“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things like too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.” -The Body, Stephen King.
Last night, while watching TV with Anne, my phone buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. I usually ignore it when we’re watching something, but when it blows up like that, it’s rarely good news. I picked it up and saw a message from Jerry to Corey and me. While I was reading it, news alerts popped up faster than I could swipe them away. More text messages arrived. Unknown Numbers began to call. I told Anne we needed to pause the show; something terrible has happened.
It hasn’t even been twelve hours, but all three of us have been overwhelmed with requests from media for comment and I’m mostly writing this now so they’ll leave me alone. I won’t speak for anyone else, but I am still processing and coming to grips with a tragic, senseless, devastating loss. I’m doing my best. I have all these words, and I am doing my best to put them into some kind of order, but the loss and sadness and anger at the senselessness of it all is getting in the way.
I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to talk about myself. I just want and need to process the shock and grieve the loss. But I don’t want anyone to speak for me, so I will do my best to tell you about the man I knew, and what he meant to me when I knew him. I reserve the right to edit or even delete this post.
Generation X grew up with Rob. We watched him on All in the Family when we were little, and as we came of age, he made movies about our lives as we were living them: movies about growing up, falling in and out of love, about seeing the goodness that exists inside every single person, if only they are open to it. He told us stories about the strength of the human spirit, and he made us laugh. Oh, how he made us laugh. The world knows Rob as a generational talent, a storyteller and humanitarian activist who made a difference with his art, his voice, and his influence. I knew that man, but I also knew a man who treated me with more kindness, care, and love than my own father ever did. And it is the loss of that man that is piercing my heart right now.
I only really knew Rob Reiner for one summer, in 1985, when we made Stand By Me. We only saw each other a handful of times in the last 40 years, and outside of those rare meetings, we only spoke a couple of times. Even though I haven’t spoken to him in years, I will miss him forever.
When I was turning 13, and realizing that my own father didn’t care about me, that my mother didn’t see me as a son, but as a thing she could put to work, Rob Reiner made me feel loved, valued, seen, and respected. He made sure I knew that I was important to him and his movie. He made sure I knew that he saw every actor he could for my role, and he chose me because he saw so much of Gordie in me. Back then, I didn’t know what that meant, only that he made me feel like I was enough.
When we shot the scene with Gordie and River at the body, he talked with me about how his own dad made him feel, created a safe place for me to feel all of Gordie’s (and my) emotions, and turn that into a performance that still resonates with audiences. In a way, in that movie, I was him and he was me and we were both Gordie LaChance. I was hoping that we would see each other next year, at something celebrating Stand By Me turning 40, so I could see him and properly thank him for everything he gave me — in my career, sure (it only exists because of Rob), but in my life, as well. If Rob hadn’t shown me unconditional affection and approval, I wouldn’t have known what I was missing at home. He was a big part of my coming of age in that way, too.
Ironically, tragically, I have felt closer to Rob in the last week or so than I have in a decade, because I essentially spent a weekend with the Rob I knew in 1985 when Jerry and Corey and I spent the weekend together, watching Stand By Me with a few thousand people who love this film the way we do. We spent entire days together in a tour bus, catching up on 40 years of life and work, and fondly remembering that one magical summer we spent together, that will tie us to each other for the rest of our lives. We talked extensively about how much we all loved Rob, and how much he loved us. We talked about how important it was to him that we got to be kids when we weren’t at work, how he organized screenings of Goonies and Explorers for all of us to watch together, how he made sure we all got to play.
Rob was a good person who put great art into the world, who made a positive difference in more lives than any of us can imagine. The world is a better place thanks to his activism and the way he chose to use all of his privilege and influence.
Rest in peace Rob and Michele. May their memories be a blessing.
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