I met “Bachelor Bob” Guiney this morning.
I had no idea who he was, mind you, but I met him.
It started yesterday, when my editor received an e-mail from a local teacher. The teacher and her sister had nominated their mother for the dubious honor of having “America’s Messiest Garage” in a contest on the morning talk show “The View.” (“The View” is the panel show hosted by Barbara Walters, Meredith Viera, Star Jones et al.) The mother, who was blissfully unaware, had been selected for the program. At 7 a.m. today, the mother — still in her pajamas — was called to the front door to discover a TV crew, several large trucks, a fire engine, the Central High School marching band, Shelbyville Mayor Geneva Smith and Bedford County Mayor Jimmy Woodson standing in her front lawn (in the rain, I might add).
The host of the pre-taped segment identified himself as Bob Guiney, and at one point, when he was shaking hands with the mayors, he introduced himself to me as well. No one on the TV crew had much time to talk, of course; they were busy.
The name “Bob Guiney” stuck in my head for some reason, and so I Googled him when I got back to the newspaper. It turns out he was the star of one of the more popular seasons of ABC’s reality show “The Bachelor,” and since that time he has appeared every now and then as a roving correspondent for “The View.” Since (being a man) I don’t watch either of those shows, I didn’t know him, but several of my female co-workers were suitably impressed.
As we speak, professionals are overhauling the winner’s garage, and tomorrow afternoon the TV crew will document the finished product for posterity. The winner and her daughters will be flown to New York later this month to appear live on “The View” on the same day their segment is televised.
I had carried an umbrella during the half hour or so in which we waited for the segment to begin, and then walked from our staging area to the winner’s home. But once things got busy, I had to drop the umbrella so that I could take photos and notes.
Two or three hours later, Mayor Smith stopped by the newspaper on some errand and stopped by my desk to speak to me. She placed her hand on my shoulder as she started to talk, then laughed.
“You’re still wet, John,” she said.
It’s true; I was.