Almost forgot my most interesting brush with a celebrity. In 1978 I was working at a Pizza Inn in a suburb of Denver. One weeknight, very near closing, two men walked in and I was the only guy working. They discussed the order over by the door, one of them sat down and looked toward the door, and the other guy ordered the pizza. The next morning I told my Dad that I had made a pizza for a guy who was a dead ringer for Jack Nicklaus (the guy basically hiding by the door). My Dad said, "well it was probably him - he's playing golf down the street at Cherry Hills."
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