Back in High School, when The Leopard was but a cub, I often
found myself obsessing. I have a collector’s heart, and whenever I’d obsess,
I’d collect. It was simply a way of trying to grasp my need.
Like practically every other American male at the time, I
had a huge crush on that vision of all that was right in the world, the utterly exquisite Farrah
Fawcett–Majors (yes, that’s how I knew her at the time; she was married to The
Six Million Dollar Man himself, Lee Majors).
With those huge, impossibly white teeth - - those bright, ice-blue eyes, and that famous swept back hair—I couldn’t imagine anyone more
beautiful.
I wasn’t a fan of her television show, Charlie’s Angels. I
was too impatient for its campy tedium. Actually, the first time I laid
eyes on her was in the silly science fiction film, Logan’s Run. After that, I
started collecting every magazine article, cheap paperback bio, and newspaper clipping I could find– no
matter how obscure.
Finally, I remember spotting one day at my local mall that iconic Farrah
poster everyone knows. The revelatory and iconic image – featuring the youthful starlet leaning back in a blood red bathing suit, her head at an odd angle,
displaying those glittering pearly whites, --and most importantly, the imprint
of her perky young breasts, drove me completely insane – but at the time I was
too young to understand exactly why.
In no time I also bought a neatly ironed on T-shirt at a
local Spencer Gifts that I wore proudly. Over time, I matured and my obsession subsided. My view of beauty expanded well beyond skinny, sun-baked blondes, but she’ll
forever be my first bonafide celebrity crush.
