When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead Part 17

"Come on, Susie," I said, holding out my hand. "Let's get you on a better horse."

We found a grandma of an animal and rode into the mountains. The hills were studded with wildflowers, the meadow gra.s.s stirred, the horses whinnied as they cantered over the pa.s.ses. We talked about this and that. I made jokes, some funny, some not. Susie laughed at them all. We got off the horses and walked under the trees. I made a pa.s.s, which Susie pretended to miss. Then one thing led to another, which is an oblique way of saying I fell in love.

Susie and I courted for months. I use the old-fas.h.i.+oned word deliberately, as there was something proper about it despite my being married. We went to dinners and to shows, on picnics and for car rides. I knew I had to tell Jane. A little dalliance here and there, okay, but this was something else, something wonderfully serious.

Jane and I talked in Malibu. This was one of the most remarkable conversations I've ever had. I told Jane everything: about how I met Susie and about how I felt. I said, "Jane, I have fallen in love with another woman."

She sat there, listening, thinking, then spoke. Did she say, "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Did she say, "I will see you in court!"? No. Jane was in a different place in her life. She had lived as a star, she had lived as a wife, she had lived as a liberated woman and as a working woman and as a career woman and, most important, as a mother. She loves me and I love her, but her ident.i.ty was never bound up with mine. She understood what had happened and why. She understood what she could give me and what I needed. When I offered her a divorce, she said, "No, I do not want a divorce."

"It's silly to get a divorce unless you really need a divorce," she explained. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm not with anybody, and I don't intend to be with anybody. I want to paint and have a quiet life. Your life is not quiet, I know that. You have a busy life and I support it and will never stop supporting it, because I love you. And I know you love me. And we have children and grandchildren. And those things are important. They're not to be thrown away. They're not to be treated like they're something that doesn't mean anything. And what will divorce give us? Contention. Aggravation. I don't want to sit with a lawyer, and go through this and that, and you shouldn't either. You worked hard for your money--do you really want to pay millions of dollars to figure out a divorce? For what? To someday, hopefully, get back to the situation we already have today, where everyone can sit in a room together at a wedding or a funeral? There is no reason for a divorce. We can work it out. If Susie doesn't need to get married to you right now, let it go. I'm fine with it."

She was so wise, so wonderful.

"What about the children?" I asked. "What about the grandchildren?"

"We will talk to the children and grandchildren," she said. "I will explain it to them. I will say, 'Look, there is no reason for animosity. I am fine with this, you should be fine with it, too. There is no reason for you not to be friendly with Susie or close to Susie.' "

And that's what we did. We sat with the children and grandchildren, and told them, and they were all right with it. We told our friends, and some could not understand and were terribly bothered about this arrangement--okay, you are not us, you don't have to live like us.

The simple fact is, Jane no longer wanted my life. She didn't want to go to parties, didn't want to have s.e.x with me. Not interested. Good. She needs what she needs and I need what I need, which is to be with somebody who wants to be involved in every part of my life: mentally, emotionally, s.e.xually. Warren Beatty, lothario of lotharios, once asked me the secret. "How did you make it work, Jerry? How do you pull it off?"

Well, the answer is, I didn't. Jane and Susie did. I have a life with Susie and I love Susie, but I'm still with Jane, too. I see her all the time, and we're on the phone constantly. I will be there whenever she needs me. Otherwise, I am off, in my own life. I think this works only because Jane had such a long and successful career. She was a singer, she was a star, she was a mother. She had many lifetimes without me and I have had many lifetimes without her. She never lived through me. We used to live together; now we live apart. When marriage was invented, people didn't live very long. When I was a kid, if a couple had a fiftieth wedding anniversary, they were ancient. Nowadays, with the medicine and the longevity we have, when you marry somebody, you are in it for a very, very long time. I don't know if that's the way it's supposed to be. It's not for me, anyway. I have been with Jane for forty-eight years. I'm one of the ancients now. But I am still here, which means I am still living, still changing.

