My Life as a Mankiewicz by Tom Mankiewicz Page A

Only a huge hole in my heart, a loss from which I thought I'd never recover.
    The funeral was held at a Park Avenue cathedral. I went to it with Dad and sat on the aisle. I remember some of the speakers: Hank Fonda, Josh Logan—the entire eastern show business clique was fully represented. I kept my head lowered during the entire ceremony. My tears were flowing so freely they made a small puddle on the floor. Then it was over. The immediate family left first. As they passed by, I remember—I'll always remember—Leland stopping, looking down at me, then placing his hand on my shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. It was such a kind gesture. I'll never forget him for it.
    Williamstown
    The Williamstown Summer Theater was a wonderful experience for me. A new production opened every week featuring first-rate talent on and off the stage. It was so celebrated in those days that a correspondent would broadcast live from in front of the theater on The Today Show. I worked with so many young and gifted talents there, some of whom remain friends even now. John Badham (director of Saturday Night Fever, War Games , and Stakeout) was building sets. Peter Hunt (Tony Award winner for directing 1776 on Broadway) was the lighting designer. Arthur Rubenstein (composer of many fine film scores) led the orchestra in the pit when we did a musical. Add to them a young Dick Cavett, his talented wife, Carrie Nye, the future actor/director/playwright Austin Pendleton, Sam Waterston, and the guest stars who came up from New York and you had a totally enjoyable creative cocktail.
    A young actress named Suzanne Pleshette was making her name on Broadway and came up to play the lead in Two for the Seesaw. She was being flown to the tiny airport in Bennington, Vermont, just across the border. I was deputized to pick her up. I borrowed Peter Hunt's little white Triumph convertible. Her single-engine prop plane landed with a bit of trouble. It was extremely windy that day, and I soon gathered Suzy had been bouncing around like that all the way up from New York. The plane door opened. Suzy walked unsteadily down the steps looking slightly green. I introduced myself. She gestured off at the pilot, who was still inside the cockpit. “That cocksucker hit every goddamn air pocket for two fucking hours. Jesus Christ, I couldn't even take a fucking piss, there's no goddamn toilet in there!” My eyes popped open. I'd actually never heard a woman talk like that. She kept it up all the way back to Williamstown. Suzy was a terrific actress, a warm woman with a God-given earthy sense of humor. In the decades to come, I'd run into her often. I'd always smile and whisper, “How the fuck are you, bitch?” She'd grin: “Still a prick, huh? Jesus fucking Christ.” She wound up married to Tom Poston, a delightful, talented man. What great laughs the two of them must have had together. Suzy died at much too young an age.
    Dad and Moss Hart came up to visit Williamstown one night. For all of those eying a future on the stage or screen, it was quite a big deal. I had a small part in the production that was playing, and I tried extra hard with the few lines I had. I thought I was a pretty good actor. I even had the occasional youthful fantasy of making a career out of it. That is, until I asked Dad what he thought of my performance: “Tom, I've always told you to be anything you want to be, a dentist, a cab driver, whatever. But I'm begging you. Eat with them, sleep with them, laugh with them, marry them, divorce them, but for God's sake, don't be one. With your personality I can't imagine what would be worse, if you were a big success or a total flop.”
    Years later I was having a terrible time revising a screenplay of mine. I said to him, only half joking: “And you talked me out of acting.”
    â€œNo, I didn't. If you'd have really wanted to be an actor, you'd have told me nicely to go fuck myself and gone ahead with it.