Story time! My grandpa was Leonard Bernstein. Not the composer Leonard Bernstein, but another NYC Leonard Bernstein. But occasionally, there would be mixups.
They ran into each other at a restaurant once and shared a chuckle, when the staff paged Leonard Bernstein to come to the desk for a phone call.
The best was when my grandpa was harassed by the mother of a violin prodigy for a few months. She kept calling him on nights and weekends. Finally he shouted at her, "Lady, I live in the suburbs on Long Island, what makes you think I'm the composer Leonard Bernstein!?"