I later learned that Susie descends from Hollywood royalty. Her mother's G.o.dmother was f.a.n.n.y Brice. Her mother's father was an Academy Award-winning writer. Her father was Bud Ekins, the legendary stuntman. Bud always had a pa.s.sion for motorcycles. Wheels, crankshafts, throttles--he could not get enough. He used to ride wide open, burning up the desert east of LA. He was a legend in the racing world. In the 1960s, he won four gold medals at the Six-Day Trials in France and England. He won or came close to winning dozens of races in America and all over the world. He was known as the desert fox, a charismatic star, cool before that att.i.tude went mainstream, tough as h.e.l.l, with a cigarette forever hanging from the corner of his mouth.

His motorcycle shop in LA--he sold Triumphs--was a haunt of leather-clad riders and wannabes, including young movie stars eager to soak up Bud's authenticity. Steve McQueen was a regular, hanging around the garage talking to Bud, who, in his greasy white T-s.h.i.+rt, grimaced and said, "Yeah, yeah, hand me that spring hook over there." When McQueen was shooting The Great Escape, The Great Escape, he asked Bud if he would be his stuntman double. It was Bud Ekins who, on a Triumph TR6, performed the famous jump that carried Steve McQueen over a wall of concertina wire. Bud was sought out after that. He appeared in dozens of films and TV shows: racing a Mustang up and down the streets of San Francisco in he asked Bud if he would be his stuntman double. It was Bud Ekins who, on a Triumph TR6, performed the famous jump that carried Steve McQueen over a wall of concertina wire. Bud was sought out after that. He appeared in dozens of films and TV shows: racing a Mustang up and down the streets of San Francisco in Bullitt, Bullitt, running a motorcycle up the stairs of the fraternity house in running a motorcycle up the stairs of the fraternity house in Animal House, Animal House, doubling for Ponch in the more hair-raising sequences of doubling for Ponch in the more hair-raising sequences of Chips. Chips.

I got an incredible kick out of Bud: the way he looked and walked, how he went at each insane stunt with a carefree ease. I want to make a movie about him, a biopic, in which he will be played by Brad Pitt, because who is the star really, the man who stood for the movie still, or the man who cleared the concertina wire?

Bud was an older man when I knew him, ailing from a life of machines, whiskey, and cigarettes. I sat with him in the hospital when he was sick. I loved the guy. He was a Catholic, so a priest went into his room, but he did not want a priest.

I asked him why.

"Why?" he said. "Because I don't want to confess all the s.h.i.+t I did, that's why."

He asked about rabbis. "When they come, do you have to tell them everything?"

"Nah," I said, "you don't have to tell them anything."

Soon after that he told me he wanted to convert to Judaism. "'Cause you're a Jew and Susie is a Jew," he said. (Susie converted.) "And I figure I'm whatever you guys are. Also the confession stuff."

I gave a eulogy at Bud's funeral. I spoke of how he had decided to become a Jew. Many of the mourners looked confused. These were stuntmen and bikers, hundreds of tough guys with long hair and leather coats, giant guys named Tiny. "Let me explain why he became a Jew," I said. "Because Bud Ekins did not want to confess his sins." With that, the stuntmen and bikers went wild, hooting and cheering, a good send-off for a great man.

Farewell to Sam and Rose.

No matter how old you are, everything changes when your parents die. The wall between you and death collapses; suddenly gone are the only people who could speak with true authority. My life has been spent chasing mentors, each of them being like a subst.i.tute parent, but when your real parents die, you realize certain things are irreplaceable. They go and never come back. It's a blow. This is what it means to be an orphan.

My mother got sick first. By this time, I'd been sick myself, with prostate cancer. I won't go into detail, except to say it reminded me of the fragility of life. We are all walking on a wire. The key is to behave as if you will live forever. Her first symptoms presented themselves as anxiety or forgetfulness. This was in the late 1980s. She was still my mother, still the same woman with the same face and hands, but the curtain was coming down. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Each day was a little worse than the day before. She got lost in her own neighborhood, then her own house, then her own mind. She couldn't recognize friends and family. It was very hard on my father. Here was this woman, the great love of his life, sitting next to him as always, but already gone. It was obvious to me that something had to be done; the situation could not go on. My father could not make that decision because it was too painful. My brother could not do it because he was too close. Distance allowed me to see the situation more clearly. I flew to New York, went to the apartment, took my mother to the Riverdale Home for the Aged. When my father objected, I said, "This is what we're doing." It was the most painful day of my life. My father went over there every morning, did what he could, watched her fade--G.o.d knows what he was thinking.

