The first time I met John Waters I was still somewhat of a smart ass, and rather than personally interact with him, I chose to tear the icon down. It was common knowledge that over the years John had attended various trials involving members of the Manson family cult. Because of my own nefarious past, which at one point overlapped Manson's, I figured I would put John in his place. You see, one of my own trial dates was unexpectedly postponed by the Santa Monica court on the very morning Charles Manson and Susan Atkins were being arraigned for the Tate-LaBianca murders. So not only did I attend the trial - I was also on trial! Yes indeed, I felt entitled to a little smugness.

But of course all of this superior feeling was only in my mind, because John Waters never knew that I was thinking any of this stuff. For instance, he didn't know that I had also met Manson at sundry other times: months before his arrest for murder I had accompanied Manson's acid dealer out to the ranch. On another occasion, after Manson was arrested for the murders, I passed him in the L.A. County Jail as he was being shuffled down the hall with four guards on either side and I was headed down to the infirmary for a TB test. (The little fucker couldn't have been five feet tall.)

But what was I trying to prove? Did anybody really think I was cooler than John Waters just because I'd been locked up for doing some stupid shit? Shit no.

But apparently I did, because the first night I met John Waters I came prepared to trip him out. First I presented him with one of my framed photos, one that had been improperly processed and was yellowing with time. "Oh, you've sepia toned it!" said John in a sincerely appreciative tone. "Actually, no.... it's self destructing as we speak!" Nobody thought this was funny; they all looked at me with astonishment and sympathy. John laughed it off, easing the tension all around.

Next I asked John Waters for his autograph. There was a line leading up to the table where he sat, so I patiently waited my turn. When I finally reached the front of the line I lifted up one of the shopping bags I was carrying and dumped its contents clumsily onto the table. Out flopped nearly a hundred cardboard picture frames, the kind hospitals handed out back in the 1930's, welcoming a new mother with a small Polaroid of her baby inserted. They were so cute. The carboard frames even had an imprint of a little stork in the corner. The other shopping bag contained another hundred or so frames, wrapped in bundles of a dozen. Again, the crowd gasped as they looked at me with indignant eyes.

John also looked aghast: "Listen, I can sign one or two of these, but the whole lot? No way!" Shoving back the majority, he signed one of the lonely frames and handed it over to me, hoping I would accept his terms.

"That's okay, John... just that one's enough. In fact, I can sign the rest myself." On a steady roll by then, and feeling fully improvisational, I pulled out my own pen and began to copy his signature onto the remaining frames. Naturally a commotion ensued and I was asked to step away from the table. "Sure," I said, "now that I've got the prototype I can finish the others at my leisure." Setting aside the shopping bags, I went about my real business and began to photograph the assorted activities surrounding John.

Someone spoke, "You're not really going to counterfeit the rest of those signatures, are you?"

"Of course I am! But when I give them out to people I'm going to explain the circumstances. You see, only one person will possess the actual signature, but no one will know for sure who that person is. Yet every frame will contain a fantastic photo of John Waters, 'suitable for framing.' That seems more than fair to me."

Everyone seemed embarrassed for John. In spite of my clever ruse, even I felt embarrassed and chose to leave the festivities unobserved, out the side door like a thief in the night.

Years later John and I met again; he was presiding over a wedding in Chicago and I I was the photographer for the occasion. We chatted, smiled, and held hands; neither one of us recalling our previously painful meeting. (I'm giving John the benefit of having forgotten the whole thing years ago!)