Friday, September 11, 2009

"Fonzie!"


Sometimes the characters that actors play have more meaning than they themselves realize.

This essay by Henry Winkler appeared in Guideposts magazine.

For years I played one of television's most popular characters, The Fonz—Arthur Fonzarelli, also known as Fonzie—that supercool guy on the hit series “Happy Days” who came on like Marion Brando in “The Wild One” but was really a street-sweet guy with a heart of gold.

Fonzie rode a motorcycle, and slicking-back his hair with a flick of his comb, set teenagers in the audience shrieking. Kids all around the country greeted each other with The Fonz's familiar, "Hey... ay... AY!"

In fact, Fonzie became such a part of American life that the black leather jacket he wore on the show is now displayed as part of the permanent collection at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.

Over the years “Happy Days” and all its characters and cast became like a real family to me. And yet, sometimes there were doubts in my mind about Fonzie. I was trained as a classical actor at Yale Drama School, and I'd always meant to be a "serious" actor—doing drama, not comedy. And there were times when interviewers asked me if I felt I was "compromising myself" by playing a character like The Fonz.

Well, I'd answer that every acting job is important if it's conveying a worthwhile message and you adapt the part to your own talents and tastes. That it took every bit of my training and skill to make the character of Fonzie come alive on the home screen—and that it was more demanding to play comedy and bring it off successfully. I meant every word of what I said, but occasionally I too would wonder: Was playing the character of Fonzie doing anybody any good?

I'd been raised in the Jewish faith and still felt a real peace and closeness to God when I worshiped in a synagogue. Was I doing what I was really meant to do? Was I using my God-given talents in the best possible way?

I'm chairman of an annual event called the Special Arts Festival that's held at the Music Center in Los Angeles. It's sort of a special olympics of the arts, where children with mental and physical handicaps come to perform in their own amateur theatrics, to show their talents, and exhibit their artwork.

The walls are filled with paintings done by the boys and girls, music rings out as they play instruments and sing songs. It's an exciting time for everyone as the kids have a chance to display what they can do and become aware of the special contributions they can make.

Children are there from all backgrounds and all walks of life, and as I walk through the crowds, I do a lot of hugging. I hold the hand of a little girl in a wheelchair. I joke with a young boy without a leg.

Several years ago there was such a racket that it's amazing I heard the voice at all. "Fonzie," someone said. A small, shy voice in all the hubbub. "Fonzie!"

A little girl with large brown eyes and dark curls looked up at me. She was perhaps five years old—just staring at me. She didn't say another word. She wouldn't answer my questions. I just figured she was simply one of those shy ones that you see occasionally.

I told the little girl how glad I was to see her, then stood up and looked into the face of the woman who must have been her mother. But why were the woman's eyes shiny with tears?

The crowd closed around us and l went on.

And then one day I got a letter—from the mother of the little girl. She told me all about her daughter—I'll call her Claire. Claire was autistic.

Autistic children are locked in a world of their own and rarely speak or communicate with others. For reasons doctors and psychologists still don't understand, autistic children are so totally self-absorbed that they don't seem to realize that anyone else exists at all.

In the entire five years of her life, Claire had not spoken a single word. Until she called out... "Fonzie!" Somehow the character of Fonzie had broken through to her, enabling her in that one mysterious moment to make a connection. With life.

The next year Claire was at the festival again, and I eagerly went to see her. This time her voice was firm and clear. "Hi, Fonzie," she said.

"Claire's teachers say she now has a vocabulary of over 50 words," her mother told me. "They can't believe what's happened."

Just at that moment Claire tugged at my hand. "My sister," she said, pointing out the young girl standing close to us. "Hug her, too."

Sometimes we wonder if we're doing our best for God. We're not sure if we're doing what we should with the gifts He gave us. That little girl showed me that we simply have to do whatever comes our way to the best of our abilities. And trust that God will find His way to touch someone else with them.