She died on April 30, 2000. I stood at her graveside, said the prayers, and cried. A man without a mother is a man without a country, an exile. You never recover from it. My mother was the Bronx and the family and the streets at sundown and the merchants in the shops and the smoke and the smell of cooking and the train rattling over Jerome Avenue, the safety and love of family, everyone at the table, the world when the world was whole.

My father was now alone for the first time in more than fifty years. He did not talk about what was going on inside him, how he felt, any of that. That was his generation--they worked for us, gave up their lives and bodies for us, without a whisper of regret or complaint. My brother and I went on with our lives, too. It's the way with the t.i.tanic events, a death in the family, the loss of an indispensable person. The world should end, but it does not. It goes on, and carries you with it.

About eight weeks after the funeral, I was in Kennebunkport with Jane. I tend to get bored in Maine, and spend most of the time driving around. One morning, as we pa.s.sed a Ford dealers.h.i.+p, I said to Jane, "I want to buy a new car."

"Why?" she said. "You already have two other cars and a truck."

"It's an urge," I said.

We went in. They had just come out with On-Star, the service that tells you where gas stations and restaurants are, gives directions and the rest. I was impressed, saw a future in which no one gets lost and everyone eats just what they want to eat. I left with a new Ford. That night, my father called me. "What are you up to?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Just hanging around."

He said, "Well, why don't you come down to New York and see me?"

"Is anything wrong?"

"No," he said. "Everything is fine. Just take a ride."

"Well, I just bought a new car," I said. "I think I will go for a ride."

Jane and I left for New York in the morning. We were on the road for two hours when my brother called and told us, "Dad is going into the hospital."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. The doctor says he's fine, but he's insisting he be admitted to the hospital."

It was strange.

We drove on, pa.s.sed little towns and diners, the road stretching before us. We took a wrong turn in the Bronx and somehow ended up on the streets where I grew up. It was as if something was leading us there, showing us all the settings of my childhood--where my father taught me the value of work, where we hugged in the street after his return from Ceylon. Jane wanted to see everything, all of it. I took her to the old shops and corners. I took her to P.S. 70 and the apartment on the Grand Concourse. We knocked on the door. A woman answered. There were thirty, forty people inside. I think it was a crack house.

Everyone was at the hospital--my nephews and nieces--sitting in the hall, waiting. My brother took me aside.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Melvyn. "Dad wants to see us in his room alone."

He was sitting up in bed. No tubes, no wires, none of that. He waved us over, brought us close to him. He was lucid and calm. "I want you two guys to know something," he said. "You've been great sons. I love you both very, very much. And I am very proud of you. Now, both of you, give me a hug."

We bent over and hugged him. I could feel his fingers clasping my back. "Now go," he said. "I need to rest."

Later, when we were sitting in the hall, the sirens went off. The nurses and doctors ran into the room, and he died. Lay down and died.

This was June 30, 2000--exactly two months after my mother went.

When my mother was laid out before her funeral she had a pained look on her face. She had gone through h.e.l.l before she pa.s.sed. But my father had a peaceful look on his face when he died. He was ninety-three or ninety-four. We never really knew their exact ages. He wasn't in pain, he was just ready. That's how I'd like to die.

Until a few years ago, I was terrified of death. It occupied a lot of my time. Then my friends started to die, contemporaries, like Sydney Pollack, Bernie Brillstein, Guy McElwaine. I went to see Guy at his house, at the end, when he knew he was dying. And you know what? He was smiling.

"What are you smiling at, crazy man?" I asked.

