After a much-hated four-hour delay in my journey to SXSW – and finding myself in a New Jersey airport – I had the pleasure of sitting across from MTV royalty John Norris. Nestled in a black embroidered skull cap, fitted blue jeans and black boots holding a newspaper, he sat alone, indulging in his almost successful anonymity.
More fascinating were the people who waited patiently at Gate 97 for the flight leaving from Newark, N.J. to Austin, Texas.
Indie rockers equipped with guitars and outfitted in slim-fit jeans, two-sizes-too-small shirts that ever-so-cleverly exposed their happy-trail-lined midriff crowded the terminal, all sure to be by-products of the MTV generation and none of them recognized the veteran music journalist.
I wondered if I should introduce myself? As burgeoning journalists we are subject to countless awkward networking attempts in the name of furthering our respective careers. While, Norris is past this point in his life. He has traveled the world and is one of the last of an endangered species: a staple of a channel that has since put its music journalists on the back burner, while concentrating on the latest way to send college students on blind dates, be it by a bus, a lie detector test, a date with their mother or having their bedroom rummaged and subsequently judged.
Norris is no longer a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student journalist, working long hours at his college paper trying to build clips to land in the offices of Rolling Stone and the aforementioned channel. He has already obtained the dream that I long for, so how is it my right to bother him as his meticulously flips through his newspaper and scans his binder of notes?
But, Norris owes me – he is my hero after all – and he is staring me directly in the eyes as if thinking, “he looks like a journalist, look at those wandering eyes. He knows who I am. He damn sure isn’t playing at SXSW, with his cashmere sweater and faded jeans, unless he’s the new Kanye West.”
I’m sure that’s just me coming across as paranoid that he would eventually snap at me for stealing glances at him every two seconds. What can I say, I was actually star struck, unlike standing in front of a six-foot-eight LeBron James. Norris is my LeBron James, even if I am unable to stare up at him.
I’ve watched him dazzle the red carpets of MTV, interviewing the likes of Madonna, Britney Spears, Beyonce and every other music icon who has shaped my generation and dictated what occupies my iPod. Norris is one of the reasons I wanted to become a music journalist. Well, that and free music (Can you blame me? I’m a poor college student). My mother was floored when I told her I wanted to go to school for what I initially thought of as an unhealthy obsession.
I rehearsed in my head different things to say to Norris ,but couldn’t think of a proper way to say, “I watch you all the time” without coming across as a pathologically challenged stalker. So I opted to simply say nothing and began to type this ode to Norris, all while sitting across from him. As he pulled out his notes to decide which of the thousands of bands playing at SXSW was worth his time to cover, I looked up at him and our eyes met. He acknowledged my presence with a nod and smile and I did the same in return.
On the plane I pondered if I’d ever get the chance to tell him how much I admire his work, or what an influence he was to me. Maybe, maybe not. I got the chance to see Norris again as I passed him while boarding the plane. Although I wasn’t lucky enough to share the first-class cabin with him (The Lantern’s budget is definitely not on the same playing field as MTV’s), I got the satisfaction of knowing that Norris knows I exist.
At least there will always be the terminal.
Gerrick Lewis is the Managing Editor of The Lantern. He can be reached at [email protected].
