Fonda Fest

I hugged Jane Fonda last night. Even better, Jane Fonda hugged me. And not in some dream or fantasy. No sir, she reached out, stepped up and wrapped her strong arms around me to bestow an all out, full frontal embrace free of artifice, reserve and don’t-hold-me-too-long-or-too-close back patting. This was no Hollywood party, air-kissing torso bump. It was genuine. It was surprising. And it was so very, very good. I mean, it was Jane fucking Fonda!

This cultural icon has been on my radar since Tall Story in 1960. (Clearly she’s stunning, but it was her voice, always the voice.) I’ve been trying to meet her for twenty-seven years, beginning with a fruitless trip to Bikram’s L.A. sweatbox once in 1980 just because I heard she went there to do yoga. Her eyes never left mine as I confessed this to her. Then she laughed and said, “I only went there twice.” Hey, those were good enough odds for me. And then—be still my beating heart—she chucked me on the chin. Dare I think it…were Barbarella, Bree and Cat flirting with me?! Roger, Tom, Ted and now, Foster? I should be so lucky.

I floated back to my group to babble about my incredibly good fortune, and my friend Peggy Pfeiffer asked, “Did you tell her you’d written the ad and the tag line?” The only reason I was in this jam-packed room was because of Peggy, the owner of BadDog Design. She asked me to contribute my creative marketing skills to her firm’s promotional efforts in behalf of this event—a fundraising concert for Las Cumbres, Ms. Fonda’s adopted New Mexico charity.

Las Cumbres fosters recognition, prevention and treatment of mental disorders in infants. It’s a big problem in a poor state with low incomes, low education and poor parenting skills. For my efforts I was given a ticket to the event’s big draw—a concert at Santa Fe’s Lensic Theatre that featured an appearance by Rob Reiner and a performance by James Taylor. Of course I looked forward to meeting them too. (When I told Mr. Reiner my age he spritzed, “Get outta here!” Nice.) My eyes, however, were on one prize only.

So I fought my way back through the crowd to tell Jane of my contribution—truth be told, mainly to have a picture taken with her and to bask yet a little longer in her palpable magnetism—but she seemed more interested in my Yellowman Yakuza tattoo shirt. The picture was taken, there were last words, and I reluctantly yielded to the crush of humanity that awaited their own brief moment of celebrity contact.

Yes, I hugged Jane Fonda last night, and I can still feel it. Her gesture wasn’t for the cameras or the crowd. It was just for me…a thank you of sorts. It was because I said, “I’m a Viet Nam veteran, and I want you to know it’s an honor to meet you.” Both are true. But I’m here to tell you I’ve never had a response like that upon revealing myself as a vet. And I can assure you that I never will again. Still, maybe I should try it more often.

I hadn’t given any thought to what her response would be to my statement. Surely she’s heard it many times before. But probably not enough. There was a brief flare in her eye, a quick set of her jaw as I spoke my first five words. She was, I assume, instinctively steeling herself for what far too often comes next. But with the rest of my declaration came the exquisite gift of her open-hearted offering that I would never have dreamed of putting in the script. And I have written scripts.

What she has heard mostly, I imagine, is scorn and derision heaped by angry men and women who can’t let it go. Who just can’t move on. Who, like our delusional president, can’t acknowledge their participation in, and support of, a mistake. Who look to castigate any and all who would remind them of it. And who can’t acknowledge those who tried, however naïvely, to end that mistake on their behalf. Perhaps Jane Fonda protested not too wisely, but too well. At any rate, I forgave her for it long ago. Not that she ever needed my forgiveness.

Many of us are more than a little puzzled by her Christian conversion. But my guess is that she doesn’t wear it on her sleeve. My guess is that it gives her grounding, centering and comfort in the September of a lifetime awash with familial dysfunction, marital volatility and the glare of publicity. And my biggest guess is that it’s absolutely none of my business. Namaste, Jane.

The last thing she said to me before turning away was, “I’m glad you’re all right.” After that hug, Ms. Fonda, I’ve never been all righter.