"You," he said, "because I can see that you are afraid of what's happening to me. But I'm not afraid, so why should you be? It's just another journey."

I thought about this again and again. It bothered me. Finally, one night, I sat down with a gla.s.s of wine and sort of interrogated myself. "What are are you scared of?" I asked. "It's the natural progression, part of the journey. Besides, you can't get out of it. No matter how much you worry, it is going to happen. So why not just face it like you've tried to face everything else?" you scared of?" I asked. "It's the natural progression, part of the journey. Besides, you can't get out of it. No matter how much you worry, it is going to happen. So why not just face it like you've tried to face everything else?"

The next morning, I went out and bought a cemetery plot. I have come to terms, made peace. Not because of religion, or because of anything I've been told, but because I've lost friends and I've lost family. Maybe this is what happens if you live a long life. Maybe it's the gift of survival. When more of the people who really mattered are gone than remain, the balance tilts to the next world. Your parents go, your friends go, and you realize you will go, too, and it's okay. Death makes the rope taut--without it, we would have no stories, no meaning.

I do not want to leave. I have a nice house and a nice pool and it's a beautiful day and my cellar is filled with wine and my humidor is filled with cigars. I don't want to go anywhere. But when G.o.d calls, I will go, and I won't be crying.

Oceans.

Hollywood has changed. There was a golden age and an age of rebellion, and we are now in an age of post-glamour. The stars are faded, the pictures are abbreviated, and the screens are small.

Well, that's what some people tell you--that Hollywood was never the same after the old system was broken--but don't believe it. I have seen era give way to era, can compare epoch to epoch. The stars now are exactly the same as the stars then: The hot spots and clubs have changed, the styles and fas.h.i.+ons, but the underlying motivations, the human drives, which are to be discovered and lauded and respected, never change.

Look at the young stars. They go into crazy clubs, get whacked up and whatever, but when the Macombo and Ciro's and Romanoff's were open in the forties and fifties, it was no different. The booze was flowing, Desi Arnaz was singing "Babaloo," and Joan Crawford was dancing on the tables. The media is what changed. The amount of attention, the size of the lens. In the old days, the problem could always be taken care of. The accident was followed by the phone call and the stars were back on the set in the morning. Nowadays, everything is shown on live TV.

Ocean's Eleven, Twelve, and and Thirteen, Thirteen, which together grossed over a billion dollars, have been a capstone on my career. I did not produce the 1960 original but was around when it was made and had long wanted to do a remake; it was the perfect vehicle for young Hollywood, a way to put a handful of actors in a frame built for the original Rat Pack--to show that, though times have changed, there are still those who can shed Sinatra-size wattage. which together grossed over a billion dollars, have been a capstone on my career. I did not produce the 1960 original but was around when it was made and had long wanted to do a remake; it was the perfect vehicle for young Hollywood, a way to put a handful of actors in a frame built for the original Rat Pack--to show that, though times have changed, there are still those who can shed Sinatra-size wattage. Ocean's Eleven Ocean's Eleven screamed to be back on the marquee. screamed to be back on the marquee.

In 1998, I sent the script to Steven Soderbergh and George Clooney, who had a production deal with Warner's. We met at the Smoke House restaurant for one of those legendary meals, after which you know things will be more fun. These guys made the whole thing work. The feat of a project like this is casting, getting huge stars, Matt Damon, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Elliott Gould, Julia Roberts, Andy Garcia, Don Cheadle to appear and mesh on the same set. Soderbergh and Clooney had everything to do with pulling this off. They contacted the actors and explained the beauty of the project--this is as close as you can get to old Sinatra days. It was important that Clooney made the calls because he got people to take less money and less back end because it was an ensemble piece. When we sent the script to Julia Roberts we attached a twenty-dollar-bill and a note that said, "We know you get twenty for a movie, but you will have to work for a little less on this one."

