We’d like to thank Catherine Belmont for the following story.
Climbing the spiral staircase to our morning class was an effort on a very cold grey day. Students hurrying up the five flights of stairs rushing in just before Madame started class. It was a grammar class, we were asked to speak only in French. The room over looked the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The class was for students attending the Sorbonne who were just beginning to learn French. We all struggled to learn as quickly as possible. Living in Paris was a once in a lifetime experience.
As class ended I noticed a new face in the crowd of students, how odd to see Bill Murray. I went to my next class across the Seine. It was a Phonenique class. Bill walked in and sat down next to me. He wore Converse tennis shoes and pulled out a Mont Blanc pen to take notes. The professor called him William. I smiled and introduced myself. He said he had finished a film and wanted to take a few classes. I had just put my career in publishing on hold and decided to attend the Sorbonne and live in Paris for a year. Continue reading
The following story was shared by navkat.
I saw the script for a new GB movie once – I was having drinks and wings at Down The Hatch on W. 4th in the West Village in NY.
Bill Murray came in and ordered a basket of Suicidal wings and a scotch, neat. He was carrying a manuscript under his arm, which he laid on the seat next to him. I wanted to say hello but I didn’t want to seem starstruck so I just smiled and waved my drink at him.
As the night progressed, he ordered more drinks and more wings. At some point, as is usually the case at DTH, with his hands covered in wing sauce, Bill Murray ran out of napkins. After a couple of halfhearted attempts at getting the bartender’s attention, Mr. Murray began tearing pages off the top of the manuscript next to him and using them to wipe his hands. Odd, but not altogether crazy. Continue reading
The following story was shared by Linda Epstein.
Piermont, NY – Courtesy of juliarowe on Flickr.
I was driving around Nyack, New York one sunny afternoon with a very opinionated friend. We were chatting about Saturday Night Live because my dad had been the manager of guest relations at NBC and I was lucky enough to see many performances during the first several years of the show.
My friend vehemently announced “I HATE Bill Murray.” I said “What? How can you possibly ‘hate’ him? You don’t know him; he’s not controversial, he’s not offensive in any way. I don’t get it.”
This began a lively ‘disagreement’, which lasted at least ten annoying minutes, as we continued driving along the Hudson River in Piermont. I was aiming towards a winding road past Tallman Mountain Park that would lead us down toward the river. We changed subjects and slowly fell into silence, enjoying the ride.
The road I was on tapered completely until it became a one-lane gravel mess with a convertible approaching us at a very slow speed. As in a game of ‘chicken’, one of us had to stop completely in order to allow the other to come through. I stopped. The car came toward us. Blind as I am, it took a few moments for my friend and I to focus and then realize the driver of the oncoming car was Bill Murray.
We’d like to thank Tim for today’s story.
It was the summer of 2003 at the Greater Hartford Open. I was 12 years old working as a volunteer at the tournament. As an avid golf enthusiast and naturally a fan of Caddyshack, I was very excited to see Bill play.
After being snubbed earlier in the day by Bo Jackson, my morale was low. My hopes of meeting Murray were fleeting. I waited for Bill patiently to arrive at the hole where I was stationed.
As he teed off and began to move down the fairway, I knew meeting him was the truly important task at hand. He began interacting with the crowd. I took my chance. I must have screamed “Mr. Murray” about 10 times until finally he responded “Jesus kid, what?!”
I was so shocked at the fact that I was being spoken to directly, over everyone else, that I completely lost the ability to speak. He then praised my persistence and invited me to walk the rest of the hole with him and even signed my hat. Best golf memory I will ever have.