Steve Vai fulfills lifelong dream, meets Fr. Charles Klamut

It was October 31, 1999.

I had tickets to see Steve Vai with some friends at the now-defunct Firehouse in St Louis. I learned that he was signing autographs at Guitar Center earlier that day. YES!!! Now’s my chance!

The store was crawling with kind of scary musician guys in costumes, since it was Halloween. And a few reluctant girlfriends. Lots of warlocks, grim reapers, and some guys with silver face paint (?). Well, Vai was the devil’s guitarist in “Crossroads,” I guess.

After a long time waiting in line, it was finally my turn to meet himself. I was nervous. What do I say to this ultra cool living guitar god, the alien with freakish chops? I sat down next to him and shook his hand. His first words to me were “nice costume.”

Huh? Oh yeah... the priest outfit. I was an earnest, zealous new priest, representing in full clerics.

“Oh. Thanks. Actually, I really am a priest...”

Uncomfortable moment. Not sure Steve knew what to say.

“Have you ever had any priest fans before?” I asked stupidly.

“No I don’t know too many priests. Just Judas Priest.”

I sat there gaping. I barely heard him. I was staring at his huge hands, thinking of what they could do to a guitar.

“That’s a joke, Father. You can laugh.”

“Oh yeah. Right!” Ha ha.

I gave him the Guitar Center promotional flyer for him to sign, which he graciously did. Then my buddy Joe took our picture. One of the silver guys can be seen in the background.

“Well, it was great meeting you,” I said.

“Yeah you too. Enjoy the show tonight!”

As I got up to leave, I remembered... the tape! (This was the tail end of the tape era). I had made him a tape of some of my songs, featuring my awesome shredding on the guitar.

“This is for you,” I said, fumbling through my pockets, retrieving the tape and handing it to him.
He looked at it numbly, then back up at the long line of remaining fans. He was probably wondering how much more of this he could take.

“It’s some of my stuff. I wanted you to have it. You’ve been a big influence on me,” I said.

Turns out that for this particular tour there was a contest being held, which I was, alas, unaware of until that hour, in which guitarists could submit their playing to Steve and he would choose the best one to come on stage and play with him at the show.

“It’s actually a little late for this, I’ve already listened to the submissions and made my choice,” he said kind of apologetically.

“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to have it anyway.”

What I didn’t tell him was...

I had slipped my business card in with the cassette! It had my number and e-mail. You see, I knew he would be in Peoria the next week at the Madison, and I couldn’t come to the show (I think I had a wedding rehearsal). I envisioned him and me hanging out in P-town, having some beers, talking God and music, jamming together...

It’s the closest I think I have come to crossing the line into weird stalker-dom. I was genuinely surprised when that next Friday night came and went and Steve Vai never called me to hang out and jam. I was a little sad.

THE END