We had a great time making Ocean's Ocean's. For the actors, this joy was often expressed in pranks, most of them directed at me. There was the time that, on a long flight back from Europe, Brad and George, knowing that I am a big vodka drinker, challenged me to a contest. I said, "Look, you're making a mistake. You'll end up with your luggage under your seat." They persisted, so we went shot for shot. I pa.s.sed out after fifteen. The boys then took the opportunity to fill my clothes, pockets, socks, and shoes with M&M's, thousands of them. Candy was coming out of my ears for weeks. I found out later that, as I had been downing Stolichnaya, they had been drinking water. Nice friends. Then there was the time that George Clooney, after a late night, had a huge breakfast delivered to my room at 5:00 A.M. A.M. I got so angry, but the room-service operator kept insisting that I had placed the order myself. When I finally asked where the call had come from, she said, "Matt Damon's room, but it was you calling, Mr. Weintraub." I got so angry, but the room-service operator kept insisting that I had placed the order myself. When I finally asked where the call had come from, she said, "Matt Damon's room, but it was you calling, Mr. Weintraub."

George Clooney and all those guys can do spot-on Jerry Weintraub imitations.

All that fun we had making Ocean's Ocean's is captured in the film. You can feel it. It's on the screen. When the movie opened in the summer of 2001, it was a smash, the biggest hit of my career. More important, it started my friends.h.i.+p with a group of actors, Pitt, Clooney, Damon, whom I've come to regard as family. These men are just as important to me as Sinatra and the Colonel were. I travel with them, sit with them, listen to them, love them. They are like my children. I learn from them, and I hope they learn from me, and have fun--developing true friends.h.i.+ps, later in life, well, it's one of the great things that can happen to a person. It's like a third act when the third act works. It's a blessing. (I should also mention Bruce Willis here. He did not star in these movies, but he is a feature player in my life, a great artist and friend, another one of Jerry's kids.) is captured in the film. You can feel it. It's on the screen. When the movie opened in the summer of 2001, it was a smash, the biggest hit of my career. More important, it started my friends.h.i.+p with a group of actors, Pitt, Clooney, Damon, whom I've come to regard as family. These men are just as important to me as Sinatra and the Colonel were. I travel with them, sit with them, listen to them, love them. They are like my children. I learn from them, and I hope they learn from me, and have fun--developing true friends.h.i.+ps, later in life, well, it's one of the great things that can happen to a person. It's like a third act when the third act works. It's a blessing. (I should also mention Bruce Willis here. He did not star in these movies, but he is a feature player in my life, a great artist and friend, another one of Jerry's kids.) Life is strange. I used to be a kid, sitting at the feet of giants, hanging out with the last of the old-timers. Now, all of a sudden, I am the old-timer, the alter c.o.c.ker who's been around forever, has known everyone and seen everything. When I look back, I see key moments. Because I did not want to go into the jewelry business. Because I would not wear tights. Because I did not want to return the messages on the call sheet. I see patterns, too. Whenever I felt the urge to obfuscate, as when Lew Wa.s.serman asked, "Were you on the WATS line last night?" I told the truth instead. I asked if I did not know. I listened when someone else was talking. I sold with joy, so my products were fun to buy. Most important, I was never afraid to fail, which meant I was never afraid to try. I was never afraid to look silly, which meant I was never threatened by a new idea. I see the road ahead, too, a stretch that bends into the undergrowth. I do not know what will happen there, but I do know, whatever it is, I will rush to meet it with joy. This is, after all, a Jerry Weintraub Production.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

If there were true justice in the world, I would be saying thank you every day, from the moment I get up till the moment I lie down--that's how lucky I've been, how many great people I've known, how much goodness I've experienced. In place of that--I would like to say thanks for several years, but I have dinner reservations--I have listed some of the people who have meant the most to me: Key Friends and Players, People So Unusual They Fit in No Category or Box; I Was Lucky to Walk the Earth at the Same Time as All of Them Bryan Lourd: He's a friend and confidant. There has never been another agent like him. He is one of a kind, and truly important in my life and in the lives of Hollywood's biggest stars. Bernie Yuman: We talk every day, and it's the part of the day I look forward to most. There is, in fact, not a moment when I am confused about who Bernie is--my friend, one of the best, and a man who I know loves me, and who knows I love him, dearly. Bernie Yuman: We talk every day, and it's the part of the day I look forward to most. There is, in fact, not a moment when I am confused about who Bernie is--my friend, one of the best, and a man who I know loves me, and who knows I love him, dearly. Mike Meldman: I was never interested in development until I visited Mike's golf courses--he builds the best in the world. He's a friend who makes it fun, and is the reason I am in the real estate business. Mike Meldman: I was never interested in development until I visited Mike's golf courses--he builds the best in the world. He's a friend who makes it fun, and is the reason I am in the real estate business. Steve Roth: This kid, this friend, this talented agent and businessman, lives around the corner, which keeps my life interesting. I want to thank him for use of his lawn--he knows what I mean. Steve Roth: This kid, this friend, this talented agent and businessman, lives around the corner, which keeps my life interesting. I want to thank him for use of his lawn--he knows what I mean. Gerald Parsky: He saw me through the toughest time in my career, and got me away not just whole, but with a huge settlement. Thank you! Gerald Parsky: He saw me through the toughest time in my career, and got me away not just whole, but with a huge settlement. Thank you! Paul Bloch: I have worked with him and admired him for more years than can be counted... He handles all the press and PR that I get credit for. He is one of the great ones. Paul Bloch: I have worked with him and admired him for more years than can be counted... He handles all the press and PR that I get credit for. He is one of the great ones. Steven Soderbergh: I know he's in the book, on one of those pages where I recount some adventure, but he's been so important in my life I wanted to mention him again. And there--I just did. Steven Soderbergh: I know he's in the book, on one of those pages where I recount some adventure, but he's been so important in my life I wanted to mention him again. And there--I just did. Diane Sawyer: If I owned a TV station, this is who I would hire first. She is what owners in the sports world call a franchise player, an absolutely stellar talent. Diane Sawyer: If I owned a TV station, this is who I would hire first. She is what owners in the sports world call a franchise player, an absolutely stellar talent. Ken Ziffren: My lawyer, my confidant, my friend. Thanks for keeping me out of jail (that's a joke). Ken Ziffren: My lawyer, my confidant, my friend. Thanks for keeping me out of jail (that's a joke).Harvey Gettleson: He can read a deal like Gretzky reads the ice: Thanks for your guidance, expertise, and friends.h.i.+p.George Schlatter: George produced some of the most important shows and television events ever, many with me. I admired him long before we met. I appreciate everything he's done. Leonard Goldberg: We had a film company together for a time, but imagine what would have happened if we started together when we were kids. We would have made billions! Leonard Goldberg: We had a film company together for a time, but imagine what would have happened if we started together when we were kids. We would have made billions! Rich Cohen: Without him, no book. We had lots of fun, and will have lots more. Thank you. Rich Cohen: Without him, no book. We had lots of fun, and will have lots more. Thank you.Tommy Armour, who has been like a son to me. I love him. Some of my best times in life are on the golf course with him.Jonathan Karp, Cary Goldstein, and the team at Twelve: For helping me share my journey with the world.Jessica Goodman, Dan Fellman, and the rest of the team at Warner Bros., and of course Kim Pinkstaff, who help me get it done.Diana Jenkins: When I met Diana she was in her thirties, very young and beautiful, and still, I felt as if I was meeting Auntie Mame. She is wonderful. I hope I know her forever. Lisa G.: You know who you are, and you know how much I love you. Lisa G.: You know who you are, and you know how much I love you.Of course I want to thank my brother, Melvyn; his wife, Linda; and their family: Abby, Matt, Sofia, Richard, Meredith, and Jack. My children: Michael and his wife, Maria; Julie; Jamie and her husband, Jacoby; and Jody. My grandchildren, all of whom have names that come right out of the Bible, just like they do: Sarah, Rachel, Joseph, and Ari. My nieces, Keira and Kyla, and their parents, Mitch.e.l.l and Donna. I love you all, and I am proud of you. Every generation bigger and stronger than the last, that's what I say.

