Arthur Miller died this weekend.
In 1993, while studying in London, I attended the premiere of The Last Yankee at the Young Vic, starring Zoë Wanamaker and Peter Davidson (of Dr. Who fame). I sat on the same row as Arthur Miller. I had to pass him in the aisle to get to my seat, and when I did so, I paused with my playbill and asked, rather sheepishly, for his autograph. He said, “No.” I said, “Sorry,” and continued sheepishly to my seat.
So I don’t have his signature, but I didn’t feel offended by his refusal. He was a genius, and as such entitled to say “No,” simply and curtly without being overly rude in response. I was happy to have “met him” in that one-sided way in which most overly-interested-in-the-encounter fans meet disinterested celebrities.
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