In the late 1970s, or possibly the early 80s (how time gets away from, and with, us), a friend and I were invited to the home of Vidal Sassoon and his wife Beverly to celebrate the completion of their new house on Coldwater Canyon Drive in Beverly Hills. When I turned on a faucet in one of the bathrooms to wash my hands, the faucet suddenly sprung a leak, and, like a geyser, it nearly knocked me off my feet as it shot across the room against a newly linen-paneled wall. I shall never forget the horrible panic I felt and the mess I felt I was in. I apologized profusely; the Sassoons were more than gracious and he even brought me one of his shirts to change into. By the time the plumber arrived, the whole bathroom was flooded. I was so sorry, I even offered to pay the plumber, but they wouldn't hear of it.
Years later, Beverly Sassoon brought me a copy of her book "Fantasies", nicely inscribed with a personal message. I later donated the book to my hometown library in Northern Maine.
This is another little tale of life that seems forgotten but resurrects itself in your mind when someone you know dies. Such personal experiences, unlike public tributes, find their way into your heart and live on. RIP Vidal Sassoon, a man with all the tributes of a gentleman and a scholar. He was a man of great talent but especially of great class.