And what is that trust called? It's called faith.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Remembering Walter Cronkite


It’s not surprising that the country’s top broadcast journalists would have shown up today for the Walter Cronkite memorial at Lincoln Center’s Avery Fisher Hall. The real testament to “the most trusted man in America” is that a former president, Bill Clinton, and the current president, Barack Obama, took time out to honor someone who was neither a head of state nor a beloved movie star. They were recognizing a journalist, and that made me so proud of our profession.

But Walter Cronkite was no ordinary journalist. As Clinton said in his remarks, the proof of how respected he was is that Obama, on one of the most important days “of his young presidency” -- he is set to deliver an address tonight to a joint session of Congress on his health care plan -- would fly to New York this morning to offer his praise.

The program opened with “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band playing “Stars and Stripes,” Cronkite’s favorite march, and one for which he holds the distinction of being one of only two civilians to conduct it, the other being John Philip Sousa.

Sean McManus, president of CBS News and Sports, remembered Cronkite calling him on his first day on the job to say, “Hello, boss.” “The thought that I could somehow be Walter Cronkite’s boss was the height of absurdity,” he said. He spoke of Cronkite’s sense of humor, as many of the following speakers would as well, and his “warmth and compassion” that “were almost indescribable.”

Another who received a Cronkite welcoming call on his first day was Leslie Moonves, president and CEO of the CBS Corporation. “I thought, ‘Man, you have a cool job.’ He was a true gent. He allowed us to see his grief, his pride and sometimes his outrage.”

Clinton took the podium accompanied by a standing ovation and talked about watching TV news while growing up in Arkansas. “I have to confess my mother favored Huntley and Brinkley,” he said. But that changed after they spent the day of Nov. 22, 1963 watching CBS’s coverage of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination. “After that we lived with Walter Cronkite. That’s all we knew.”

Then he shared an even more personal story. As president, he had gotten to know the then-retired Cronkite through social functions. “I just wound up being crazy about the guy. I thought he was one of the most interesting men I ever saw.” But it was during “a very tumultuous summer in our lives” -- when Clinton was facing impeachment over the Monica Lewinsky affair -- that he really came to appreciate the veteran newsman.

Clinton had gone to Martha’s Vineyard with Hillary and Chelsea. Cronkite, who had a home there, called and invite the Clintons to go sailing with him and his beloved wife, Betsy.

“He did something for my family that was so simple,” but was a gesture with profound impact. Clinton said that in making the invitation Cronkite had said the president might be followed by photographers, but not to worry. Clinton joked that he definitely hadn’t been concerned. “At that time I could have done with a picture with Walter Cronkite.” That comment brought a roar of laughter from the he crowd.

“He was a good man,” Clinton said in conclusion. “That’s just the way it was. I’m here to say ‘thank you’ to a profoundly good human being.”

Next up was a short, gray-haired man with a guitar. “It’s hard to follow Bill Clinton,” he said. “I’m Jimmy Buffett. Walter was my sailing buddy and I’ll always cherish that.” He then sang his classic song, “Son of a Sailor.”

Through all of this, a large black and white photo of Cronkite smiled down from over top of the stage. The testimonials proved he was larger than life in death just as he had been in life.

Following Cronkite’s death at 92 on July 17, many writers described his passing as the end of an era, but “he deserved his own era,” Sir Howard Stringer, former president of CBS News and Corporation, said. He gave three reasons why Cronkite inspired so much respect. First, his personality, with “his wicked sense of humor and lack of pretension.” Second, his self-awareness -- he knew his job but did it without ego. Third, his leadership skills.

“He cared, but he didn’t pander,” Stringer said. “He was the maestro of the newsroom. The biography of broadcast news is surely Walter Cronkite.”

Newsman and columnist Nick Clooney said he became friends with Cronkite late in life. “I never saw him pessimistic, even at his great age,” he said. “He still believed in it all. It was not important that we trusted Walter. What was important was that Walter trusted us.”

