Last week, Hollywood icon Charlton Heston died. He had been out of the public eye since 2002 after he publicly announced he was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease.
At the time, I read portions of an eloquent and deeply moving message he published about his condition and his perspective on the past and future. Days later, I received and shared a note from his son Fraser, who wanted to add another dimension to his dad’s legacy.
“My father,” he wrote, “is the most ethical person I know, whose character I admire more than any other man. He has demonstrated to me that character counts not only when the sun is shining, but when storm clouds gather as well.”
This soulful tribute impressed me even more than Mr. Heston’s own statement.
We are the playwrights and stars of our own lives, and we alone decide whether the part we’ve written is grand or small. How we write and play our part determines how long we'll be remembered, by whom, and for what. And the audience that matters most consists of family and friends – the people who really know us.
Since familiarity is more likely to diminish than enlarge admiration, when an adult child expresses deep and true respect for a parent, it really means something.
In his goodbye letter, Charlton Heston called his family his “proudest achievement.” But the achievement represented by his family is not only told in the accomplishments and character of his children and grandchildren, but in the level of esteem he earned from his family.
This makes Fraser's assessment of his dad a persuasive testament and worthy memorial of a life well lived.
This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.
To read his goodbye letter, see below.
* Charlton Heston’s film legacy includes hugely heroic parts in epic films. He played Moses, Ben Hur, and Michelangelo. Yet, without doubt, the way he dealt with the impending loss of his mental faculties with such dignity, grace, and gratitude is Mr. Heston's most authentic demonstration of heroism. Here is the letter he published in 2002:
My Dear Friends, Colleagues, and Fans:
My physicians have recently told me I may have a neurological disorder whose symptoms are consistent with Alzheimer's disease. I wanted to prepare a few words for you now because when the time comes, I may not be able to.
I've lived my whole life on the stage and screen before you. I've found purpose and meaning in your response. For an actor there's no greater loss than the loss of his audience. I can part the Red Sea, but I can't part with you, which is why I won't exclude you from this stage in my life.
For now, I'm not changing anything. I'll insist on work when I can; the doctors will insist on rest when I must. If you see a little less spring in my step, if your name fails to leap to my lips, you'll know why. And if I tell you a funny story for the second time, please laugh anyway.
I'm neither giving up nor giving in. I believe I'm still the fighter that Dr. King and JFK and Ronald Reagan knew, but it's a fight I must someday call a draw. I must reconcile courage and surrender in equal measure. Please feel no sympathy for me. I don't. I just may be a little less accessible to you, despite my wishes.
I also want you to know that I'm grateful beyond measure. My life has been blessed with good fortune. I'm grateful that I was born in America, that cradle of freedom and opportunity, where a kid from the Michigan north woods can work hard and make something of his life. I'm grateful for the gift of the greatest words ever written, that let me share with you the infinite scope of the human experience. As an actor, I'm thankful that I've lived not one life, but many.
Above all, I'm proud of my family ... my wife Lydia, the queen of my heart, my children, Fraser and Holly, and my beloved grandchildren, Jack, Ridley, and Charlie. They're my biggest fans, my toughest critics, and my proudest achievement. Through them, I can touch immortality.
Finally, I'm confident about the future of America. I believe in you. I know that the future of our country, our culture, and our children is in good hands. I know you will continue to meet adversity with strength and resilience, as our ancestors did, and come through with flying colors -- the ones on Old Glory.
William Shakespeare, at the end of his career, wrote his farewell through the words of Prospero in The Tempest. It ends like this:
"Be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air. And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
Thank you, and God bless you, everyone.