Russ Grimm

The picture at the top of my blog was taken in Death Valley while we were hiking several years ago.  Just to the left of center, if you look closely you will see a person hiking in the sand dunes.  This person is not me.  I often have to say, “No, not me”.  I don’t have to say no, not me to defend myself, it is because strangers and even a few people who know me think I am somebody else.  My secretary in the office where I once worked would sometimes mistake me for my office partner and good friend George.  Robin Williams, David Letterman, these are the men people most often mistake me for in stores, restaurants, airports and on the street.  I have to explain who I am not.  Not who I am.  I have been mistaken for a former wrestler at the University of Northern Iowa and I have been stopped and asked the question, “You look very familiar, weren’t you a teacher I had in high school?”  One person thought I was my son, and she introduced herself as the professor of my father when I was actually the student of hers in 1993.  Confusing?  How would you like to be me explaining that I was the father, not the son.  I was the student!  I have received phone solicitation calls and I have been asked if I am Russ Grimm, the former NFL football player.  Last month I was at the T J Maxx store in Rochester, Minnesota and I began to feel uncomfortable when I noticed that people were gathering around me.  They would come close and then back away only to come close again.  Before I had a chance to figure out what was going on a middle aged man approached me and said, “Good morning Mr. Williams.”  I always explain who I am not but this time instead, I walked away.  This was a mistake because a number in this group began looking for me.  When no one was watching I hid by sitting on the floor, under a rack of women’s long winter coats until they left.  It’s a bitch being famous when you are not.  Two days later Linda and I were in Des Moines.  While Linda did some shopping I went to an assisted living program to visit an old friend, Larry.  When I arrived I was told that Larry had died a few months earlier.  In our discussion, Joan, who was wearing a name tag that read “ambassador”  asked if I would be willing to share some information about Larry and how I knew him.  She gave me a sheet of paper and I sat in the open community area writing, recounting memories of Larry, a man Linda and I had met professionally in 1972.  Over the years he came to our home for dinners and had played with our sons when they were very young.  As I was writing I could not help but notice residents passing by me, many in wheelchairs or using walkers and others with oxygen tanks moving towards the dining hall for their evening meal.  Larry’s death and now this parade of reality of those who did not die at a younger age, presented for me, a very sobering experience.  As I was completing my writing I noticed a couple in their forties come down the stairs, we made some eye contact and they approached and asked, “We just placed our mother in this program, do you enjoy living here?”  I got up on my own, walked to the office with no assistance and gave the sheet of paper to Joan, I didn’t say a word and I left.  It’s a bitch being a resident even when you are not.

Identity crisis?  I know who I am.  My wife, sons, daughter in law, even my two year old grand daughter know who I am.  My relatives and friends, we are all on the same page, united in the fact that I am Russ Grimm.  I’m not worried.  Everyone else is going to have to figure it out on their own and until they do I guess I will have to continue denying who I am not.