One of the greatest things about being a newspaper reporter is that you get to meet all sorts of people, both famous and infamous.

Sometimes, it’s when you least expect it.

October 14, 1992, was such a day for me.

I was working at the Skowhegan bureau of the Morning Sentinel and got a call from Evelyn Veilleux, owner of Evelyn’s New & Used Furniture.

She told me someone famous was going to arrive at her store in five minutes and she had invited only a few friends to come by to meet him. And she said that I was the only person from the media that she was inviting.

“It’s Joe Frazier,” she whispered.

I couldn’t quite believe my ears.

“You mean Smokin’ Joe — the former world heavyweight boxing champ? At your store?”

“One and the same,” she said.

I hung up the phone and looked at Betty Withee, a former reporter who was the bureau’s receptionist at the time.

“Betty,” I said, “either this woman is crazy or she’s telling the truth. But either way, I’m not taking any chances.”

I grabbed my trusty Pentax K1000 camera and flew out the door, jumped into my car and sped up to the furniture store about a mile away on North Avenue.

There were a dozen or so men hanging around outside the store in baseball caps, not saying much and just waiting. I joined them and we spent 20 minutes or so, kicking the dirt and making small talk.

Pretty soon a white stretch limousine pulled up in front of us and parked. A door opened and out came Joe Frazier, grinning in his gray suit, black cowboy hat, multicolored tie and gold jewelry, including a necklace with a gold crown.

We were all so stunned we couldn’t speak.

Most fans converge on superstars in such circumstances, but not these Mainers. They respectfully stood there, silent, until big Joe broke the ice.

“What’s happening? Nice to see you,” said Frazier, who was 48 at the time.

I started snapping pictures, amazed that I was actually photographing the great Smokin’ Joe, right here in little old Skowhegan, Maine.

I noticed his right hand was bandaged-up around the wrist. Like a good reporter, I asked what happened.

“Long story,” was all he said.

We went inside the store, where someone was offering to take people’s pictures with him for $5.

Smokin’ Joe was friendly, talkative and funny. And he didn’t look down on us Mainers. He certainly didn’t look down at me.

“You’re tall,” he said, as I started asking him questions.

As it turned out, he was at the store as part of a promotional campaign for a furniture wholesale company based in Philadelphia, where he lived. Evelyn’s carried the furniture line at the time.

I remember Town Manager Pat Dickey was there and got an autograph for her father, who lived in England and was a sports fan.

Harold Brown, the town’s deputy police chief, also was on hand. Just in case a fight broke out, someone joked.

Veilleux said she was thrilled to have him at her store.

“He’s just great for business!” she crooned.

I know all this because I spent the morning today, rifling through my personal archives, searching for the story I wrote about Joe that day.

I finally found it, nestled among other clips from 1992 — 19 years ago. The headline reads: “Smokin’ Joe visits Maine.” Former reporter Darla Pickett covered Joe when he visited a couple in Winslow later, so she shared a byline with me.

The picture I took of Joe after he got out of the limo that day is a treasured possession. Years ago I framed it and hung it in our sun room, where it has been a topic of conversation over the years.

When I learned that Joe died of cancer Monday at 67, I took the photograph down and brought it to the office to share with my co-workers. We’ve been enjoying it and reminiscing about his fights with Muhammad Ali.

Godspeed, Smokin’ Joe. It was a real pleasure meeting you.

Amy Calder has been a Morning Sentinel reporter 23 years. Her column appears here Saturdays. She may be reached at acalder@centralmaine.com

 

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