Gentleman Jack

In the coming days, far fancier people than I will be telling the world what a superb man Jack Valenti was. This afternoon, Kirk Douglas, Steven Spielberg and Sumner Redstone were just the first of many names to offer superlatives about the former MPAA chief, philanthropist, author, Presidential Aide, War hero, and, as my dad calls him, one of the best "people persons" ever to show up.

The LA Times and Washington Post will give you his absurd list of accomplishments. Their gushing tone will tell you, this was not your usual A-List Power Broker. This morning President Bush called Jack, a lifelong Democrat, because even he knows that the extraordinary humanity of Jack Valenti trumps politics. It trumps everything. Simply put, Jack was just the best.

I have been fortunate enough to orbit in Jack's universe for most of my life, growing up with his children, who are dear friends. They often told me I was kind of a favorite of Jack's, which meant more to me than just about any accolade I could imagine. Not because Jack's circle included world leaders and Hollywood legends, but because I knew how fiercely he loved his brood, and how deeply he felt his loyalties. As I would learn as the years passed, when Jack considered you family, it was with full understanding of the weight of the word.

Yes, there will be a lot written about Jack Valenti in the next few weeks. Probably none of it will mention his well-stocked fridge, which could always be raided for excellent leftovers. Or his well-appointed den, where I first fell in love with movies, laying on the floor during Thanksgiving and Christmas vacations, watching early releases of upcoming blockbusters, interspersed with the classics. For some reason, Giant was always playing, which, in retrospect, seems oddly appropriate. If for no other reason than the unshakable sense that Jack's heart was as big as Texas, and that he and James Dean were about the same height.

Thanks to conversations that took place in that den over the years, I ended up pursuing a career in Hollywood, starting at the very bottom of the food chain. Sure enough, as I was double parking Andy Garcia's car at a Godfather III event at Paramount, there was Jack, with a studio head in tow. He didn't flinch at the sight of me, the sweating assistant. He didn't turn away. He gave me the Jack bear hug, and made me feel like the most worthy person on the lot.

Over the next ten years, I got to see Jack at work. In his element. Specifically, in his tux. It was a second skin. And nobody looked better in one. He loved his work. He loved the movies. He loved the artists. And he loved the art of the business. He was inexhaustible. Speaking, travelling, writing. Just a few months ago, at 85, he finished his memoirs. To go with the other half dozen or so books he published. And as for giving speeches... forget it. No one beats him. He should've written a book on it. Oh wait, he did.

A few years ago, I ran into him on a red carpet, flashbulbs following him. It was classic Jack. "Bill! let me introduce you to Warren Beatty." I guess I wasn't the kid on his living room floor anymore. I told Jack I had produced a movie that had just won the Cannes Film Festival. He looked at me, that twinkle in his eye. He was proud, yes, but what came out of his mouth next said everything about the man, and taught me, in that instant, what he wanted me to know about life. "How's your mother, Bill? Will you send her my love?"

The next year, Jack became President of the Global Fight Against AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria.

What can you say about a man like that? A man who knew his time on earth was limited, and made the most of every minute. A man who swam with the sharks, yet made friends everywhere, and rarely enemies. A man who packed more into one lifetime than most of us could in ten. A man who loved his family, his friends, his work, and treated everyone he encountered with utmost dignity.

I guess you could say we were richer for knowing him, and poorer without him.