Actors I Have Worked With Casey AffleckKaren AllenDan AykroydKevin BaconEllen BarkinKim BasingerNed BeattyRalph BellamyJoey BishopKaren BlackRonee BlakleyJim BroadbentGeorge BurnsJames CaanScott CaanSid CaesarMickey CallanKeith CarradineVincent Ca.s.sellJackie ChanKyle ChandlerGeraldine ChaplinChevy ChaseDon CheadleMichael ChiklisJulie ChristieGeorge ClooneyRobbie ColtraneSean ConneryTom CourtenayTom CruiseTimothy DalyMatt DamonBeverly D'AngeloTony DanzaJohn DenverMichael DouglasCharles DurningSh.e.l.ley DuvallBob EinsteinEthan EmbryPeter FalkRalph FiennesAlbert FinneyJosh FlitterAndy GarciaTeri GarrHenry GibsonIsabel Gla.s.serScott GlennJeff GoldblumElliott GouldSteve GuttenbergGene HackmanThomas HulceEddie IzzardEddie JemisonMartin KoveSh.e.l.ley LongJon LovitzBernie MacRalph MacchioLee MajorsNoriyuki "Pat" MoritaMichael MurphyCraig T. NelsonWayne NewtonMarisol NicholsAl Pacin.o.brad PittDonald PleasenceShaobo QinRandy QuaidCarl ReinerPaul ReiserMolly RingwaldEmma RobertsEric RobertsJulia RobertsMickey RourkeJaden SmithElisabeth ShueHenry SilvaPaul SorvinoSylvester StalloneRod SteigerDaniel SternSharon StoneGeorge StraitBarbra StreisandHilary Sw.a.n.kRichard ThomasUma ThurmanLily TomlinSusan TyrellLesley Ann WarrenBruce WillisOprah WinfreyJames WoodsJoanne WoodwardCatherine Zeta-Jones Clients and People I Promoted in the Management and Music Years Paul AnkaCharles AznavourSh.e.l.ley BermanJoey BishopPat BooneJackson BrowneJimmy BuffettGeorge BurnsHarry ChapinEric ClaptonJoe c.o.c.kerAlice CooperCharlie DanielsTony DanzaJohn DavidsonMac DavisJohn DenverNeil DiamondBob DylanDan FogelbergPeter FramptonConnie FrancisKinky FriedmanJerry GarciaBobby GoldsboroDorothy HamillUriah HeepFlorence HendersonDon ImusWaylon JenningsElton JohnShari Lewis & LambchopGordon LightfootEd McMahonJimmy McNicholsLee MajorsBarry ManilowBob MarleyIan MatthewsCurtis MayfieldRoger MillerJoni Mitch.e.l.lJane MorganMuppetsMichael MurphyWayne NewtonTed NugentRobert PalmerTom PaxtonRobert PlantElvis PresleyRichard PryorPhil RamoneKenny RogersMort SahlBoz ScaggsBob SegerFrank SinatraPhoebe SnowRod StewartSteven StillsMary TraversFrankie ValliSylvie VartanJoe WalshBarry WhitePaul WilliamsEdgar WinterChuck WooleryNeil YoungFrank Zappa Movies I Produced 1975 Nashville Nashville1977 September 30, 1955 September 30, 19551977 Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d!1980 Cruising Cruising1981 All Night Long All Night Long1982 Diner Diner1984 The Karate Kid The Karate Kid1986 The Karate Kid, Part II The Karate Kid, Part II1987 Happy New Year Happy New Year1988 My Stepmother Is an Alien My Stepmother Is an Alien1989 The Karate Kid, Part III The Karate Kid, Part III1992 Pure Country Pure Country1994 The Specialist The Specialist1994 The Next Karate Kid The Next Karate Kid1997 Vegas Vacation Vegas Vacation1998 The Avengers The Avengers1998 Soldier Soldier2001 Ocean's Eleven Ocean's Eleven2004 Ocean's Twelve Ocean's Twelve2007 Ocean's Thirteen Ocean's Thirteen2007 Nancy Drew Nancy Drew2010 The Karate Kid The Karate Kid Movies I Acted In 1993 The Firm, The Firm, as Sonny Capps as Sonny Capps 1997 1997 Vegas Vacation, Vegas Vacation, as Jilly as Jilly 2001 2001 Ocean's Eleven, Ocean's Eleven, as High Roller as High Roller 2002 2002 Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, as Larry Goldberg as Larry Goldberg 2004 2004 Full Frontal, Full Frontal, as Jerry as Jerry 2004 2004 Ocean's Twelve, Ocean's Twelve, as American Businessman as American Businessman 2007 2007 Ocean's Thirteen, Ocean's Thirteen, as Denny s.h.i.+elds as Denny s.h.i.+elds Directors and Writers I've Worked With Robert AltmanPaul W.S. AndersonPaul AttanasioJohn G. AvildsenRichard BenjaminJames BridgesChristopher CainJeremiah S. ChechikGeorge ClooneyAvery CormanAndrew FlemingWilliam FriedkinLarry GelbartTed GriffinRobert Mark KamenStephen KesslerBrian Koppelma.n.a.lex KurtzmanRichard LaGraveneseDavid LevienBarry LevinsonLuis LlosaDoug McGrathDon MacPhersonAline Brosh McKennaGeorge NolfiRobert OrciDavid Webb PeoplesSydney PollackBilly RayCarl ReinerGary RossMichael SoccioSteven SoderberghStephen SommersJoan TewkesburyHarald Zwart

