FROM TV TO FILM, 1969–1977 25
Spielberg a believer? He says that there are just too many people with
believable experiences to ignore. He does, however, believe more in the
second form of contact than the third.
Close Encounters of the Third Kind is about several people who see a UFO
and then fi nd themselves drawn to Devil’s Tower in Wyoming, where they
meet friendly aliens. Richard Dreyfuss knew right away that he wanted to
play the main character, Roy Neary, but Spielberg wanted Steve McQueen.
McQueen liked the script but said he could not cry on fi lm. When Spielberg
said he would cut the crying out of the movie, McQueen told him that it
should be left in the movie but he could not do it. Dustin Hoffman, Al
Pacino, and Gene Hackman also turned down the role; James Caan said
he would make it for $1 million upfront and 10 percent of the gross. In the
meantime, Richard Dreyfuss was actively campaigning for the role. When he
reminded Spielberg that Neary should be childlike and that he, Dreyfuss, was
the “everyman” actor that Spielberg prefers, Spielberg relented. “Richard’s
so wound up in a kind of kinetic energy. He’s as close an actor to Spencer
Tracy as exists today. I also think he represents the underdog in all of us.” 44
Spielberg appreciates actors like Dreyfuss “who will go out on a limb, even to
the point of embarrassing himself, to be different, to do something unusual,
to not be Richard Dreyfuss, but to be the person that the writer intended
him to be.” 45 One of the actresses who read for the role of Neary’s wife was
Meryl Streep. Although she was not a big star at the time, she already had a
presence that intimidated both Dreyfuss and Spielberg. Teri Garr got the role
after Spielberg saw her in a coffee commercial and thought that she was the
everyday housewife. Melinda Dillon was cast on a Thursday and expected on
the set the following Monday. The little boy, Cary Guffey, who had no acting
experience, was chosen when the casting director saw him in his niece’s
daycare center. Since the three-year-old usually completed his scenes in just
one take, Spielberg had a T-shirt made for him with his new nickname on it:
“One-Take Cary.” 46 Perhaps the biggest casting coup for Spielberg was getting
one of his idols, French director Francois Truffaut, whose participation, says
Spielberg, added more class and nobility to the movie. And, of course, after
John Williams’s huge success with the magical notes for the shark’s theme
in Jaws, Spielberg asked him to do it again for Close Encounters. He wanted
earthlings and aliens to communicate with lights, colors, and music—a specifi
c fi ve notes of music. (Two bits of Trivia: Spielberg actually re-edited the
movie to match Williams’s score; and Spielberg’s dog was with the humans
when they were released from the mother ship.)
Spielberg used storyboards and 65mm fi lm to maintain picture quality
for the special effects. He chose Douglas Trumbull for his special visual effects
director because Trumbull had worked on 2001: A Space Odyssey, a
Sunday, February 8, 2009
FROM TV TO FILM, 1969–1977 23
applause, something he had never witnessed. The reaction was the same
everywhere, and the movie broke all box-offi ce records. Only two weeks
after its release, Jaws became the most successful movie in history up to that
time and the fi rst to reach the $100 million mark. More than 67 million
Americans went to see it that fi rst summer. Roger Ebert writes that Jaws “is
one of the most effective thrillers ever made.” 30 The movie created a fear of
sharks comparable to the fear of showers created by Psycho. It became the
fi rst summer “blockbuster” 31 and made summer the movie season. At fi rst,
Spielberg thought it was a “fl uke,” 32 but later he said, “I realized we made
a movie that was just super-intense and somehow struck a chord around
the world.” 33 Jaws had immediately become the epitome of the adventure
movie and the goal for which all future adventure movies still strive. Its
characters were each totally different, yet they all “held their own with the
shark.” 34 In 2006, the movie was named the number one “When Animals
Attack” fi lm by the Sydney Morning Herald.
