CRASH & BURN
NYer stole and lied his way into celeb events
CRAIG Schmell has attended Hollywood movie premieres, sung with Michael Jackson at the Grammys and rubbed elbows with Jack Nicholson courtside at an NBA game. And he wasn’t invited to a single one of those places.
Now, the Rumson, NJ, financial adviser has written a new book about sneaking into A-list events, “The Uninvited: How I Crashed MyWay Into Finding Myself” (Post Hill Press). “There was a rush that came with being in places where I should not have been,” Schmell, 55, told The Post. “The benefit of hobnobbing with the rich and famous was fun, but I didn’t realize my priorities were backward.”
It all started when he was at a low point in his life. But it made him feel better to get into exclusive nightspots such as Limelight, where he pretended to know managers in order to talk his way past doormen and into VIP rooms.
Early on, Schmell mostly worked his connections — like when, in 1983, he charmed a friend into getting him a spot in President Ronald Reagan’s motorcade during a New York City visit. He drove a car full of cameramen and later snagged a photo with Reagan at the UN.
Soon he would go to crazier lengths — including theft and impersonation — to gain access.
At the 1985 Live Aid benefit concert in Philadelphia, at which Madonna, Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin performed, Schmell nabbed a clipboard that someone had left at a hotdog stand and convinced a guard that he needed to go backstage to grab drinking cups. “It made no sense, but he believed me,” Schmell said. “My friend and I were back- stage, eating free sandwiches and drinking vodka.”
In 1987, outside the River Club, where Donald Trump’s boat was docked, he stole a glance at the guest list for a party, impersonated an invitee and swigged cocktails aboard the future president’s yacht.
Such high-flying escapades helped distract Schmell from reality, including failing the bar three times and being threatened with eviction from his Manhattan pad. “I had low selfesteem,” said the Long Island native. “My adventures filled me up and made me feel good.”
Schmell landed backstage at the 1988 Grammy Awards, held at Radio City Music Hall, by showing up a night early. He got past the guard by claiming to have previously ducked out to get an asthma inhaler, then convinced an assistant to replace his “lost” backstage pass.
The next night at the ceremony, “An announcement was made that all performers should get onstage” — to join Dion for a group rendition of “Runaround Sue” — “so I went up there. At first, I stood in back with Liza Minnelli, Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson.”
But then he made a more brazen move: “I started walking toward the center and kept going. A mic was in myface, I started singing, center stage, next to one of Dion’s backup vocalists. I felt like [Minnelli, Houston and Jackson] were my backup singers.” The moment is captured forever on video.
For the seventh game of the 1994 Stanley Cup Finals at Madison Square Garden, he was doing well enough working as a financial adviser to buy season tickets for the Rangers. Nevertheless, he came to the final game carrying a couple of old MSG all-access passes — one of which was a fake — and sauntered into the home team’s locker room to celebrate the win. His own trophy? Posing with the Cup.
After a while, crashing became less about rubbing elbows with famous and important people. “It had become a game,” said Schmell. “I was more interested in winning the game than in meeting interesting people.”
Eventually, though, therapy helped him rethink his life of scams. “I [had] thought I was something,” said Schmell. “But I was uninvited [to] the places and uncomfortable in my own skin. The thrill was gone.”
Still, he couldn’t resist one last crash. At the 1998 NBA All-Star Game, he had tickets for the second level — but strolled down to the courtside seats and interrupted a conversation between Jack Nicholson and Spike Lee. “I said, ‘Jack! How are you doing?’ He put his hand in the air as if to say, ‘Whois this guy?’ I had a camera, handed it to someone nearby and asked him to take a picture of me with Jack and Spike.”
Today, Schmell, who is divorced and has two daughters, may have lost his appetite for crashing but not his confidence. “I don’t do it anymore. But I could,” he said. “I think I still have the gift.”