Highlight of the local tour

When I was a kid living in Butte, Montana, we had a very famous celebrity living just about a mile away. Every time we left our apartment to go anywhere, we had to do this silly series of S-curves to go around Evel Knievel’s ostentatious rock-covered ranch-style house. There was a matching rock wall guarding his property. Since there’s a touch of snow and ice in Montana, the wall was pretty regularly under some sort of repair from an unassuming car swerving into it. I also remember Mom and Dad kvetching about how Evel spent a ton of money one Christmas lighting up an enormous set of trees in his yard with a lighted motorcylin’ Santa Claus in the middle, popping a wheelie. This was in the early ‘70s, during that energy crisis where there were even and odd days you were allowed to buy gasoline. And there was Evel, festively illuminating most of Butte.

When we moved to California, the only celebrity whose house I could locate was Grace Slick’s, that lady from Starship. She and those other people I didn’t recognize in the music video had a hit when I was in high school in the mid '80s so I learned who Grace was. Turns out she had had quite a career before “We Built This City.” This explained her impressive mansion tucked behind some gates along a wooded road on a nearby hill.

Later, when Rob and I were living near San Francisco, our closest identified Celebrity Crib belonged to MC Hammer. It was very easy to spot, it being round and sitting alone on a hill. He didn’t live in it very long though. Something about literally tons of imported Italian marble, parasite homeys, and a nasty little bankruptcy.

So now, here we are in southwestern Washington. As of last weekend, we have found the abode of our one and only Big Celebrity. Yes, while my college roommate was visiting, we went on a quest to find Tonya Harding’s place. It took a bit of hinter-lands driving but since we had a map and an address (culled from Tonya’s most recently released call to 911), we were able to locate it pretty easily.

It was a modest little house – that’s right, disappointingly NOT a trailer as previously reported. It didn’t look very inviting, though, what with the five “NO TRESPASSING” signs posted on fences, trees, and her garage. The only sign of life was a trash can on its side by the edge of the road. No potted plants, no garden gnomes, no wind chimes, no welcome mat. Just drawn curtains and a fair amount of pine needles. If I can get her phone number from her next 911 call, I’ll be sure to give her a jingle before I head out there next time. Seems more neighborly that way. Or at least slightly less stalkerly.