Bon Jovi: Protecting Jon Bon Jovi from reporters.....

Dude you always have time for the Times.  The Grey Lady doesn't always knock.

At a Policemen’s Gala, One Well-Protected Guest

By SARAH MASLIN NIR

Published: June 3, 2011

The only thing that kept us from an apoplectic fit on Thursday night was our fear of the following headline: “Reporter Arrested at Policemen’s Gala.” And despite our Nocturnalist correspondent’s calm, cool demeanor, it seemed it almost happened.

Yana Paskova for The New York Times
From left, Jon Bon Jovi, Raymond W. Kelly, Ronald O. Perelman and Chevy Chase at a party for the New York City Police Foundation.

 Publicists had said we could have a moment on the red carpet with Jon Bon Jovi, at a gala celebrating the 40th anniversary of the New York City Police Foundation held in the Waldorf-Astoria’s Grand Ballroom. But facing a tsunami of fans, the musician walked away.

We chatted instead with the police commissioner, Raymond W. Kelly; Penny Marshall; and Regis Philbin (who delighted with his use of the third person when we asked him if he planned to do “Dancing With the Stars”: “Why does Regis have to do that at this point in his life?” he yelped.)

Heading for the powder room, we actually crossed paths with Mr. Bon Jovi (whom the evening’s M.C., Charlie Rose, referred to several times as “Jon Bovi,” while the crowd laughed awkwardly). We asked for an interview. “I’d rather not,” he said.

As we headed back to our seat, we were stopped by a keg-shaped man blocking our path.

“You’re leaving,” said the man, who did not identify himself. We’d “ambushed” Mr. Bon Jovi, he said. We introduced ourselves and explained that what he called “ambushing” was, in fact, asking nicely for an interview — that is, doing our job.

“Right,” he said, still blocking us from the ballroom, where, behind him, Chevy Chase posed with fans.

After some bargaining, he let us get our purse (we needed our MetroCard) and demanded that we show our press pass for the event. None had been issued.

Our chin-high captor called us a liar, and shuffled us into a side room. He “didn’t want to make a scene,” he said. (Thoughts flashed across our mind: Were we going to be searched? And more importantly, if so, were we wearing clean undergarments?)

We began to sweat.

But inside the anteroom, there was the event’s P.R. team, who freed us with a word and confided that they had no idea who the stout little man was. At a police party, we could really have used a police detail.

Here are some other pictures: