A moment of personal privilege today.

I found out yesterday that my friend Jeff Wright passed away on Monday.  It wasn't from the coronavirus -- Jeff had gotten pounded by cancer 2-1/2 years ago and battled strongly against it, going through lots of procedures, having it come back, and fighting it again, but ultimately it was just too much.

I knew Jeff for 30 years.  We weren't in close, regular contact -- we spoke or sent emails a couple times a year, and every once in a while we would have lunch...though it was a treasured friendship that lasted for 30 years, well-worth keeping up for three decades specifically because he was an absolutely wonderful guy.  Truly nice, just gentle and selfless, decent almost to a fault.  Really.

No, really -- so decent that it genuinely was almost to a fault.  Sometimes you'd almost have to shake him silly to stop being so freaking decent.  Really.  Jeff was a very talented writer.  Years back, in the very early days of his career, he co-wrote the first draft of a screenplay with another guy I know (who we'll call Ralph).  Ralph had a touch more experience and credits, and told Jeff that it would be far beneficial to both their careers if he, Ralph, took sole credit on their draft so that when he and another highly-established writer did the second draft, Ralph's stock would rise more separately than as a team and allow him to bring Jeff along when they did their next script together.  Jeff knew it would be important for him to get credit, but with his ethereally good, selfless nature didn't want to stand in the way of the insistence of his slightly-more experienced partner, didn't want to block the project which was moving forward when the new writer got involved, and agreed on the future benefit.  (I found all this out after the fact.)  The movie got made, was moderately successful, and Jeff was paid, but deeply warm-hearted Jeff never got that boost on their next "we're partners" script together, since it never occurred,  But whenever I see the movie every time it shows up on TV -- and it periodically does -- I think of it as Jeff's script, as much as anyone's.

Okay, another screenwriting story on his decency almost to a fault, though fortunately with a better ending.  Jeff had written a lovely children's adventure screenplay and gave co-story credit to the person who typed the script.  I couldn't understand -- Jeff explained that he didn't have enough money to pay her in full what she deserved but she'd given him some feedback on the script, so he said he'd give her co-story credit.  He knew full-well that giving feedback was not even remotely writing, but...he'd given his word.  However, when I made clear that he'd never be able to use the script as a sample of his work with someone else's name also on it and kept pounding that in relentlessly against his insistence that he'd promised, he'd promised, "but I promised," he finally agreed to change the title page, worked things out with the typist and thank goodness took his proper full credit.

Happily, Jeff did get a co-writing credit on a fairly-high profile movie that made it to the theaters, though it didn't do well (long story about that...), the comedy BASEketball from David Zucker that starred Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park.  That was back in my dark days of PR and I did the publicity on the film -- the screenplay was a lot of fun, unfortunately the filmmakers just mucked it up trying to make a sweet PG movie into something R-rated, which they acknowledged later.

Aside from being so nice and decent, Jeff also loved baseball.  So, he gets a double-bonus on being an absolutely wonderful guy.  As I said, we didn't get together often or talk often, but it added up to a lot over 30 years, and every time we did I just felt better afterwards.  I'm just better for knowing Jeff.

The last time I saw Jeff was last year when we met for dinner at a restaurant in the Silverlake district that made Chicago-style deep dish pizza.  It also gave me the chance to finally meet his wife Laurie.  They'd married a few years back, but schedules never worked out.  Boy, did he marry well.  Just an absolutely lovely woman who Jeff adored, and who was a total, impressive, loving Rock of Gibraltar during his last very difficult couple of years.  It wasn't the proper ending, but -- sorry, I've got to use the pun because it fits too well -- it was the Wright life.

I'd met Jeff when I was hired to be the publicist on the Naked Gun films, and Jeff was working with the Zucker Bros. company.  And since they tended to put people around them in small roles of their films, Jeff was in a bunch of them.  In fact, because he'd started out as an aspiring actor before becoming a writer, he actually got lines!

And so, here he is in Naked Gun 2-1/2: The Smell of Fear.  ​Jeff plays a stock boy who comes in around the 30-second mark.

However, the walk-on role that Jeff got the most attention for came in the original The Naked Gun film -- because it involved the famous, hugely-popular sequence when Leslie Nielsen pretends to be opera singer Enrico Pallazzo and destroys singing the National Anthem.  Jeff played the Dodger Stadium usher who has to go get Signor Pallazo and bring him to the field.  That's Jeff coming down the hallway at the 2-minute mark.
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So, happily, Jeff Wright will live on in film.  But of course SO far, far, far more he will live on for his profound decency, warmth and glowing kindness in all those people who so-dearly admired and appreciated him.

(That's Reiner's daughter Annie in between him and Brooks.  The photo was taken two days ago.)

​I was going to say that I didn't have any stories from crossing paths with Carl Reiner ​...but then I remembered that I did, although we didn't talk.

In late-2005, during "awards season," I went to a small Academy screening of Hustle & Flow, the film that won a Best Song Oscar for "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp."). It was held in a screening room that could seat about 70 people.  Only a handful of us were there early, when I noticed by the door that Carl Reiner had showed up to check in.  What stood out was that the young guard checking in guests had no idea who Carl Reiner was and had to ask his name and slowly go through the list of names.  Through the slow process Reiner was incredibly polite, with no whiff at all of "How dare you!" petulance for not being recognized and having to wait.  However, the few of us in the screening room saw all this and burst into laughter. When Reiner finally get OK'd for being on the list and walked in, those few of us gave him our "thumbs up" for getting approved, and he just graciously and sort of sheepishly shrugged. Mainly, I admired that Carl Reiner -- then 84 -- went to Hustle & Flow ​.

I did get to meet with his son.  I only mention that because the two were very close, and I sense that Rob Reiner got his core and compass very strongly from his parents.  It was when Reiner and his partner were looking to hire a story editor. I eventually got called in to meet with him, and we spent an hour talking.  He came across as extremely personable, a highly-focused and smart, fun guy who was a terrific storyteller.  Which, again -- from all I know about them, and to bring the story back full circle -- I have always sensed he got from his mother and father. 

(Quickly, to finish the tale, in the end the partners felt their two-man operation was too small -- their Castle Rock company was still a few years away -- and so they didn't hire anybody.) 

​​There's so much video to choose from to show for Carl Reiner, but I don't think you can go with anything first other than him with Mel Brooks as the "2,000 Year-Old Man."  So, here they are in 1966 on the Hollywood Palace, ​hosted by Phil Silvers.

And as a bonus, because this is Carl Reiner, after all, so why limit ourselves to just one video, here he is as the host on the classic parody from Your Show of Shows of the TV program ​This is Your Life.

​Last week, I mentioned that the Jimmy Kimmel Live show had a full half-hour tribute to the late Fred Willard, who made a great many appearances on the show in sketches.  Only one nine-minute segment was made available online, but now, after a week they make the full program available on their website.

I can't embed it, but you can watch the whole thing here, and it's wonderful.  Very funny, very touching and full of great testimonials from people who worked with him with admiration over the years.

Today is the 96h birthday of Broadway lyricist Sheldon Harnick, who won a Tony Award for Fiddler on the Roof, a Pulitzer Price for Fiorello!, and such other musicals with Jerry Bock as She Loves Me, The Apple Tree, The Rothschilds, Rex (with Richard Richard Rodgers), and the opera Captain Jinks and the Horse Marines -- and much more.

I interviewed him years ago when I was a student at Northwestern, and he returned to campus as Homecoming Grand Marshall.  I made a radio documentary from it and two decades later when I finally tracked down his address through a mutual friend to send him a copy -- and when I told my mother that I finally found someone who knew where Harnick lived, she said, "Oh, you mean, Aunt Joan?"  I was floored.  I never had any idea that they grew up together and went to college together.  Though. no, she didn't have her address.  When I sent him the radio documentary though and explained my further connection, he sent a handwritten note back, and the first line was, "OH, MY GOD!!!  JOAN SERED!!! (which was her maiden name.  And yes, this is the Aunt Joan who I wrote about here back in January for her surprise 90th birthday party.)  Though they've periodically crossed paths over the many decades, I was able to get them together 13 years ago when we all saw a production of his show She Loves Me at the Writers Theatre in Glencoe, Illinois.  (And yes, this was the production I've written about several times that starred Jessie Mueller before she left for Broadway and won a Tony Award for starring in the musical Beautiful.)

