now.” “I can’t believe he’s here! Why do you think he’s here?” “He has a concert downtown tonight. You didn’t know?” she said. “No. How would I know that?” “Because you’re a fan! You should go down there and get his autograph.” “Good point. I can’t go down there though. It’ll be embarrassing. He’ll think I’m an idiot.” ”I doubt it. Just don’t do anything embarrassing. If you don’t go, you’ll regret it.” “Yeh… you’re right… OK. Thanks for letting me know!” “Call me when you get back,” she said. I stood there nervously for a few minutes. I was full of adrenaline. I told one of my co-workers what was happening, and she agreed that I needed to go down there. Another five minutes went by, and my phone rang again. “Are you already back?” “No, I haven’t left yet.” Why are you still there? He could leave.” “OK.”
I hesitantly grabbed a couple of printed samples, a pen, and headed down to the restaurant. They were closed until the dinner hour, so it was empty except for a few employees milling about in the kitchen. I walked through the bright space to the huge solid wall of glass and the enormous glass doors that led outside to the terrace. It was sunny, hot, humid, and I still didn’t see him. The terrace wraps around the building so I couldn’t see all of it from the doors, or from the conference room above. I slowly walked to the end of the terrace that overlooked the sculpture garden. I stood there with my heart thumping for a minute, slowly turned around, and saw someone leaning back against the towering brick wall on the two rear legs of his chair. I slowly walked towards him, and as I got within a few feet, I blurted out, “excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering… are you, Bryan Ferry?” He leaned forward until all four chair legs were on the ground and said, “Yes.” “Again, I’m sorry to be bothering you. I’m a big fan.” “Oh. Thanks” “I was wondering if I could get your autograph?” “Sure.” I stepped closer and handed him a folded brochure/poster from the American Icon lecture series, an issue of Design Quarterly, and the pen. He signed them both and handed it all back to me. “Thanks a lot.” “You’re welcome.”
“Are you going to the show tonight?” he asked. The one I only knew about because my friend told me fifteen minutes earlier. “No, I can’t go.” “Oh…, that’s too bad. Are you sure? I’d be glad to get you a couple of tickets. I can have them put aside for you at the door.” I was stunned. “Really?” “They’ll even allow you backstage too.” “Wow! That’s amazing. I wish I could, but I have to work tonight.” “I understand. I know how that goes.” “Thanks so much for the offer though. I’m sure it’ll be great and thanks again for the autographs.” “You’re welcome.” We shook hands. He leaned back against the brick wall on the rear two legs of his chair, and I headed back inside.
I was ridiculous — autographs, a brief conversation, free tickets, and I could have joined other groupies backstage. I regretted my decision more with every step. I’d already said no so I couldn’t walk back to him and say I've changed my mind. When I returned to my desk, I called my friend, told her I got his autograph, and thanked her for letting me know. She was excited for me. I didn’t tell her about the rest of the encounter though.
Songs :: The entire Flesh and Blood and Avalon albums by Roxy Music, and his entire Boys and Girls album
© C. Davidson