The movie was nominated in the Best Motion Picture category at the
Academy Awards, and editor Fields and composer Williams each went
home with an Oscar. Each of the three main actors—Dreyfuss, Scheider,
and Shaw—became hot properties, but Steven Spielberg became “the
hottest property in Hollywood.” 35 As always, there were some people who
believed that he had peaked and who jealously called the movie “commercial
drivel.” 36 Jaws continues to have a hold on the world’s population,
and it is impossible to fi nd a mention of summer movies without it. An inaugural
Jaws Fest was held in Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, for a week
beginning June 3, 2005. The chamber of commerce made the area look
like Amity Island and planned numerous events. The timing coincided
with the release of the thirtieth-anniversary edition of the movie, which
was shown on a beachside screen. The book’s author, Peter Benchley, was
among the more than 2,000 people who attended. Spielberg was there
via a videotaped introduction to the movie. He was, and is, quick to give
much of the credit for the movie’s success to John Williams.
When Benchley died in February 2006, Spielberg credited him with a
project that was so successful that it gave him artistic freedom in his movies.
But with the success of Jaws, not only did he have artistic freedom,
he had plenty of money. While he told a reporter that he was now worth
$4 million, he did not include the money made from a recently updated
contract that his agent, Guy McElwaine, had renegotiated before Jaws so
that Spielberg would receive an additional 5 percent profi t. As Sanello
writes, “tens of millions of dollars in excess of the paltry $4 million.” 37 But
how did he spend the money? Buying cars and dating starlets? His production
editor for Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Julia Phillips, writes that
applause, something he had never witnessed. The reaction was the same
everywhere, and the movie broke all box-offi ce records. Only two weeks
after its release, Jaws became the most successful movie in history up to that
time and the fi rst to reach the $100 million mark. More than 67 million
Americans went to see it that fi rst summer. Roger Ebert writes that Jaws “is
one of the most effective thrillers ever made.” 30 The movie created a fear of
sharks comparable to the fear of showers created by Psycho. It became the
fi rst summer “blockbuster” 31 and made summer the movie season. At fi rst,
Spielberg thought it was a “fl uke,” 32 but later he said, “I realized we made
a movie that was just super-intense and somehow struck a chord around
the world.” 33 Jaws had immediately become the epitome of the adventure
movie and the goal for which all future adventure movies still strive. Its
characters were each totally different, yet they all “held their own with the
shark.” 34 In 2006, the movie was named the number one “When Animals
Attack” fi lm by the Sydney Morning Herald.
The movie was nominated in the Best Motion Picture category at the
Academy Awards, and editor Fields and composer Williams each went
home with an Oscar. Each of the three main actors—Dreyfuss, Scheider,
and Shaw—became hot properties, but Steven Spielberg became “the
hottest property in Hollywood.” 35 As always, there were some people who
believed that he had peaked and who jealously called the movie “commercial
drivel.” 36 Jaws continues to have a hold on the world’s population,
and it is impossible to fi nd a mention of summer movies without it. An inaugural
Jaws Fest was held in Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, for a week
beginning June 3, 2005. The chamber of commerce made the area look
like Amity Island and planned numerous events. The timing coincided
with the release of the thirtieth-anniversary edition of the movie, which
was shown on a beachside screen. The book’s author, Peter Benchley, was
among the more than 2,000 people who attended. Spielberg was there
via a videotaped introduction to the movie. He was, and is, quick to give
much of the credit for the movie’s success to John Williams.
When Benchley died in February 2006, Spielberg credited him with a
project that was so successful that it gave him artistic freedom in his movies.