But enough of all that.  On with the show.  Here's a wonderful, hour-long interview with Sheldon Harnick at the Kennedy Center six years ago when he was 90, and you'll see he's vibrant and entertaining.

And here's one of my favorite of his lesser-known songs, "In My Own Lifetime," from The Rothschilds, which starred Hal Linden who won the Tony Award as Best Actor.  Harnick writes poetically and richly with the simplicity of almost everyday language, which is his hallmark.

And we'll end our celebration with this video from two years ago -- when Harnick was 94 -- singing absolutely wonderfully one of his classics, "Do You Love Me?" from Fiddler on the Roof with Judy Blazer.
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 I was a little surprised to learn that Broadway songwriter Jerry Herman passed away at the age of 88.  Not surprised that he died, but that it took me almost a week to know about it, and that only by accident.  I've since learned that it got well-covered in the New York Times (as it should) and in the trade papers (as it should), but it rally went under the wire everywhere else it seems.  I didn't see it even mentioned on MSNBC, and I had the station on for hours a day every day.  

The thing is, whether one was a big fan of his work or thought he was slight, that's beside the point.  He wrote three Broadway musicals that were massive hits.  (The first-ever to write three musicals that each ran over 1,500 performances.)  Two of them were significant.  One was critically important to popular culture. In fact, its title song knocked The Beatles out of #1 on the charts.

The three were Hello, Dolly! that ran for 2,844 performances (that's around seven years), which at the time made it the longest-running musical in Broadway history.  Mame had 1,508  performances, and La Cage aux Folles ran for 1,761 performances.  He also had a big hit with his first book musical, Milk & Honey.  In addition, the Broadway revue Jerry's Girls with his songs had a successful run, and he wrote the enjoyable score to the CBS movie, Mrs. Santa Claus, as well as several other Broadway shows, none which were successful, though most had very nice scores.  He won two Tony Awards and received a Lifetime Achievement Tony.
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I was trying to figure out which of his songs to post here -- and which version of them -- and then I figured that the best thing to do was post two videos -- the first from his Kennedy Center Honor (there are two videos of this, but the first part doesn't seem to be accessible. Happily this is the entertainment portion), and the second from a tribute celebration at the Hollywood Bowl.  

This begins with Kelsey Grammar who starred in the revival of La Cage aux Folles.

​And here's about 25 minutes from a wonderful tribute to Jerry Herman at the Hollywood Bowl in 1993, which ends with a rousing performance by Herman himself at the piano singing his song, "The Best of Times" from La Cage aux Folles, joined by the entire cast.

Sorry to hear about the passing of Tim Conway whose work I loved -- though I suspect I'm not alone.  He was 85.  I don't have much of a story about crossing paths with him, it was only once and very brief.  I was a few years out of UCLA grad school and visiting CBS Television City on some work-related appointment.  I got on the elevator, and Tim Conway was on, as well.  I've always been pretty low-key about stargazing, but still this was Tim Conway whose work I loved.  So, for me, I went all out and nodded with a smile.  And he gave a nice, warm greeting back.  It's not much to convey, I know, and it's hard to get across, but this actually stood out to me all these years -- not for the nod, but because I've dealt with enough celebrities over time, and even an brief exchange this brief and minimalistic was actually very warm and friendly.  From what I've later hear over the years, that was not surprising in the slightest.

For all his work on TV and in movies acting with others, Conway was probably best known for his sketches with Harvey Corman.  It wasn't just because they were so good together, but because it was difficult for Corman to keep a straight face, and much of the fun was seeing how long he could go before breaking.

Here's a sketch they did later in their career, live at some event.  What stands out is how long both of them, but Conway in particular, are able to stretch out something as simple as buying a ticket, and keep it funny.  What also stands out is the musicians -- who tend to be jaded, having seen it all -- behind them laughing,   And as much as Korman is able to make it through the sketch in one piece, yes, he does fight to keep from breaking a few times.  Without full success.