CURRICULUM V VITAE, OR A ATTEMPT AT S SOME S SUCH.

Bands and Groups I Promoted AerosmithThe Allman BrothersThe a.s.sociationAtlanta Rhythm SectionAverage White BandBachman-Turner Overdrive (BTO)Bad CompanyThe Beach BoysThe Bee GeesBlue Oyster CultThe CarpentersChicagoThe CommodoresThe Doobie BrothersThe EaglesEarth, Wind & FireForeignerThe Four SeasonsGrand Funk RailroadThe Grateful DeadGuess WhoHall & OatesHeartThe Hudson BrothersThe Isley BrothersJethro TullThe KinksKissLed ZeppelinLittle FeatLynard SkynardMarshall Tucker BandThe Moody BluesNew BirthOhio PlayersThe Pointer SistersQueenQuicksilverRare EarthREO SpeedwagonSeals & CroftsSonny & CherStarland Vocal BandSteely DanSteve Miller BandThin LizzyThree Dog NightWarWingsWright & PalmerZZ Top

ABOUT THE A AUTHORS.

JERRY W WEINTRAUB has spent more than five decades in show business, in the process earning a reputation as one of the savviest negotiators, smartest producers, and shrewdest film investors of our time. He has been praised and honored for his philanthropic work and, as UNICEF's Man of the Year, was presented with the organization's Danny Kaye Humanitarian Award. has spent more than five decades in show business, in the process earning a reputation as one of the savviest negotiators, smartest producers, and shrewdest film investors of our time. He has been praised and honored for his philanthropic work and, as UNICEF's Man of the Year, was presented with the organization's Danny Kaye Humanitarian Award.

RICH C COHEN, a contributing editor at Vanity Fair Vanity Fair and and Rolling Stone, Rolling Stone, is the author of five books, including the bestsellers is the author of five books, including the bestsellers Tough Jews, The Avengers, Tough Jews, The Avengers, and and Israel Is Real Israel Is Real. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, dog, and many masculine children.

ABOUT TWELVE TWELVE.

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TWELVE was established in August 2005 with the objective of publis.h.i.+ng no more than one book per month. We strive to publish the singular book, by authors who have a unique perspective and compelling authority. Works that explain our culture; that illuminate, inspire, provoke, and entertain. We seek to establish communities of conversation surrounding our books. Talented authors deserve attention not only from publishers, but from readers as well. To sell the book is only the beginning of our mission. To build avid audiences of readers who are enriched by these works--that is our ultimate purpose.

For more information about forthcoming TWELVE books, please go to www.twelvebooks.com.