But with the success of Jaws, not only did he have artistic freedom,
he had plenty of money. While he told a reporter that he was now worth
$4 million, he did not include the money made from a recently updated
contract that his agent, Guy McElwaine, had renegotiated before Jaws so
that Spielberg would receive an additional 5 percent profi t. As Sanello
writes, “tens of millions of dollars in excess of the paltry $4 million.” 37 But
how did he spend the money? Buying cars and dating starlets? His production
editor for Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Julia Phillips, writes that
FROM TV TO FILM, 1969–1977 21
Benchley attempted two screenplays before Spielberg hired friend and
screenwriter Carl Gottlieb. The two men rented a house on Martha’s
Vineyard so they could work on the script each night for the next day’s
shooting. This allowed for much improvisation from the cast, something
Spielberg enjoys and encourages. In fact, much of Jaws was ad-libbed by
the actors who met in Spielberg’s house to rehearse. Production on the
movie began on May 2, 1974, before there was even a script, a cast—or a
shark. Spielberg hired Bob Mattey to build the shark, the same Bob Mattey
who built the giant squid in the Walt Disney fi lm 20,000 Leagues Under
the Sea. There were actually three sharks made. All three were named
Bruce (Trivia: Bruce is Spielberg’s lawyer’s name), and all three were divas.
Bruce #1 sank. Bruce #2 exploded. Bruce #3 fi lmed the movie but was extremely
uncooperative. His eyes crossed and his jaws did not always close
correctly. But Spielberg is an expert at making lemonade out of lemons
and made a better fi lm because of Bruce’s foul nature by using the Alfred
Hitchcock trick he had previously used in Duel: the threat of the shark. He
knew that the threat would create more suspense than would too many
appearances of a mechanical shark. It certainly worked, especially when
coordinated with the shark’s theme music, now as internationally recognizable
as that of the shower scene music in Hitchcock’s Psycho. Even when
the shark strikes, the audience often sees the character’s reaction and/or
the damage infl icted instead of the shark itself. In Jaws there are occasions
when the camera is on Brody’s face as he sees, or thinks he sees, something
happening or about to happen. In those scenes, the audience takes its cue
from Brody. There are even some false alarms, but false alarms work to
placate the audience, thus leaving them easier to scare. In his book The
Great Movies II, Roger Ebert writes about one of the scenes that adds suspense.
While Brody is looking at books on sharks, the audience is looking
over his shoulder at “page after page of fearsome teeth, cold little eyes, and
victims with chunks taken out of their bodies.” Spielberg, writes Ebert, is
“establish[ing] the killer in our minds.” 19 The director’s favorite scene is
one of the most haunting and one that makes the shark even more frightening,
yet the shark is nowhere to be seen. The three main characters are
sitting in the boat’s cabin drinking, comparing scars, laughing, and telling
stories. But the cabin turns deathly quiet when Quint starts telling the
others about being a sailor on the USS Indianapolis when the ship sank
at the end of World War II. Those who survived the sinking fl oated for
days without food or water. Surrounded by sharks, he saw one friend after
another pulled under and wondered if he would be next.
Years later Spielberg watched Jaws and said that it was “the simplest
movie I had ever seen in my life. It was just the essential moving, working
Benchley attempted two screenplays before Spielberg hired friend and
screenwriter Carl Gottlieb. The two men rented a house on Martha’s
Vineyard so they could work on the script each night for the next day’s
shooting. This allowed for much improvisation from the cast, something
Spielberg enjoys and encourages. In fact, much of Jaws was ad-libbed by
the actors who met in Spielberg’s house to rehearse. Production on the
movie began on May 2, 1974, before there was even a script, a cast—or a
shark. Spielberg hired Bob Mattey to build the shark, the same Bob Mattey
who built the giant squid in the Walt Disney fi lm 20,000 Leagues Under
the Sea. There were actually three sharks made. All three were named
Bruce (Trivia: Bruce is Spielberg’s lawyer’s name), and all three were divas.
