So my date with Alec Guinness was set. I don't remember what happened next, all I could think was I was going to get to meet Sir Alec! After the show my mother and I found our way to the stage door (I had done lots of theater, so I knew about stage doors.) And asked to see Sir Alec.

My mother and I waited a little while backstage, and then we were brought to him. He was dressed in a tuxedo and completely charming. That little glint in his eye that I saw in a lot of his performances was very much there in that moment. He was sweet and kind and funny.

The first thing he said to me was "I feel like I should give you some of my money back!" I laughed. He laughed. My mother laughed. The people standing around us laughed, of course.

It's interesting to me that the first thing he talked about was the money. It was a wonderful joke that everybody laughed at, but I think it was rooted in how he really felt about the whole Star Wars situation, which my question from the audience and mere presence somehow triggered.

Now I'm not a therapist, but I believe the money he made from Star Wars was certainly appreciated, but he also felt strange about it: Commerce vs. Art. It was the reason for his "hatred of Star Wars."

That's kind of what the comment seemed like to me. Even at the time.

His version of our story is correct. He did say I'd like for you to do something for me exactly as he quoted. I did say "Anything, sir, anything!" I was for the first time in my life meeting a true master. Not a Jedi Master, mind you, a master in the art of Acting. So, I would've done anything Alec Guinness asked of me especially after what I had seen on the screen that evening.

And then he did say "Well, do you think you could promise never to see Star Wars again?"

*

Now here is the moment where we differ.

Sir Alec says I then cried and my mother got haughty and dragged me away. Presumably without my coveted autograph.

But that's not what happened at all.

I said "Yes sir, I can." And then he got a pen, leaned his head down, (he was shorter than me and I can actually still see his freckles on his little bald head) and he wrote "To Danny, Good wishes always. Alec Guinness. And you have promised me not to see Star Wars again!” (original emphasis).

I thanked him profusely for the autograph. He said it was wonderful to meet me and my mother. He obviously remembered my mother because 20 years later when he wrote the memoir he included a reference to my "elegant mother." (And he was right about her too, she is elegant.) So we both must've made an impression on him that night.

And then we were shown the exit; me beaming the whole time looking at my new autograph from Obi-Wan Kenobi. Oops. I mean Sir Alec Guinness.

And that was that. I went my way, he went his.

I think I told everybody I knew what happened. People were probably exhausted from hearing about it.

I have tried to dine out on it a bit in my adulthood, too, but it's not every day you can just slip in the conversation: "When I was a boy I met Alec Guinness and he asked me never to see Star Wars again." It just doesn't come up. My friend Lesli loves Star Wars so much she had Storm Troopers at her wedding, and she loved the story, because it's kind of great.

And that's why I don't understand why he changed the story. I know writers always embellish when they retell a story. In fact, my great friend Mark, who is a writer, is one of those people who said "That's you? I've been telling the story for 15 years!" But when he told it back to me even he had added a little bit. So, I understand that writers are writers.

But why did Guinness make himself into a monster? Why did he change the story from his being kind and gracious and lovely to his being so mean to a child that the child busts out crying and his mother becomes haughty and drags him away?

When you hear my story, it's a fun story. It still tells you the issues he had with Star Wars, but you get to see the gracious man that I got to see. When he tells the story, he's a curmudgeon. A man who would make sweet-faced boys cry. Because he was so concerned that I would be living in a fantasy life.

And that's what he talks about in his memoir: the "star-shells of madness" that he thought he saw forming in my eyes. He was concerned that I would somehow think Star Wars was reality or something?

"Star-shells of madness?" What a funny phrase. Is that something to be worried about? Something to be feared? Star-shells sound fun.

Those little star-shells of madness that he saw was probably my love for the Theater and Hollywood. He was probably seeing the "star-shells of madness" because I had just seen an hour of his work that was truly mind blowing. If I had star-shells of anything in my eyes that night, it was star-shells of Alec Guinness. Certainly not Obi-Wan Kenobi.

*

You probably have two questions. One is something about what happened with the star shells of madness. Did I ever escape to a fantasy world not dealing with reality but making up another world for myself to live in?

Well, when I was 24 I moved to Los Angeles from New York after studying acting at New York University and founded a small theater company in Hollywood called The Blank Theatre. It could be said that the whole idea of opening a live theater in Hollywood must've been born from some form of madness.

And no I don't live in a galaxy far, far away. I definitely live in Silverlake, California. I realize to some that IS a galaxy far, far away.

Now I can see that in fact, that is what's underneath all of Alec Guinness' performances. That even in his most conservative roles – he's always alive and always has a glimmer of madness underneath. Star-shells indeed.

In my work now as a theatrical artist, I'm always trying to re-create the kind of genius that Sir Alec Guinness introduced me to that night. A mad abandon in the most precise of work with something else entirely lurking underneath.

And your final question? Did I keep my promise? Have I ever seen Star Wars again? I now understand that perhaps I took a page from Sir Alec's playbook. There's what actually happened and then there's my version of what happened.

I must admit since then I have twice gone to the movie theater and paid to see Star Wars. There've been two major re-releases since 1979 and I felt like I needed to go, even if just to visit old dear friends to see how well they've held up.

But both times I walked out of the theater for about 10 minutes at the same part in the film, so my answer is: technically, I did keep my promise to Sir Alec, I never saw all of Star Wars again.

The lesson I've learned from Sir Alec is to get it almost right. Tell the truth but leave just a little wiggle room for creativity, and for putting your own spin on whatever comes your way, and leave something underneath to intrigue your audience and keep them wanting more. That is the making of a true genius.

And a true genius he was. Thank you, Sir Alec for allowing me to be one tiny moment of your incredible life.

Whether you like it or not, the Force will be with you, always.