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I've worked for many public figures over the years, for mayors and congressmen, and selectmen who wanted to become mayors. I've given money and advice, hosted fund-raisers and campaigned. Contributing money and resources is my honor and responsibility as a citizen of the greatest nation on earth. (I am, for example, very proud of my work with Not On Our Watch, which battles genocide in Darfur, and which was founded by George Clooney, Matt Damon, Brad Pitt, Don Cheadle, and myself.)
The most liberal politician I've ever worked for was probably Jimmy Carter. He sought me out, reaching me through a friend. This was 1974, even before he won the Democratic presidential nomination. He was just a peanut farmer from Georgia, a nobody really, just a governor, a long shot. I could give you a big, mumbo-jumbo reason why I did not want to support him, but the simple fact is, I did not think he would win. I bet horses that figure to finish in the money. As Dino said, "Don't be a sucker." But Lew Wasserman loved Carter. Just loved the guy. Honest. True. Integrity. All that. He called me and said, "Listen, Jerry, Jimmy Carter is going to be president of the United States. I want you to meet him."
I fought, resisted, dragged my feet. I finally agreed to do a little work for the campaign, just to get Lew off my back, and hosted a ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate di
President Carter was wearing work boots with his blue jeans tucked inside. He looked like Abraham Lincoln or something. We sat down. Rosalyn brought us coffee. "How is that pinched nerve in your neck?" he asked.
"I never really had a pinched nerve," I told him.
"I know that," he said. "But why didn't you want to have lunch with me?"
"Because I didn't think you were going to become president," I said.
"Well, I am president," he said.
"Yes," I said, "I can see that."
He wanted my help in Hollywood, gathering people, getting them on board with his programs. This was outreach. I became very friendly with him. His son Chip used to stay at our house when he visited California. I liked him. I liked the president, too. Then, about six months into his presidency, he invited me to a White House state di
"Okay. Good."
A few months later, my father and mother did indeed get an invitation from the White House. It was for a state di
He called me and asked, "Jerry, if I go to this thing, do I sit next to your mother at di
"No," I said. "They separate everyone. It makes for better mixing."
"Mixing," he said. "Mixing I don't need. I am not going if I can't sit with your mother. I mean, what's the point if we can't be together?"
"All right," I said. "Let me make a phone call."
I talked to the people at the State Department. It went against protocol, but I got them to seat my parents next to each other.
Before the di
The first lady gave them a tremendous welcome. "Oh, my golly, it's so good to meet you. Your son is one of our favorite people. Our son Chip is with him right now in Beverly Hills. Isn't that fu
She called to the president, saying, "Jimmy, look, these wonderful people are Jerry's mother and father!"
Jimmy Carter said to my father, "Oh, we like your son, he's such a nice guy."
After the di
Dancing with the Rebbe
One day, years ago, when I arrived at work, I spotted a Hasidic Jew in the hall outside my office. These are the guys in the black coats with side curls and beards. This particular rabbi was a Lubavitcher, part of the group from Crown Heights, Brooklyn, who believe their rabbi, Menacham Mendel Schneerson, might be the Messiah. The followers of the Rebbe are devout. Rather than merely study and pray, they want to heal the world, do good work, invest even the smallest errand with a kind of godliness. I don't know all the particulars, but it's hardcore Hebrew, whiskey straight from the jug, no mixers, no water, radically different from my own casual American Judaism, which is practiced in a synagogue designed by modern architects.
I ducked in a side door unseen, walked into my office, got behind my desk, went to work. My secretary came in with the call sheet. As I looked it over, she said, "Do you know there's a rabbi outside waiting to see you?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm aware."
"Well," she asked, "do you want to talk to him?"
"No," I said, "I don't."
"What should I tell him?" she asked.
"Here," I said. "Hand me a pen."
I wrote out a check for ten thousand dollars.
"Give him this," I said. "Tell him I'm too busy to talk, but take the money and good luck."
I would gladly have paid ten grand just to avoid one of those maddeningly circular discussions you have with rabbis.
A few minutes later, my secretary came back. "He said he doesn't want the check," she told me.
"He doesn't want the check?"
"No," she said. "He needs to talk to you, and claims it has nothing to do with money."
Now I was interested, genuinely curious. I mean, those guys never turn down a check! "All right," I said. "Send him in."
He came in and sat down. I got a look at him. I had only noticed his clothes, but now I could see that his face was intelligent and warm. (This, as I then learned, was Schlomo Cunin, who is still my rabbi.) It tells you about judging from a distance, based on generalities. I mean, there are the clothes, then there is the face; there is the face, then there is the brain; there is the brain, then there is the soul. He had a good soul. We're friends to this day. He brings me a fresh challah every week.