About ten years ago at this very time of year my husband was in San Antonio, Tx for a regional sales meeting for his former company. All the guys grumbled that they would hold it during March Madness and at every break they'd run for a TV set. One day about a dozen of them decided they'd rather have lunch in the hotel bar where the TV was, even if they only got nachos and wings to eat. So they huddled around a couple of tables with their eyes on the game.
After a few minutes a lovely older woman came to them and asked if they were there for a celebration slated at the Alamo? They told her "no" and being salesmen were charming, not jerks about the interruption but strained to keep their eyes on the game when she went on to say that her husband was very much a supporter of the Alamo preservation, etc. Then she added, He told me not to bother you all because you wouldn't possibly know who he was, that everyone has forgotten about him, but I think you might remember. He's sitting right over there. and she pointed and, again, the salesmen all obliged politely and looked.
And there sitting on a stool at the bar was Fess Parker.
Suddenly a dozen forty-ish men forgot all about March Madness and became little boys again, rushing over to meet their hero and let him know they certainly had NOT forgotten him.
Rest in Peace, a part of America's childhood ;)