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EULOGY FOR CHARLTON HESTON by Fraser C. Heston My father asked that we read this poem at his memorial. Reading: “CROSSING THE BAR”, BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. Sunset and evening star,
Eulogy ctd. on p. 2… In Act 3, Scene 2 of Shakespeare’s Julius Cesar, Mark Antony stands before the assembled throng, and cajoles them into hearing his now famous eulogy for his great and departed friend. I hope the Bard and my father will forgive me for mangling his words to my own purpose, when I beg you all, friends, family and countrymen to lend me your ears, for I come to praise Mark Antony, not to bury him. Thank you all so much for coming. The outpouring of kind thoughts and gracious prayers has been all but overwhelming these last few days, our hearts are full to bursting. If the measure of a man can be taken not only by the scale of his achievements, but more significantly by the quality of his friends, then let my father be judged by the presence of those here today in the sight of God. You enriched his life beyond measure, and I know that he would want me to thank you for your undying friendship, love and devotion, on this day, of all days. Charlton Heston was born, in 1923, in a small town north of Chicago, which he called No Man’s Land, Illinois, in the heart of this great land. 84 years, one Depression, one World War, half a dozen regional conflicts, about 80 films, dozens of plays, countless TV programs, hundreds of speeches, a handful of acronyms (AFI to NRA to SAG) a passel of presidential campaigns, six million tennis sets, five books, two kids, three grandchildren and one marriage later, he departed this world after a six-year struggle with a fatal illness, on a quiet spring evening, in the arms of his family, in his home on a ridge in Los Angeles. All-in-all, that’s a pretty good run, for a shy kid who grew up in the backwoods of Michigan. His life as an artist, soldier, actor, writer, director, sportsman, statesman, advocate and patriot on the world’s stage are well documented. It’s not my purpose to expand upon the enduring legacy of a career which bestrode America from Hollywood to Washington, from Cecil B. DeMille and William Wyler to Dr. Martin Luther King and President Ronald Reagan. Rather I would speak of him as a man. For it was not as one of his iconic, Old Testament characters that those of us who knew him will remember him, but rather as a loving, New Testament, father, a grandfather, a husband, a colleague, and a friend, with a ready smile and an infectious sense of humor. Indeed his capacity for love was almost boundless. He loved his wife from the moment he first met the flashing-eyed, raven-haired beauty, Lydia Clarke in a Northwestern University classroom and demonstrated it by pulled her hair (as one does) until the moment he slipped quietly from this world, in her arms, more than sixty four years later. He loved his talented, gorgeous daughter Holly and his son, as a man loves life itself, until he left us, still holding tight onto our hands. He loved and was devoted to his grandchildren, Ridley, Charlie and Jack, who enriched his life beyond my capacity to describe. His friendships with men like Walter Seltzer, Joe Canutt, Leo Ziffren, Joe Field and Jolly West made him the man he was, and shaped all our lives. He also had an abiding love and respect for the written word, which comes before the spoken, though it was by the latter that he made his living. His house is literally stuffed to bursting with books, Shakespeare folios, Biblical concordances, first edition Hemingways and signed Ray Bradburys, and piles of newspapers and periodicals. Hardly an evening would pass without someone running off from the dinner table to fetch one of these tomes to prove some totally obscure but vitally crucial point. Hardly a day went by when my sister or I did not receive a letter (often pounded out on a manual typewriter) or a clipping or a cartoon, and that was before email. Hardly a week went by without a major newspaper or journal receiving the brunt of his intellect and wit – sometimes scathing but always cordial, graciously edited by Carol Lanning, his colleague, friend and confidant, for more years than I would care to count. He was an avid sportsman, and managed to teach me to ride, shoot straight and speak the truth. Like any good backwoodsman, he was resourceful, and found a way out of most any fix, using whatever lay to hand. A resourcefulness demonstrated one day off the Great Barrier reef, when he and I became stranded on a desert island at low tide. Lacking anything with which to fashion some sort of distress signal, he semaphored a passing tourist boat, with, to my eternal embarrassment, lashed to an oar, his only garment: a pair of bright, red, clam-digger pants. “Arma Virumque Cano” begins Virgil’s Aeneid: “Of Arms and the Man I Sing.” Much has been made of my father’s passionate defense of the Constitution, and indeed his proficiency with all sorts of arms, which is as may be, but I am here to tell you, the bow was not one of them. You may recall the day when he gave me my first bow and arrow, and we set up a target behind the house on the ridge. Facing the house … Dad carefully explained the Zen of Archery, how to nock the arrow, draw the bow-string back to your cheek, the bow imbued with the strength of archer’s arm, the arrow quivering with intent, and allowing for windage and a prodigious amount of elevation, he let fly… Needless to say, the arrow arced high in the sky, launching far, far above the target, to disappear in the general direction of our back patio, as we ran breathlessly up to survey the carnage to find the arrow lodged smack in the middle of our dining room window, still quivering slightly... Nope, the bow was not his weapon. The tennis racket was more his style, and that sport was his greatest pleasure in life after acting and his family. His enthusiasm infected us all; Martin Shafer and I had the pleasure of growing up with tennis greats like Sam Match and Don Budge for our mentors, and some guys from Down-Under with cool nick names like Rocket, Emmo and Muscles for role models. Dad kept an open