And okay, here's a bonus.  It's Tim Conway and Harvey Korman's most-famous sketch, 'The Dentist' on The Carol Burnett Show.  Famous (again) not just for being funny, but for Korman's eventual inability to keep from laughing at Conway and his struggles trying not to.

Very sorry to read about the passing of screenwriter William Goldman at the age of 87.  His list of screenplays is voluminous, just touching on them includes Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All the President's Men, (which both won Oscars for Best Screenplay), The Princess Bride (based on his novel), Misery, A Bridge Too Far, Marathon Man, Absolute Power, The Hot Rock, Maverick, Chaplin, The Great Waldo Pepper -- and remarkably much more.  He also wrote more than a dozen novels, including the book No Way to Treat a Lady (written under a pseudonym, Harry Longbaugh -- oddly enough, the real name of the Sundance Kid -- on which the wonderful movie was based, written before his screenwriting career.  And among his non-fiction work, he most-famously wrote the classic book about screenwriting and Hollywood, Adventures in the Screen Trade, which included the now-famous, regularly-quoted line, "No one knows anything."  Its sequel is pretty good, too, with the great title, Which Lie Did I Tell?  (That's a quote from a movie producer he was in a meeting with, when the guy put a phone caller on holder, buzzed his secretary and asked her the question.)  And a great book on Broadway, The Season.
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His brother James was an extremely talented writer, as well, with works that include the play and movie, A Lion in Winter, for which he too won a Best Screenplay Oscar, and the the book for the Stephen Sondheim musical, Follies. 

This may now seem like a pointless digression, but trust me, it's not. 

I've mentioned on these pages attending a summer camp in Wisconsin, Camp Nebagamon, for many years, as a very young family-camper, doctor's son, camper and counselor.  Many decades ago, during my counselor phase, some friends picked me up after camp ended one year and we all went on a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in Minnesota.  That winter, I was talking with one of them on the phone when we both away at college, and he mentioned he'd just finished reading a novel, Your Turn to Curtsy, My Turn to Bow, which takes place at a summer camp, and he said that it reminded him so much of Camp Nebagamon, which he had seen for about a total of 90 minutes, especially the drive in along the lake front.  After I noted that the book was by William Goldman, I asked him to guess what summer camp Goldman had gone to.  Yes, Camp Nebagamon.  In fact, when I went to the library shortly after and found the book the passage where the main character enters the camp is a near-exact description of the lakefront path into the camp.

Little known fun-fact.  There was an unsuccessful musical written in the early 1960s, A Family Affair, that nonetheless had quite a wonderful pedigree.  It was written by three young mn near the beginnings of their respective careers -- William Goldman, James Goldman and composer John Kander, (who went on to write Cabaret and Chicago, among a great many others, but with a different partner, Fred Ebb). What most people wouldn't know, though, is that the three all met at Camp Nebagamon.  (Well, okay, Bill and Jim knew each other before...)

Other than that tangential overlap with Goldman, I actually had a couple of real-life overlaps.

The Goldman family was from Highland Park, Illinois, which is the town that borders Glencoe, where I grew up, and where my dad had his medical office.  I think possibly my grandparents may have slightly known William Goldman's parents, though I know that my parents did, since they both belonged to Northmoor Country Club there.  One summer, after getting my Masters degree in screenwriting my UCLA, I was home, and stopped by the pool where my mother was sitting with Goldman's mother.  My mom introduced us and explained I had just got my post-graduated degree in screenwriting, and Mrs. Goldman said that I "should write Billy" and gave me his address in New York City.

After returning to Los Angeles, I did write him, and got back one of my most cherished letters, which I still have.  It was a one-page typed note, complete with cross-outs that was as thoughtful, interesting and bluntly curmudgeonly as was William Goldman's reputation.  (See photo above...)  It also was virtually a one-page version of Adventures in the Screen Trade many years before that book was written -- and even includes the line, "No one knows anything."  There are two other favorite passages in the letter.  One is when he writes that he can be of absolutely no help to me in any way, shape or form, not even with a contact to his agent who is getting on in years and not taking on new clients, but that "You should use all the contacts you have (like my mother)".   I still laugh when I think of that line.  And the letter concludes with, "It is a mean, nasty, brutish business, but no one made you go into it."  About as Goldmanesque as you can get.  The very end of the letter says that with any luck I'll be in hock on a house and car and he wishes me luck.

