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Ann Jillian |
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 Steve Allen plays one of his songs for Ann Jillian |
By ANN JILLIAN
of TheColumnists.com
"WHERE are we going, Mom?" my 8-year-old son, Andy, asked me that day.
"To
the memorial of a very good man, honey," I told him, "--a
friend of ours and yours, Mr. Steve Allen."
We pulled into the parking lot at the Academy of Television Arts
& Sciences in North Hollywood, already filled with limousines
and cars belonging to the lines of people stretched along the
curve of the Leonard Goldenson building. Only days after one
of the American entertainment community's treasures passed away,
we were among those invited to "Celebrate a Life Well Lived."
Steve Allen was a man of brilliant wit, so it was fitting that
a "celebration" of his life should be highlighted with
laughter. All through the service, term after glowing term described
the man most of us knew, affectionately, as "Steverino."
My son soon was keenly aware that this "good man" whose
memorial we were attending was highly regarded by his peers.
"What
did he do, Mom?" he asked me.
"Everything," I told him, "and he always did it
with taste and talent. He was a writer, poet, composer, musician,
comedian and more. You've seen 'talk shows,' Andy. He was the
man who started it all. He was funny -- and decent."
(As
I spoke those words, I wondered to myself how dismayed he must
have been at what so many of those talk shows had evolved into
since he pioneered with the original 'Tonight Show').
"I never heard him tell a dirty joke," Andy's dad,
Andy Sr., added.
Steve
Allen didn't have to tell dirty jokes. He was plenty funny without
them.
Precious memories flowed as his many friends and family members
remembered him openly, telling of a man of keen intellect and
purity of heart. He also was a lover of children. He had several
foster children, as well as his own, whom he treasured. Then,
there were his beloved grandchildren. He loved being a grandfather.
A deeply romantic heart was revealed in a Valentine he had written
for his beautiful, always elegant wife, Jayne, read aloud in
resonant style by Charlton Heston. Steve cherished their love.
They cherished each other and their children recognized and were
grateful for that relationship, crediting that love as a foundation
for a secure and wholesome environment in which they could grow
and learn how to be loving, giving and respectful adults.
Many of those we regard as the truly "great" figures of show business history were there to pay their respects to a man they also knew as "great": Milton Berle, Red Buttons, Sid Caesar, Dolores Hope, representing her husband, Bob. With them were producers, writers, directors and many other actors. The list was immense, and there sat my little son--quietly and, oh, so respectfully--watching and listening intently to every word.
Sitting directly behind Steve's grandchildren, little Andy could see the emotion in their eyes as they turned to be introduced to the assembly. He was visibly moved. They had lost their sweet grandfather. That was something he could connect with because it wasn't so long ago that he'd lost his own grandfather.
As I listened to so many show business stories being shared, my mind wandered back to my own memories. I remembered how many times Steve and Jayne made my husband and I feel comfortable at entertainment industry functions, where you could so easily feel intimidated by all the talent around you, whether you were new to the business or established.
I recalled "Emotions," the composition Steve had written for the Red Queen, the character I portrayed in CBS' television production of "Alice in Wonderland." That song kept making me cry. I had just returned to work 11 days after breast cancer surgery. My nerves were so "on the surface," that it took everything I could muster to keep from crying because his lyrics were so tender. From that moment on, we called his ballads, "one or two (Kleenex) box" songs. He did it to me again with that song in my own movie, which he scored, too.
And I remembered the time he asked me to sing a selection of his songs for an album. I felt so honored. The next day we got a package filled with a multitude of cassette tapes of his compositions from the vast repertoire he had. (He was a very prolific composer, whose output included the theme to the movie "Picnic," the jazz standard "Gravy Waltz," the widely popular "This Could Be the Start of Something Big," the list goes on and on...) I brought them to his office and said, "You pick 'em."
"No," he said, "you pick 'em. I got about 4000 of them. You can't hurt my feelings, I like them all!"
Then he broke into that infectious laugh of his.
I remembered how concerned I was when he had his own bout with cancer--and how thrilled I was about his healing. I will never forget that he came to my son's baptism, to celebrate little Andy's new life. My husband still gets choked up when he remembers Steve making contact with baby Andy that day by putting his index finger inside the little guy's half-open hand, letting him get a good grip. I couldn't forget how he used to call, just to talk, and we knew that we could do the same. That touched me deeply--and it touched my husband, too, because he shared many such moments with Steve.
And
what an honor Jayne paid me to include my rendition of one of
her husband's songs, "I Love You Says It Very Well,"
for the music they played at the memorial. I was humbled.
My personal observation of Steve Allen over the years was that
he was a fair and honest man. This is an age when "friendships"
can tend to be based upon "networking" and the benefits
that can be mutually derived from them, especially in the entertainment
business. ( I'm not saying they always are.) Such "friendships"
can be short-lived. But Steve really cared. If he liked you,
he really liked you, and was your friend because
he liked you. Of course, there are times when a person can do
both, and I'm sure he did that. But he was the kind of man who
chose to be your friend even if you were of absolutely no business
benefit to him whatsoever.
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This
I know is true: He chose us as his friends! What could
we offer him, save our friendship? You have to admire a man like
that, who bases a friendship upon the quality of the person first.
After the videos were shown, the memories shared, the praises
given, the laughter generously dispersed, we still left the service
with eyes brimming tears.
I looked through my own at my husband wiping his away, and my
son walking out with more certainty of what he had shared for
the past 1 1/2 hours. Here was one child of a new generation
who will know him. Solemnly, little Andy stood up a little taller
with an obvious realization of who Steve Allen was and what he
did. He knew that this "good" man of fine character
had come to celebrate the start of Andy's own new life when he
was an infant, and, now, it was my son's honor to have celebrated
Steve's.
Today I'm thinking of Steve and I have these words for him:
"Steve, you're probably writing a song for the Celestial Choir right now, so excuse me for interrupting. But, if you're listening to our thoughts, then let us say 'thank you' for so much. We'll miss you, and, to paraphrase the song you penned, 'We Love You Says It Very Well."
©
2000 by Ann Jillian Murcia.
You
can visit Ann's own website by clicking here: www.annjillian.com
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