Free Jason Priestley by Jason Priestley Page B

wouldn’t take no for an answer.
    It was a big, big deal when I was asked to appear on the Late Night with David Letterman show in November of 1991. Back then, teens weren’t a big market. Someone like Dave had no interest in a “kid’s show.” Adults didn’t watch the show, so why would teens? David Letterman was an idol even then, especially among college students, who watched his show religiously. The man was a comedy icon and could be legendarily mean to guests he didn’t like. He could get quite testy, so I was sweating backstage as I waited to be called to join him.
    â€œComing out next is young actor Jason Priestley. He’s on this new show, Beverly Hills 90210, which is about . . . hmmm . . . it’s about these rich kids . . . and they . . . What do they do? What exactly do these kids do?” he turned to Paul Shaffer.
    I yelled from behind the curtain, “They have problems, Dave, lots of problems!” He cracked up.
    â€œI see, I see, rich kids in Beverly Hills. I am sure they do have lots of problems. Bring Jason out here!”
    Once I got onstage and sat down I felt much better. My fellow Canadian Paul made me feel relaxed, and Dave had already laughed, so I was in good shape. It was a fun visit.
    Less than a month later, I was on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.

Amsterdam
1017 BV
    T he show and I were both on a roll. After a year and a half, 90210 was a bona fide hit, and I had just appeared on America’s two most iconic talk shows. Time to celebrate! As a Canadian, I could ski practically before I could walk, and I’d always dreamed of skiing in Europe. To ski in Zermatt, Switzerland, in the shadow of the Matterhorn, was any skier’s dream. Luke and Ian joined me during the holiday winter break, and we took off with plans to meet up with a couple more of our friends in Amsterdam for New Year’s Eve.
    The village of Zermatt is a perfect little Swiss storybook village. No cars are allowed, and everything is pulled by horse and sleigh . . . it’s like walking into a fairy-tale illustration.
    The show was not on the air in Switzerland, so the German-speaking natives couldn’t have cared less who we were, but there were a few tourists in town making a fuss over us. Our rowdy behavior soon led all the staffers in our hotel and the local bars to call us the “crazy TV Americans.” Ian hooked up with a random American girl, so Luke and I gave him a hard time. “Had to come to Switzerland to find an American chick? Couldn’t manage that back home?”
    One night at the Grand Hotel Zermatterhof, we were walking through the grand old building, winding our way through lots of narrow little corridors and hallways. Literally every time we turned a corner it seemed, somebody plowed into Luke and knocked him down. There had already been plenty of beverages consumed at happy hour, so we might have been a little shaky to start. Still, we seemed to be directly in the path of every huge Austrian dude in town, all hurrying through the hotel, literally knocking him down on his ass and not even looking back. I was in the right place, somehow, and managed to stay out of their way. Finally, some old guy who was at least seventy years old came charging around the corner, and boom! , he knocked Luke over just as we were nearing the main entrance. My friend jumped up in the middle of the lobby with his fists up.
    â€œOkay, listen up! One more old Austrian motherfucker knocks me down, we’re gonna go!” he shouted. It was hilarious. I could not stop laughing. All hundred thirty pounds of him . . . ready to take on the whole country. . . . Instead, we just went to the bar and had another drink.
    The concierge at the hotel told me about the availability of a private helicopter that flew from Zermatt to Geneva, where we then planned to catch a flight to Amsterdam to ring in New Year’s Eve 1992. The