The other path-crossing came when I was a very minor executive at Universal Pictures.  I had read the novel of The Princess Bride a few years before, and loved it, recommended by my friend Adam Bezark, but it was still a lesser-known work, the movie not having been made yet, nor would be for years.  I was curious though if a screenplay had ever been written and it turns out that Goldman had indeed done so, and I tracked down a copy.  Not shockingly, it was very good, though being a movie it only could tell the story on two levels (the main adventure and the one with the young boy with his grandfather, which in the book is his father) -- the third level, with Goldman talking directly to the reader about him supposedly adapting the "original book" by S. Morgenstern (which is not real) is hilarious, but totally literally and not something you could do in a movie.  Anyway, I had my secretary find Goldman himself, and I called him to discuss making a movie of the book.  (What can I say, I was years ahead of my time.  Again...)

It was a fascinating, and odd conversation.  He was crusty (see photo above...), and had dealt with far too many studio executives at that point to care deeply about one more, let alone a punk kid.  Out of semi-desperation I broke the ice a bit by noting that I'd written to him years before through his mother, and our Camp Nebagamon connection.  That helped, though only a small bit.  What what did break through was when I mentioned I was friends with another Nebagamonite, Adam Bezark (also like the Goldmans from Highland Park), whose father Bud had gone to camp with the Goldman brothers, and I knew they had stayed friends.  That helped with a connection being made.  But then the memorable exchange occurred.

One of the reasons why I wanted to talk with him before pitching the project to my direct boss, who was the head of the studio, was that "third level" which wasn't in the screenplay, the author talking to the reader.  I wanted to know anything about it being left out, or if he'd ever done something with that in any other draft?  But being young, and a little in awe, I didn't phrase it well, and any goodwill I'd built up was instantly gone.  Instantly.  He got immediately snarky and said something like, "No, when I wrote the script, I decided not to do the best job I could and didn't include what would I knew would make it even better."  As I began to panic, though, The Miracle occurred, and the gods stepped in and saved me.  The phone line actually went dead in mid-sentence.  I had my secretary reconnect us, but during that interim of relief I quickly tried desperately to figure out what I could say to save myself.  And I came up with something.  When we got connected again, I profusely apologized for my lack of clarity and said that what I really was trying to ask was whether or not he'd written other versions of the script for another medium -- like the theater or as a TV mini-series -- where he could use the narrator that was so wonderful in the book?  (Okay, that wasn't precisely what I really had been asking, only tangentially, but I figured it was close enough and a far better explanation than how I had bumbled through.)  The explanation happily placated him, he even seemed to appreciate it, and said no, he'd only written it as a screenplay.  The call concluded well, but unfortunately my bosses did not follow-up and make a movie of The Princess Bride.  And about five years later, someone else did.

Fun side note:  About five years ago, I read an article that Goldman was involved with adapting The Princess Bride for...the theater!!!!  Perhaps as a musical.  Nothing came of it -- yet at least, so who knows? -- but once again:  years ahead of my time.

Very sorry to read about William Goldman's passing.  Very happy for all the great work he left behind.

First, the disclaimer:  this is about baseball.

Now, the admonition:  don't give up on this yet.  After I tell you about it, if you still don't want to watch the video, fair enough.  But this is mainly about Bob Costas, so give it a chance.

I love Bob Costas.  He's not only a terrific baseball announcer, he's a terrific announcer for any sport he does.  He has a sense of history and perspective, and brings to it whatever he's announcing.  And he may be at his peak when he's the anchor of some sporting event, like the Olympics.  He is an impeccable storyteller and has a sense of great decency, but is laser-like pointed when discussing difficult issues and in his interviewing.  Indeed, he's had interview shows that have nothing to do with sports.