Bruce #1 sank. Bruce #2 exploded. Bruce #3 fi lmed the movie but was extremely
uncooperative. His eyes crossed and his jaws did not always close
correctly. But Spielberg is an expert at making lemonade out of lemons
and made a better fi lm because of Bruce’s foul nature by using the Alfred
Hitchcock trick he had previously used in Duel: the threat of the shark. He
knew that the threat would create more suspense than would too many
appearances of a mechanical shark. It certainly worked, especially when
coordinated with the shark’s theme music, now as internationally recognizable
as that of the shower scene music in Hitchcock’s Psycho. Even when
the shark strikes, the audience often sees the character’s reaction and/or
the damage infl icted instead of the shark itself. In Jaws there are occasions
when the camera is on Brody’s face as he sees, or thinks he sees, something
happening or about to happen. In those scenes, the audience takes its cue
from Brody. There are even some false alarms, but false alarms work to
placate the audience, thus leaving them easier to scare. In his book The
Great Movies II, Roger Ebert writes about one of the scenes that adds suspense.
While Brody is looking at books on sharks, the audience is looking
over his shoulder at “page after page of fearsome teeth, cold little eyes, and
victims with chunks taken out of their bodies.” Spielberg, writes Ebert, is
“establish[ing] the killer in our minds.” 19 The director’s favorite scene is
one of the most haunting and one that makes the shark even more frightening,
yet the shark is nowhere to be seen. The three main characters are
sitting in the boat’s cabin drinking, comparing scars, laughing, and telling
stories. But the cabin turns deathly quiet when Quint starts telling the
others about being a sailor on the USS Indianapolis when the ship sank
at the end of World War II. Those who survived the sinking fl oated for
days without food or water. Surrounded by sharks, he saw one friend after
another pulled under and wondered if he would be next.
Years later Spielberg watched Jaws and said that it was “the simplest
movie I had ever seen in my life. It was just the essential moving, working
18 STEVEN SPIELBERG
would not agree. Duel was shown in American theaters in 1983. (Trivia:
Only in the theatrical version can you see Spielberg in David Mann’s
backseat. He was giving directions to Dennis Weaver.) Spielberg says,
“Television taught me how to be a professional within a very chaotic business.”
12 Tony Crawley quotes Spielberg as saying that television “taught
me to think on my feet. To plan my movies, do my homework, make sure
I knew what I was doing every day before coming on the set.” 13 As Crawley
adds, Spielberg learned that television is about speed—quick work with
no time for special shots. He also learned about cannibalism, the common
practice of incorporating footage from other fi lms; but when Spielberg
learned that scenes from Duel were used in an episode of the television
series The Incredible Hulk in 1978, he had all of his contracts rewritten,
adding a clause to prevent it from happening to any of his fi lms.
After Duel, Spielberg began shooting another made-for-television movie,
Something Evil, for CBS. Darren McGavin and Sandy Dennis starred in the
story about a couple moving into a haunted farmhouse. The fi lm’s photographer,
Bill Butler, would later fi lm Jaws for Spielberg, and Carl Gottlieb, who
acted in the movie, would later help Spielberg write Jaws. Even Spielberg
has a small part in the movie. The fi lm aired January 21, 1972. Spielberg’s
next TV movie was Savage (aka Watch Dog aka The Savage Report ). Another
pilot for a television series, this show starred the husband and wife
team Martin Landau and Barbara Bain, who had been very successful in
Mission Impossible (CBS, 1973/ABC, 1989–1990). In Savage Landau plays
a television reporter and Bain his producer. They try to uncover secrets on
a nominated Supreme Court judge played by Barry Sullivan. The movie
aired on March 31, 1973, on NBC, but was not picked up as a series. Steven
Spielberg was only 25 but already concerned that he was being typecast as
an “episodic director.” 14 He was ready to make a feature fi lm.
SPIELBERG’S FORGOTTEN MOVIE: ACE ELI
AND RODGER OF THE SKIES
Spielberg had been sending his own stories and scripts to studios without
any luck until producers David Brown and Richard D. Zanuck bought
his story, Ace Eli and Rodger of the Skies, for 20th Century Fox. But the
two men were soon fi red because of the studio’s big losses and replaced
by Elmo Williams. When studios change production chiefs, they usually
drop newly purchased projects, but Spielberg was fortunate that Williams
kept his. Williams did not, however, want Spielberg to direct the movie.