He recalled a touching story about a dinner he had had with Cronkite this past March at a time when it was hard for Cronkite to get around. Cronkite was his usual lively self though, Clooney said, sitting with his back to the other diners in the crowded restaurant. When they were leaving, Cronkite walked on ahead and Clooney saw the reaction as people recognized the distinguished guest. “They didn’t applaud, but one by one they stood up because this is what you do when a gentleman is leaving the room.”

Tom Brokaw hailed Cronkite as “the godfather” who showed generations that followed how the profession should be practiced. “He had a romantic idea of what it was to be a journalist.” He also loved being out and about in New York City, Brokaw said, often ending his night with breakfast at the Copa Cabana.

Singer and pianist Michael Feinstein offered his praise in a song, “And That’s the Way It Is,” for which he wrote the music and William Schermerhorn wrote the lyrics. “’To anchor in a quiet cove/ As the sun turns sky to red;/ And toast the passing day/ With friends and song./ It doesn’t get much better!’/ That’s what the captain said./ ‘The seas will teach you things/ Your whole life long.’/ . . . You were the one who told our stories/ And now it’s time for us to say good night./ We’ll keep sailing around the bend/ And that’s the way it is, old friend.”

One of the funniest tributes was from “60 Minutes” commentator Andy Rooney who was in the audience but spoke on videotape, saying that he and Cronkite has been friends since 1944. Rooney got a kick out of how much Cronkite enjoyed all the awards he received after retiring. “He was the only man I knew who wore out three tuxedos accepting awards,” Rooney joked. He also told two stories centered around Cronkite’s hearing problems. In one case a stranger in a store walked up to Cronkite and asked him about someone and Cronkite, wanting to be polite, said, yes, he knew him, but not well. The stranger continued his questioning, wanting to know what Cronkite thought of the man and Cronkite was once again vague. Outside the store Betsy started to laugh and asked her husband if he had understood the name the man kept mentioning. Cronkite said he hadn’t. “It was Jesus Christ,” Betsy said.

That anecdote drew a great laugh from those present, as did the next story in which Cronkite was sailing his beloved boat and saw someone waving at him. He waved back and continued forward before getting stuck in the riverbed. Why didn’t you stop, he was asked, when the man told you it was low water. “I thought he was saying ‘hello, Walter,’” Cronkite replied.

Bob Schieffer, “Face the Nation” anchor, had his own great Cronkite story, one that showed Cronkite as the determined journalist he was. It was in 1976 when a fatal strain of flu was sweeping the country. The government was setting up vaccination programs, but the shots were making many people sick. People wanted to know if then-president Gerald Ford was going to get vaccinated. Barbara Walters, then a host of the “Today Show,” had lined up an exclusive with the president and told his staff if they allowed anyone to scoop her they would be killed. That’s how Schieffer told it. Well, Cronkite knew Walters had the exclusive, but he wasn’t deterred. He found out Ford was going to be in New York the afternoon before Walters’ interview was to run. He asked for time with the president, but was told no way. He then asked if he could just say hello to Ford. The president’s staff thought that sounded harmless and gave their approval. Then Cronkite said he wanted to bring a camera crew and was told he definitely could not. Cronkite persisted, saying he thought Ford would enjoy a record of their meeting. After hesitating, the president’s people finally said yes. Cronkite showed up with a microphone in his left hand, shook Ford’s hand and said, “So Mr. President, are you going to get your flu shot?” Ford assured him he would and that evening Cronkite beat Walters by leading his newscast with the announcement that in an exclusive interview President Ford had told him he would be vaccinated. It was his “nine second” scoop. One can only imagine how Walters fumed over that one.

Before Obama took the stand to loud cheers and a standing ovation, the Jazz at Lincoln Center Sextet, under the direction of Wynton Marsalis, performed and then flowed out into the theatre, serenading us up one aisle and down the other, with the audience clapping along. It was spectacular.