I crossed paths with him briefly, during my dark days of publicity, when I worked on the movie, BASEketball, in which he appeared, with a bunch of other sportscasters, though he was the main one.  Before production, I had get to biographical information from him, so I called his office, which was at his home in St. Louis.  As it happened, he answered the phone.  His secretary was out, and he didn't get a replacement to fill in, he just handled what was needed.  Well, as best he could -- he admitted being a total techno-luddite.  We had a very enjoyable conversation, but when it came to faxing me his bio, he didn't have a clue how to do it, and he'd need to have his secretary do it when she got back.  Keep in mind, this is a guy who has won 20 Emmy Awards!  He lives in the world of technology and its pinnacle.  And he didn't know how to fax.  (Put paper in slot.  Dial phone number.  Tap send.)

We got to spend more time on the movie set, and it was a pleasure talking with him.  Smart, personable and very approachable.  He's also very religious, and said he wasn't sure he'd be okay with his young kids seeing the R-rated movie.  But he willingly did any of the odd, occasionally raunchy things the filmmakers had him do.  He didn't try to impose his views on anyone.  The only request he made -- and it was a request -- was about a joke that would have a personal impact on one of his family members, and he wondered if the filmmakers could address it differently.  They happily just took it out.

That brings us to now.  Bob Costas finally was elected into the Broadcast Wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame, receiving the Ford C. Frick Award.  Why it took him this long is beyond me, he should have gotten the honor a decade ago.  But no matter.  He was elected and he made no bones about being the greatest honor of all he's received -- which are a great many, including eight Sportscaster of the Year Awards.

The short version of my rant. 
 
As you might imagine, I really wanted to see Costas’s induction speech but it got buried, and I missed it.  (They held his induction the day before the player inductions this year -- I think they're usually at the same ceremony, but since there were six ballplayers elected this year, it was probably deemed too many for the same day.)  And the MLB Network hasn’t repeated the broadcast.  And (worse) the Baseball Hall of Fame website doesn’t have ANY of the speeches on their site. (Not just from this year, but any from the past, either.  Which is an idiot decision, since it would drive traffic to their site).  And I could find none of the speeches on YouTube.
 
I’ve searched online and nothing, but fortunately, I did find ONE place that has the audio of it.  But then, much to my pleasure, the inveterate Chris Dunn -- he of many talents, several of them very usual, the remainder mostly intriguing -- actually tracked the video down.  
 
You will also not be shocked to know – 1) being the impeccable storyteller I noted above that he is, it’s 33 minutes, 2) it’s absolutely tremendous, and 3) it’s seems like about 12 minutes.  And being Costas, he mostly talks about other people.  

While it's about baseball, it's as much about personalities, and about what is important in sport and life.  If you don't like baseball, fine, I get it.  But this is Bob Costas.  The Hall of Fame.  It's really wonderful.

[NOTE: This video seems to automatically repeat, and I can't find a way to pause it.  But you can stop it by reloading the page, or if you want to stay on the page, at least hit the Mute button.]

There have been a bunch of postings on social media today about it being the birthday of Fred Gwynne, who passed away in 1993 at the age of 67.  And all of these postings have a photo of him from the TV series The Munsters, clearly his more recognizable role.  But --

Back in my dark days when I was a unit publicist, I worked on the Stephen King film Pet Sematary that Fred was the co-star of.  He gave a extremely good performance and was a nice man -- not overly outgoing, but personable and approachable.  But when it came time for me to interview him...he would NOT talk about The Munsters.  He almost shut down when I brought the topic up.  And no, it's not that I just sort of got that impression, but he specifically said that he wouldn't talk about it.  He fully recognized that the show made him famous, and clearly there were benefits from that, but he said bluntly it pretty much ruined his acting career.  He was deeply typecast and couldn't get roles -- or at least decent roles -- for a long time.  Happily, late in career he started getting hired in some solid roles and gave wonderful performances, most particularly in The Cotton Club memorably paired alongside Bob Hoskins, but also My Cousin Vinnie, as the judge, and the aforementioned, Pet Sematary.  Unfortunately, he passed away in the midst of this long-overdue renaissance -- but at least he had the renaissance.