Ace Eli and Rodger of the Skies is a sweet old-fashioned movie set during the
1920s starring Cliff Robertson, Patricia Smith, and Eric Shea. Robertson
would not agree. Duel was shown in American theaters in 1983. (Trivia:
Only in the theatrical version can you see Spielberg in David Mann’s
backseat. He was giving directions to Dennis Weaver.) Spielberg says,
“Television taught me how to be a professional within a very chaotic business.”
12 Tony Crawley quotes Spielberg as saying that television “taught
me to think on my feet. To plan my movies, do my homework, make sure
I knew what I was doing every day before coming on the set.” 13 As Crawley
adds, Spielberg learned that television is about speed—quick work with
no time for special shots. He also learned about cannibalism, the common
practice of incorporating footage from other fi lms; but when Spielberg
learned that scenes from Duel were used in an episode of the television
series The Incredible Hulk in 1978, he had all of his contracts rewritten,
adding a clause to prevent it from happening to any of his fi lms.
After Duel, Spielberg began shooting another made-for-television movie,
Something Evil, for CBS. Darren McGavin and Sandy Dennis starred in the
story about a couple moving into a haunted farmhouse. The fi lm’s photographer,
Bill Butler, would later fi lm Jaws for Spielberg, and Carl Gottlieb, who
acted in the movie, would later help Spielberg write Jaws. Even Spielberg
has a small part in the movie. The fi lm aired January 21, 1972. Spielberg’s
next TV movie was Savage (aka Watch Dog aka The Savage Report ). Another
pilot for a television series, this show starred the husband and wife
team Martin Landau and Barbara Bain, who had been very successful in
Mission Impossible (CBS, 1973/ABC, 1989–1990). In Savage Landau plays
a television reporter and Bain his producer. They try to uncover secrets on
a nominated Supreme Court judge played by Barry Sullivan. The movie
aired on March 31, 1973, on NBC, but was not picked up as a series. Steven
Spielberg was only 25 but already concerned that he was being typecast as
an “episodic director.” 14 He was ready to make a feature fi lm.
SPIELBERG’S FORGOTTEN MOVIE: ACE ELI
AND RODGER OF THE SKIES
Spielberg had been sending his own stories and scripts to studios without
any luck until producers David Brown and Richard D. Zanuck bought
his story, Ace Eli and Rodger of the Skies, for 20th Century Fox. But the
two men were soon fi red because of the studio’s big losses and replaced
by Elmo Williams. When studios change production chiefs, they usually
drop newly purchased projects, but Spielberg was fortunate that Williams
kept his. Williams did not, however, want Spielberg to direct the movie.
Ace Eli and Rodger of the Skies is a sweet old-fashioned movie set during the
1920s starring Cliff Robertson, Patricia Smith, and Eric Shea. Robertson
16 STEVEN SPIELBERG
the script, he used his talent with the camera to make it more interesting.