Then it was time for another of my heroes, President Obama (at the podium under the Cronkite photo). It was thrilling to be so close to him and hear and see him live. He said he didn’t know Cronkite personally but that he had “benefitted as a citizen from his dogged pursuit of the truth. Walter wasn’t afraid to rattle the high and mighty. He was a voice of certainty in a world that was growing ever more uncertain. He didn’t believe in dumbing down. He trusted us. Through all the events that defined the 20th century, Walter Cronkite was there.

“Walter Cronkite invited the nation to believe in him and he never betrayed that trust. We are grateful to him for altering and illuminating our time.”

In closing, the Marine Band performed “God of Our Fathers” and “God Bless America.” Needless to say, I was in tears.

Others who spoke during the 2 1/2-hour memorial, beautifully put together by CBS, included Katie Couric, astronaut Buzz Aldrin and Cronkite’s son, Chip. Outside on the plaza after the event more bold face names -- Diane and Charlie, Barbara, Phil and Marlo (another of my heroes) and many others who need only first names mingled.

I feel so fortunate that CBS gave me an excellent orchestra seat so I could be part of this amazing tribute. I had explained to them that Mr. Cronkite had written the introduction to my first book, Journalism Stories from the Real World. He had been there for me and now I wanted to be there for him.

It was a powerful tribute to a powerful man who wore his power lightly. I am honored that our names will be forever linked together on the cover of my book, and that I got to know this special man.

And that’s the way it will always be.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The ABCs of scripture


A Awake, awake; put on thy strength. . . . (Isaiah 52:1)

B Be ye kind. . . . (Ephesians 4:32)

C Create in me a clean heart, O God. . . . (Psalm 51:10)

D Do all to the glory of God. (I Corinthians 10:31)

E Every perfect gift is from above. . . . (James 1:17)

F Fear not: for I am with thee. . . . (Isaiah 43:5)

G Give us this day our daily bread. (Matthew 6:11)

H Hear my prayer, O God. . . . (Psalm 54:2)

I In the beginning God created. . . . (Genesis 1:1)

J Jesus himself drew near. . . . (Luke 24:15)

K Keep thy tongue from evil. . . . (Psalm 34:13)

L Let us love one another. . . . (I John 4:7)

M Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. . . . (Psalm 23:6)

N Now is the day of salvation. (II Corinthians 6:2)

O O sing unto the Lord a new song. . . . (Psalm 98:1)

P Pray without ceasing. (I Thessalonians 5:17)

Q Quicken me, O Lord. . . . (Psalm 143:11)

R Rejoice in the Lord your God. . . . (Joel 2:23)

S Seek ye first the kingdom of God. . . . (Matthew 6:33)

T Trust in the Lord. . . . (Proverbs 3:5)

U Unto thee, O God, do we give thanks. . . . (Psalm 75:1)

V The very hairs of your head are all numbered. (Matthew 10:30)

W We are labourers together with God. . . . (I Corinthians 3:9)

X Exercise thyself . . . unto godliness. (I Timothy 4:7)

Y Yield yourselves unto the Lord. . . . (II Chronicles 30:8)

Z Zion heard, and was glad. . . . (Psalm 97:8)


By Evelyn Bence

Friday, September 4, 2009


Happy Labor Day weekend!

Thursday, September 3, 2009

“The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions.”
-- Ellen Glasgow

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

DIANE SAWYER


As of January, Diane Sawyer will be ABC's new anchor for the evening news. I'm thrilled that two of the three network anchors will be women -- even if I can't watch because I don't have television (and have no desire for it).

Daring to Dream Big!
How Diane Sawyer learned to accomplish even her biggest dreams

Many of us, I think, can look back and recall certain specific moments in our lives that take on greater importance the longer we live. "The past has a different pattern," T.S. Eliot wrote, when viewed from each of our changing perspectives.

For me, one of those moments occurred when I was 17 years old. I was a high school senior in Louisville, Kentucky, representing my state in the 1963 America's Junior Miss competition in Mobile, Alabama. Along with the other young contestants, I was doing my best to hold up under the grueling week-long schedule of interviews, agonies over hair that curled or wouldn't, photo sessions, nervous jitters and rehearsals. In the midst of it all, there was one person who stood at the center—at least my psychological center—someone I viewed as an island in an ocean of anxiety.

