SYLVESTER STALLONE

Century Plaza Hotel

Century City, CA

November 16, 2000

Photo denied by: Sylvester Stallone

The room was abuzz with vibrant energy. We’d just spent the evening celebrating boxing’s greatest, Muhammad Ali, but as all good things must, this unforgettable party had come to an end. 

Walking through the ballroom as the crowd headed out, I spotted Sylvester Stallone. He was strolling up a ramp from the lower floor, trailed by a group of young women. Similar to the gaggle of girls I’d later see protecting Scott Baio, this entourage looked like they’d be easily cast on MTV’s Jersey Shore.

I merged into this procession and continued with them up the ramp. I was much taller than these other girls, and when he noticed me standing like a redwood among a grove of willows, he started with the elevator eyes.

Mid-sentence with somebody else, he offered a quick smile and reached out to shake my hand. Not my goal, but okay. I shook his hand, and as we walked, I couldn’t help but notice a certain rhythm. When his right foot took a step forward, his eyes panned up; when the left foot stepped forward, his gaze drifted down. Right foot, eyes up, left foot, eyes down. Sly wasn’t being particularly sly.

People approached him to talk as we sauntered toward the door, but his attention was clearly divided. He continued to greet other people without breaking our eye contact, so when a lull finally opened, I jumped in, “Could you do me a favor?” He lowered his eyes and fixed them squarely on my chest. I took that as a yes and proceeded with my pitch. 

“I have this Celebrity Photo Album.” 

Eyes up. 

“It’s just a bunch of pictures of me taken by celebrities.” 

Eyes down. 

“Will you take my picture?” 

He stopped in his tracks. 

That, in turn, stopped the girls who practically bumped right into each other, Three-Stooges-style. Zoinks! (If only life came with sound effects.) “How?” he asked. Thinking I might have scored an A-level entry, I happily explained, “Oh, you can do whatever you want. I just have to be in it.” “No…how? I don’t know how,” he clarified. Surprised and having flashbacks of my encounter with Angeline, I explained. “Oh, you just push this button right here.” Then his focus wandered, he greeted someone new, and soon dissolved into the crowd with his girlfriends. 

Like Scott Baio’s girls, these darlings were appalled by my request, and as they walked away, they sneered at me. “What is wrong with you?” their eyes were asking. “Don’t you know he’s famous?!!” It made me laugh. 

I didn’t get a photo from Sly, but I’ll take it as a compliment that I kept his attention for as long as I did. And because I pitched my idea, he gets an entry. What a lucky guy.