In his biography of the director, Frank Sanello writes that the Night
Gallery episode is considered a “treasure trove” of Spielberg’s “signature
style of fi lmmaking,” which he would “later perfect in his blockbusters and
masterpiece: the use of wide-angle lenses, lots of dolly and crane shots,
and dramatic lighting to maximize the overall visual impact.” 3 And while
zoom lenses were something new on the fi lmmaking scene, Spielberg preferred
tracking shots so that the camera moved toward the actors. He
also used some innovative cutting techniques. The show aired on NBC
on November 8, 1969, to mixed reviews. While one reviewer criticized
the director’s youth, Joan Crawford told a reporter from the Detroit Free
Press, “Go interview that kid because he’s going to be the biggest director
of all time.” 4 But Spielberg believed that he had done an “awful job” 5
and took a leave of absence. During his time off, he wrote screenplays,
but when none were accepted, he was ready to return to directing—even
television. He directed episodes of Marcus Welby, M.D. (ABC), Columbo
(NBC/ABC), Name of the Game (three series shown alternately) (NBC),
Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law (ABC), and another episode of Night
Gallery. He particularly enjoyed directing the fi rst and last episodes of a
short-lived series, The Psychiatrist, because he was allowed to give input
and incorporate his own ideas. He is especially proud of an episode with
Clu Gulager in which Gulager’s character is a golfer dying of cancer whose
golfi ng buddies come to visit him. It was Spielberg’s idea to have the
friends give Gulager a box in which they had placed the 18th hole with a
fl ag in it. Gulager then improvised by squeezing the dirt on himself while
tearfully telling his friends that it was the best gift he had ever received.
Spielberg also enjoyed directing Peter Falk and watching the actor create
his character in the pilot of Columbo, but soon he was so bored that he
says he felt more passion making home movies.
BREAK-OUT TELEVISION MOVIE: DUEL
When Spielberg’s feelings were so low that he began to reconsider his
career choice, Universal bought the rights to Duel. Written by Richard
Matheson, Duel is about David Mann, a traveling salesman who unknowingly
angers a truck driver who fi rst rides his tail then tries to kill him.
Mann even stops and calls the police, but he cannot shake off the truck.
When Spielberg read the script, he vividly remembered how he felt the fi rst
time he drove the Los Angeles freeways, and he persuaded the producers
to let him direct it. Shooting began on September 13, 1971, in Soledad
Canyon, California. Dennis Weaver had been on television in other roles
the script, he used his talent with the camera to make it more interesting.
In his biography of the director, Frank Sanello writes that the Night
Gallery episode is considered a “treasure trove” of Spielberg’s “signature
style of fi lmmaking,” which he would “later perfect in his blockbusters and
masterpiece: the use of wide-angle lenses, lots of dolly and crane shots,
and dramatic lighting to maximize the overall visual impact.” 3 And while
zoom lenses were something new on the fi lmmaking scene, Spielberg preferred
tracking shots so that the camera moved toward the actors. He
also used some innovative cutting techniques. The show aired on NBC
on November 8, 1969, to mixed reviews. While one reviewer criticized
the director’s youth, Joan Crawford told a reporter from the Detroit Free
Press, “Go interview that kid because he’s going to be the biggest director
of all time.” 4 But Spielberg believed that he had done an “awful job” 5
and took a leave of absence. During his time off, he wrote screenplays,
but when none were accepted, he was ready to return to directing—even
television. He directed episodes of Marcus Welby, M.D. (ABC), Columbo
(NBC/ABC), Name of the Game (three series shown alternately) (NBC),
Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law (ABC), and another episode of Night
Gallery. He particularly enjoyed directing the fi rst and last episodes of a
short-lived series, The Psychiatrist, because he was allowed to give input
and incorporate his own ideas. He is especially proud of an episode with
Clu Gulager in which Gulager’s character is a golfer dying of cancer whose
golfi ng buddies come to visit him. It was Spielberg’s idea to have the
friends give Gulager a box in which they had placed the 18th hole with a
fl ag in it. Gulager then improvised by squeezing the dirt on himself while
tearfully telling his friends that it was the best gift he had ever received.
Spielberg also enjoyed directing Peter Falk and watching the actor create
his character in the pilot of Columbo, but soon he was so bored that he
says he felt more passion making home movies.
BREAK-OUT TELEVISION MOVIE: DUEL
When Spielberg’s feelings were so low that he began to reconsider his
career choice, Universal bought the rights to Duel. Written by Richard
Matheson, Duel is about David Mann, a traveling salesman who unknowingly
angers a truck driver who fi rst rides his tail then tries to kill him.