court every weekend for over forty years and eventually he developed a respectable game, including a service motion that Roy Emerson descried as “ that looks like a bloody trunk falling downstairs, Blue!” However, the pinnacle of Chuck’s tennis career came when, thanks to some of those Aussies, and a Kiwi named John Macdonald, he was finally admitted as a full member of a quaint little club in South London known as The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, which most of us know as Wimbledon, and he was at last able to wear, with pride, the ugliest club tie in Christendom. He loved his country as a true patriot, and despite serving in World War Two, in a desolate, icy, brutal, and forgotten corner of the Pacific known as the Aleutian Islands, which ought to give you a “Get-Out-of-Public-Service-Free” card for life, he gave to his country his full measure of devotion. For, he believed in the notion that tyranny triumphs when good men do nothing. His credo was simple: “Do your Best. Keep Your Promises.” He was a man of his word. If he said he would do a thing, he would do it. Sometimes, he would add two more lines, purloined from his lifelong friend, Texan patriot Jack Valenti: “Attend all Wars, and Never Shoot Quail on the Ground”. While he expected the same standards from those he had dealings with, and was therefore, in the course of human nature, often disappointed, he was also slow to judge and quick to forgive. Being human himself, he had many faults, though I cannot think of any just now. As a leader he led from the front, saying simply “follow me, lads” and not looking back to see if any had. As a follower of men whose ideals he respected he fulfilled their requests with steadfast and unquestioning loyalty, like the knights of old, and carried them out with a willing disregard of self. For he had another prized virtue: Courage. To Chuck, courage was not just the ability to act with grace under pressure, but to perform ordinary acts in extraordinary circumstances. For example, when Dad was told he had an incurable disease called Alzheimer’s, his first and only thought was for the well-being of his wife and his family, and not once, not once in six years of valiant struggle, did he say “Oh, God, why me?” He could meet, as Kipling put it, with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same. He was, in short, a Man. He was also my colleague of some thirty odd years. As an actor, he was a director’s dream, a willing collaborator, eager to compromise and a consummate professional; ask anyone here and he’ll tell you the same. I’ll never forget the shining times we spent together on locations, some rugged, wild and harsh, some as luxurious as the adjoining flats we shared for two films in London, where we lived in Edwardian splendor like Holmes and Watson, sharing toasted cheese & peanut-butter sandwiches while preparing for the next day’s shoot. But to everything, there is a season, as Ecclesiastes tells us, a time to be born, and a time to die. This was his time. Chuck has left this world for a far, far better place, where I like to think he’s playing tennis right now with his old chums Jolly West and Joe Field. I imagine they looked up a few days ago to see him arrive, in track suit and tennis shoes, a couple of rackets under his arm and one measly can of tennis balls, which are hard to come by in heaven. They raise a frosty glass, and say, “Hey Chuck, it’s good to see you. What took you?” He’d smile, and say, “Well, I had some promises to keep,” and begin to limber up his serve. He was my father, and my friend and he was the finest man I have ever known. He was the finest man I will ever know. May God bless you Dad, and hold you in the hollow of His hand, for ever and ever. You did your best. You kept your promises. --Delivered at St. Mathews Parish, Pacific Palisades, Ca, April 12, 2008 Welcome!Agamemnon Films is a film, television & digital production company, established in 1981 by Fraser Heston and Charlton Heston. Our mission is to entertain, enlighten,
and inform our audience, in that order. We believe that developing
and producing quality entertainment without compromising our artistic
and ethical standards will reap reward and enrichment both for
us and our audience.
Our Team Fraser C. Heston Alex Butler |
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Charlton Heston 1923-2008 For Immediate Release: (Beverly Hills, CA April 5, 2008) – Legendary actor, civil rights leader and political activist Charlton Heston passed away today, at the age of 84. He died at his home with Lydia, his wife of 64 years, at his side. Mr. Heston was loved by his two children, Fraser Clarke Heston and Holly Heston Rochell, and his three grandchildren, Jack Alexander Heston, Ridley Rochell and Charlie Rochell. The Heston family issued the following statement: “To his loving friends, colleagues and fans, we appreciate your heartfelt prayers and support. Charlton Heston was seen by the world as larger than life. He was known for his chiseled jaw, broad shoulders and resonating voice, and, of course, for the roles he played. Indeed, he committed himself to every role with passion, and pursued every cause with unmatched enthusiasm and integrity. We knew him as an adoring husband, a kind and devoted father, and a gentle grandfather, with an infectious sense of humor. He served these far greater roles with tremendous faith, courage and dignity. He loved deeply, and he was deeply loved. No one could ask for a fuller life than his. No man could have given more to his family, to his profession, and to his country. In his own words, “I have lived such a wonderful life! I’ve lived enough for two people.” A private memorial service will be held. The family has requested that, in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Motion Picture and Television Fund: MPTF
Media Note: Photography for download and use by the media in related news coverage is available online at ftp.mercgroup.com (user name: Heston / password: memorial). Members of media seeking further information should contact Bill Powers, Mercury Group, at 703.299.9470 (office) or 703.626.6446 (cell).
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