FANS DON'T FORGET (NOR SHOULD THEY)

Trust me on this, folks. If you're an entertainer, you can ask your security staff to keep an eye on certain behavior that might irk you, or even let the audience know the deal before your event begins.

That's what should have been happened in the Miranda Lambert incident. I don't know if the scolded, young ladies were troubling others with their need to capture selfies and such during a gathering that they no doubt paid a hefty sum to experience, but for a celebrity to chastise fans in any way, shape or form is a big no-no (unless it's a situation where someone is about to be harmed, as when Mick Jagger expressed concern over a brewing scuffle at a particular Altamount Speedway concert in 1969).

Some say that the Lambert debacle will fade away given time, but they said the same about Bono's political, tour rant a few years back, and those who walked out still express their dislike over his statements. How could they not?

Being in the presence of high-echelon stars, let alone having that maybe-chance of meeting them, is a big deal to most people. When something goes awry in such instances, the stain never fades.

Case in point: Robert Englund. The Freddy Krueger actor is considered most congenial these days (and when meager phones can capture his every tick and tock, as in the Lambert anti-tradition, he damn well ought to be), but years ago, he didn't have such a keen reputation. There are reports, if one dares to dig deep enough (or simply asks around), of how he was cold to fans who approached him at conventions or how he'd ask for outrageous sums from those who desired autographs. (Brad Dourif took offense to him doing so at one convention, or so legend has it). 

I can't vouch for those alleged, negative incidents, since I wasn't present at them, but I was present at a 1991 Fangoria Weekend of Horrors/Creation Entertainment convention in New York City and saw first hand how the actor treated fans, refusing to respond to their kind words or even look them in the eye during at least two signing sessions. Englund even cut the Saturday night session short (a promised meet-and-greet we paid for) and heartlessly turned away the next person in line, this poor, enthusiastic kid who was all decked out in Krueger pins and related imagery. Englund got up from his table and walked right past the lad, as well as the rest of us, like we were lowly peasants. The moment was startling, to say the least. 

The Creation staff pretended that Englund's abrupt departure was due to him having to recommence filming on Freddy's Dead, which sure as hell wasn't being filmed in NY. Englund didn't take a train or plane anywhere to do so, because he was back Sunday morning (paid in advance per a Creations contract, mind you) and was just as derisive. 

My friend and I got our autographs, though without much of a peep from the man (not a glance or "How ya doin', fellas?"), and I often wonder why we even bothered. I guess it was just that his work meant that much to us, and we were hoping for a pleasant exchange to eclipse what we had witnessed. (For the record, Englund was equally frigid to this beautiful brunette who praised his noteworthy and unjustly underrated performance in The Phantom of the Opera. I'd have thought for certain she'd get ample attention, but nope. Even this knockout was unworthy of a trite exchange with the regal Robert Englund.)

The thing is, these unpleasantries occurred decades ago, but those who remember them still express their disdain, and though they've continued to watch Englund's movies, it's never been with quite the same vigor. They may even skip a few here and there, something that probably wouldn't have occurred otherwise. 

I suppose it's a cliché to say that fans make stars who they are, but it's true. For Christ sake, you'd think they'd have enough sense to come off their high horses and treat their cash-cow source with dignity. Even going through the hollow motions would be better than nothing. They're obliged to make that concert, that meet-and-greet, that chance encounter count for something, something that's shared with fondness with friends and family over the years, with glowing eyes and awestruck remembrance, and not what I'm doing now: deriding someone who derided those who thought he was somebody special, all because we made him special, damn it to hell.