Mann even stops and calls the police, but he cannot shake off the truck.
When Spielberg read the script, he vividly remembered how he felt the fi rst
time he drove the Los Angeles freeways, and he persuaded the producers
to let him direct it. Shooting began on September 13, 1971, in Soledad
Canyon, California. Dennis Weaver had been on television in other roles
Chapter 2
FROM TV TO FILM,
1969–1977
PROFESSIONAL DIRECTING DEBUT:
NIGHT GALLERY
Although Spielberg was anxious to make feature movies, he eagerly asked
questions of everyone around him to learn as much as possible from television.
His fi rst assignment was an episode of Night Gallery titled “Eyes”
starring fi lm legend Joan Crawford. Movies made for television were introduced
by Universal in 1964, and even today they are often pilots for
prospective television series. Night Gallery was such a project. (It was also
three rather spooky stories compacted into two hours.) Spielberg was
thrilled to work on the series because of his admiration for its creator,
writer, and host Rod Serling of Twilight Zone fame, but he was “terrifi ed” 1
to direct Crawford, a woman who intimidated almost everyone. An actress
since the early days of movies, Crawford was making her television
debut. At fi rst she disliked the idea of such a young director, but she soon
relied on him much more, says Spielberg, that he expected. He was 21 and
she was 65, but they soon became friends. Barry Sullivan was the actor
in the movie and helped the young director when he could. To repay the
kindness, Spielberg hired Sullivan twice in later years. When Spielberg
asked Sheinberg if he could work on a project about younger people, he
was told, “I’d take this opportunity if I were you.” 2
Work began on February 3, 1969. At fi rst the crew did not take the
young director seriously and thought he might be part of a publicity stunt,
but that changed when they saw that he was always prepared and carried
storyboards with him throughout the production. And though he disliked
FROM TV TO FILM,
1969–1977
PROFESSIONAL DIRECTING DEBUT:
NIGHT GALLERY
Although Spielberg was anxious to make feature movies, he eagerly asked
questions of everyone around him to learn as much as possible from television.
His fi rst assignment was an episode of Night Gallery titled “Eyes”
starring fi lm legend Joan Crawford. Movies made for television were introduced
by Universal in 1964, and even today they are often pilots for
prospective television series. Night Gallery was such a project. (It was also
three rather spooky stories compacted into two hours.) Spielberg was
thrilled to work on the series because of his admiration for its creator,
writer, and host Rod Serling of Twilight Zone fame, but he was “terrifi ed” 1
to direct Crawford, a woman who intimidated almost everyone. An actress
since the early days of movies, Crawford was making her television
debut. At fi rst she disliked the idea of such a young director, but she soon
relied on him much more, says Spielberg, that he expected. He was 21 and
she was 65, but they soon became friends. Barry Sullivan was the actor
in the movie and helped the young director when he could. To repay the
kindness, Spielberg hired Sullivan twice in later years. When Spielberg
asked Sheinberg if he could work on a project about younger people, he
was told, “I’d take this opportunity if I were you.” 2
Work began on February 3, 1969. At fi rst the crew did not take the
young director seriously and thought he might be part of a publicity stunt,
but that changed when they saw that he was always prepared and carried
storyboards with him throughout the production. And though he disliked
12 STEVEN SPIELBERG
racing starring Tony Bill. Spielberg’s roommate, Ralph Burris, wanted to
become a movie producer and decided to let Spielberg’s fi lm be his springboard,
while Arnold Spielberg contributed equipment and fi nancing.
Serge Haginere and Allen Daviau, Spielberg’s cameramen, spent weekends
in the desert and in Santa Monica fi lming racing footage from different
angles. Unfortunately, rain prevented the fi nal weekend’s shooting
and time was up for the crane and equipment operators, so Slipstream had
to be cancelled. But when Spielberg found another aspiring young producer
who wanted to back a short fi lm, he began working on Amblin’ on
July 4, 1968, with Daviau as director of photography and himself as writer
and director. Amblin’ is a simple story about a young man and woman
who fall in and out of love as they hitchhike from California’s desert to
its ocean. Again, friends and family helped out with only a fi lm credit as
payment but, for a change, the fi lm had nothing to do with Steven’s childhood.