She was one of the judges. A well- known writer. A woman whose sea-gray eyes fixed on you with laser penetration, whose words were always deliberate. She felt the right words could make all the difference. Her name was Catherine Marshall.

From the first moment I met Catherine Marshall, I was aware that she was holding me—indeed all of us—to a more exacting standard. While other pageant judges asked questions about favorite hobbies and social pitfalls, she sought to challenge. She felt even 17-year-old girls—perhaps especially 17-year-old girls—should be made to examine their ambitions and relate them to their values.

During the rehearsal on the last day of the pageant, the afternoon before it would all end, several of us were waiting backstage when a pageant official said Catherine Marshall wanted to speak with us. We gathered around. Most of us were expecting a last-minute pep talk or the ritual good luck wish. or at most an exhortation to be good citizens, but we were surprised.

She fixed her eyes upon us. "You have set goals for yourselves. I have heard some of them. But I don't think you have set them high enough. You have talent and intelligence and a chance. I think you should take those goals and expand them. Think of the most you could do with your lives. Make what you do matter. Above all, dream big."


It was not so much an instruction as a dare. I felt stunned, like a small animal fixed on bright lights. This woman I admired so much was disappointed in us—not by what we were but by how little we aspired to be.

I won the America's Junior Miss contest that year. In the fall I entered Wellesley College, where my sister. Linda, was beginning her junior year. I graduated in 1967 with a B.A. degree in English and a complete lack of inspiration about what I should do with it.

I went to my father, a lawyer and later a judge in Louisville's Jefferson County Court. "But what is it that you enjoy doing most?" he asked.

"Writing," I replied slowly. "I like the power of the word. And working with people. And being in touch with what's happening in the world."

He thought for a moment. "Did you ever consider television?"

I hadn't.

At that time there were few if any women journalists on television in our part of the country. The idea of being a pioneer in the field sounded like dreaming big. So that's how I came to get up my nerve, put on my very best Mary Tyler Moore girl journalist outfit, and go out to convince the news director at Louisville's WLKY-TV to let me have a chance.

He gave it to me—and for the next two and a half years, I worked as a combination weather and news reporter.
Eventually, though, I began to feel restless. I'd lie awake at night feeling that something wasn't right. I'd wait for the revelation, the sign pointing in the direction of the Big Dream. What I didn't realize is what Catherine Marshall undoubtedly knew all along—that the dream is not the destination but the journey.

I was still working at WLKY when, in 1969, my father was killed in an auto crash. His death—coupled with my urge to make a change—spurred me in the search for a different job and also seemed to kindle my interest in the world of government, law and politics. I racked my brain. I put out feelers. And then one of my father's associates said, "What about Washington?"

Several months later, in the autumn of 1970, I said goodbye to my mother and Linda and to the good folks at WLKY, and boarded a plane for Washington, D.C.

Now, I know this may sound incredibly naive, but when the plane landed at National Airport, I got off with a very firm idea of where I wanted to work. At the White House. True, in the eyes of official Washington I might be right off the equivalent of the turnip truck, but working in the White House was exactly what I had in mind!

Thanks to a few kind words of recommendation from a friend of my father's, I was able to obtain an interview with Ron Ziegler, the White House press secretary, and I was hired.

Those were heady days. The Press Office, located in the West Wing of the White House, was the hub for information flowing between the White House and the media. I worked hard and I worked long and loved every part of it.
Then came Watergate.

In the summer of 1974 the President resigned. Immediately I was appointed to his transition team in San Clemente, California.

My assignment on the West Coast was supposed to last only six months. But a few days after my arrival the President made a request that I was totally unprepared for. He asked me to consider staying on in San Clemente—along with several other writers and aides—to assist him in researching and writing his memoirs. I had to make a choice, and a choice that I knew would have consequences.

"Career suicide." mumbled some of my friends.

But I had worked for this man and he had been good to me. Now he was asking me for something that I was in a position to give. I have never regretted the decision. I stayed.