And lest one think that he was being presumptuous about his acting career -- know that he appeared on Broadway quite a bit, making his debut in Mrs. McThing (by Mary Chase, who wrote Harvey) opposite Helen Hayes.  And his first movie, though uncredited, was On the Waterfront.  And during the years he had difficulty getting solid roles in films and TV, he returned to the stage often, such as the Broadway revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof as 'Big Daddy,' and in two parts of the Broadway production of A Texas Trilogy, as well as the stage manager in the American Shakespeare Festival production of Our Town.  He was also a good singer -- appearing on Broadway in the Meredith Willson musical, Here's Love, based on The Miracle on 34th Street, for which I included one of his songs here.  And I also embedded a video of him here singing a song in his first sitcom, Car 54, Where Are You?  And an accomplished painter and illustrated and wrote several well-regarded children's books.  

I've tried to "correct the record" when I've seen some social media postings on Fred with those photos, since I'm certain it would have galled him.  But that's an uphill battle with no expectation of success.  But at least here I can not only give the proper record -- but have a proper photo, as well.

And what the heck, let's end it with a bonus:  Here's Fred Gwynne singing Gilbert & Sullivan's "A Policeman's Lot" (from The Pirates of Penzance, though with altered lyrics) from an episode of Car 54, Where Are You?. at the precinct's holiday party.

The celebrated writer Harlan Ellison passed away the other day at the age of 84.  If you jump over to Mark Evanier's site, he has a couple of good pieces on him here and here.  (And check back there in a few days, as well, because he's swamped now, but has some other stories he'll be posting.)  However, there's also an excellent, long and detailed obituary that's really more of a personal remembrance of Ellison in the Chicago Tribune.  You can read that here. 

Among other things, I had no idea about him suing the makers of The Terminator (though him suing anybody doesn't remotely surprise me) and winning a settlement, which included adding an acknowledgement to him in the film's credits.

All the articles on his passing have one thing in common -- their conflict between praising a tremendous writer and wonderful man...and his profound curmudgeon who could be brutally harsh.  One thing that writers did love him for is his unabashed support for writers against their mistreatment by publishers, studios, executives and pretty much anyone.  He could get away with it because, being Harlan Ellison, he couldn't be any other way, but also being such a wonderful writer who worked in many different fields, he had no fear of being confrontational.
 
I only crossed paths with him a couple times, and he certainly was a unique fellow.  One time was at Writers Guild retreat where he was one of the guest speakers.  I remember his first line, even though it was from over two decades ago.  "I'm a better writer than everyone in this room."  (He probably was.  But what a way to win over a crowd.  He did eventually, but it took a while...)

The first time I came into contact with him was  from a two-day seminar he lead when I was at UCLA grad school, getting my MFA in screenwriting.  For Day 1, he got three famous sci-fi writers to discuss what a planet society could be like (the climate, landscape, people, politics…), and then that was put into a pamphlet.  Then on Day 2, three other famous sci-fi writers discussed what stories could come from that.  I recall they named the planet, “Medea:  Harlan’s World.”  I had the presence of mind to save my pamphlet – though like a fool, didn’t take many dozens – and got all those participants present to sign it.  Those who participated in Part 1 but who weren't there were Poul Anderson, Larry Niven, Frederick Pohl, and Hal Clement.  But the people who did sign my pamphlet were Ellison, Frank Herbert, Theodore Sturgeon, Robert Silverberg, and Thomas Disch.  If you don't read science fiction, you likely won't know these names -- though may know Frank Herbert, who wrote Dune.  If you do read science fiction, you're likely agog.  (What ultimately came from this pamphlet and seminar is a book with those short stories and others.  You can read about it here.
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​​​Probably a couple decades later, I ran into him when I was working at Universal Pictures, and I had a rare treat – being able to impress Harlan Ellison.  I told him that I had a copy of that pamphlet with all those signatures, and he was boggled.  “That’s worth a lot of money, you know…”  Just impressing Harlan Ellison may have been worth more.