I spent a half a day yesterday trying to think of the name of 1960s heart throb and King of Cool, actor Steve McQueen.
I remembered every movie he played in, along with the television shoot-em-up (Wanted: Dead or Alive) that propelled him to national fame.
I remember he was married to Allie McGraw and what he drove – a Chevy. The reason I know is because my sorority sisters and I drove from Ole Miss to Carrolton in 1969 to watch him film The Reivers.
I remember that he died of mesothelioma though I never heard of it until the 21st century.
But try as I might, I couldn’t pull up his name. No one else could remember either. After a good night’s sleep I awoke this morning and yelled STEVE McQUEEN! It came back – slowly, reluctantly, -but it did came back!
Sleep must be the balm that oils our memory mechanism. I haven’t been doing much lately and that must be why my memory is on the blink. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.