When I was 8 or 9 years old in the mid ’80s, we lived in a small town in Georgia. I had been having sore throats and sinus problems, so I was referred to a ENT in Augusta.
We went. He told me my tonsils must come out, and he’d take the adnoids while he was at it.
You’re asking why this has to do with James Brown at this point right?
Well, on the way out the door, this distinguished, if somewhat diminutive man, in a giant fur coat came in as we were leaving. He was followed by a larger, stocky man. My mom pushed me out the door and hissed  “That was James Brown.”
The things I remember most about the “encounter” were that his coat was insane and his vehicle was shitty. I remember thinking if I was famous, I’d always be in a limo. Today, it’d be a Town car. I love Town cars.
Also, if James Brown trusted this doctor with his throat, I figured I was in good hands.