One day in the long exile, Catherine Marshall and her husband, Leonard LeSourd, called to say they were nearby. They came for a visit, and once again I felt the searching gaze and, implicit in it, the words. "What is next?" Again I came to appreciate the immense power of someone who is unafraid to hold other people to a standard. And again I realized the way a single uncompromising question can force reexamination of a life.

Today, after three years as co-anchor on the CBS Morning News, I'm co-editor of CBS's 60 Minutes television newsmagazine. We work at a breakneck pace with long hours and constant travel thrown in. I keep a suitcase packed at all times so that I can be ready to fly out on assignment at a moment's notice.

My New York apartment, which I see far too little of these days, has become my refuge, the place where I'm free to pad about in jeans and a sweatshirt—no makeup, no contact lenses, no hairspray. Sometimes I unwind by playing the piano. Or I relax by doing something simple but satisfying—baking a pan of muffins or cleaning out an old junk drawer.

These are the times of silent reassessment.

When I go out into the world again—and who knows where I'll be flying next?—I can almost hear a wonderful woman prodding me with her fiery challenge to stretch further and, no matter how big the dream, to dream a little bigger still.

God, she seems to be saying, can forgive failure, but not failing to try.


This essay by Diane Sawyer appeared in Guideposts Magazine.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Genesius


Genesius will be a joy for any lover of the theatre. Billed as “a new musical about the little theatre that could, did and still does,” this spirited new offering goes beyond the let’s-put-on-a-show backstage guts and glory story to tell at its center the true-life story of Jane Simmon Miller, a visionary who co-founded a theatre company for young people in a small town in Pennsylvania, transforming the lives of dozens of showbiz wannabes.

Miller, well portrayed by Beth Glover (in photo at right), was inspired to form her own company in Reading, PA, in 1971, along with Michael O’Flaherty, who wrote the music and lyrics for this show about their efforts.

Through bargaining, finagling and scheming, Miller takes over an abandoned storefront in a run-down part of town and scrapes together the materials to build a theatre space. If anyone tries to oppose her, she tells them she’s doing it for the arts, culture, civilization, and if that doesn’t work, she throws in grandly -- “and for the kids.”

She names her company Genesius in honor of the saint who is considered the patron of actors. When asked if she is religious, she replies: “No, I just think it’s a hoot that the Catholic Church has a saint that was an actor.” (Anyone wishing to see an icon of this early Christian martyr can go to St. Malachy’s/The Actors Chapel on West 49th Street where it is displayed in the back of the church.)

Glover is backed by an energetic and able cast of mostly 20-somethings who sing O’Flaherty’s upbeat songs with passion and, thank God, without belting. I especially liked Tyler Bell as Joey, a teenaged member of the company who also serves as a narrator of the show. In the second act an older Joey is well played by Ryan Mikita.

Also featured are Paul Carlin, Danny Gardner, Andrew Hodge, Benjamin Howes, Melisa Klausner, Ardis Barrow, Emilie Battle, Cameron Bautsch, Johannah Giron, Lannon Killea, Rebecca Leigh, Lauren Lukacek, Meagan MacLeod, Nick Mannix, and Dane Reis. 

L.J. Fecho’s book is often quite funny, but can also be poignant. Miller comes off as a real person, and the young performers’ journeys are engaging. I would, though, like to see the show tightened a bit. The backstage antics began to drag for me after awhile in the first act.

The show is directed and choreographed by William Sanders, with musical direction by Greg Brown, Ian Schugel and James Stenborg.  Rod Snyder designed the simple set.

As we were leaving after the show, I experienced a theatre first -- everyone was given a St. Genesius medal. It was like being back in Catholic school -- without the misery.

Genesius is at TADA! Theater, 15 W. 28th St., NYC (between Broadway and Fifth Avenue).  Tickets are $18 and available at www.smarttix.com, 212-868-4444. It runs through Sept. 13.

For more information, visit www.genesiustheatre.org.