Only 26 minutes long, the movie scored big with Chuck Silvers and
Sid Sheinberg, president of Universal Television, who offered Spielberg
a $275/week seven-year contract to direct television programs with the
chance of directing movies. Spielberg quit college without emptying his
locker! (Note: On May 31, 2002, Spielberg graduated from California
State University Long Beach with a bachelor’s degree in fi lm and electronic
arts. Wearing a cap and gown, he marched in the commencement
ceremony with his fellow graduates, but when he crossed the stage, the
band played the Indiana Jones theme music.)
But he had not read the contract before signing it and soon found that he
was being paid for doing nothing, so he returned to Sheinberg and told him
he wanted to work. Sheinberg called producer William Sackheim (known
for guiding young talent) and told him to use Spielberg in the television series
Night Gallery. When the grateful young man asked Chuck Silvers how
he could possibly repay him for contacting Sheinberg, Silvers told him to do
two things: always help young moviemakers and always give him (Silvers) a
hug each time they meet. Spielberg continues to keep those two promises.
On December 12, 1968, the Hollywood Reporter announced, “Spielberg, 21,
is believed to be the youngest fi lmmaker ever pacted by a major studio.” 32
NOTES
1 . Quoted in Susan Goldman Rubin, Steven Spielberg: Crazy for Movies
(New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2001), 9.
2 . Quoted in Fred A. Bernstein, “Steven Spielberg’s Mother. An Interview
with Leah Adler,” The Jewish Mothers ’ Hall of Fame (New York: Doubleday, 1986),
www.fredbernstein.com/articles/.
racing starring Tony Bill. Spielberg’s roommate, Ralph Burris, wanted to
become a movie producer and decided to let Spielberg’s fi lm be his springboard,
while Arnold Spielberg contributed equipment and fi nancing.
Serge Haginere and Allen Daviau, Spielberg’s cameramen, spent weekends
in the desert and in Santa Monica fi lming racing footage from different
angles. Unfortunately, rain prevented the fi nal weekend’s shooting
and time was up for the crane and equipment operators, so Slipstream had
to be cancelled. But when Spielberg found another aspiring young producer
who wanted to back a short fi lm, he began working on Amblin’ on
July 4, 1968, with Daviau as director of photography and himself as writer
and director. Amblin’ is a simple story about a young man and woman
who fall in and out of love as they hitchhike from California’s desert to
its ocean. Again, friends and family helped out with only a fi lm credit as
payment but, for a change, the fi lm had nothing to do with Steven’s childhood.
Only 26 minutes long, the movie scored big with Chuck Silvers and
Sid Sheinberg, president of Universal Television, who offered Spielberg
a $275/week seven-year contract to direct television programs with the
chance of directing movies. Spielberg quit college without emptying his
locker! (Note: On May 31, 2002, Spielberg graduated from California
State University Long Beach with a bachelor’s degree in fi lm and electronic
arts. Wearing a cap and gown, he marched in the commencement
ceremony with his fellow graduates, but when he crossed the stage, the
band played the Indiana Jones theme music.)
But he had not read the contract before signing it and soon found that he
was being paid for doing nothing, so he returned to Sheinberg and told him
he wanted to work. Sheinberg called producer William Sackheim (known
for guiding young talent) and told him to use Spielberg in the television series
Night Gallery. When the grateful young man asked Chuck Silvers how
he could possibly repay him for contacting Sheinberg, Silvers told him to do
two things: always help young moviemakers and always give him (Silvers) a
hug each time they meet. Spielberg continues to keep those two promises.
On December 12, 1968, the Hollywood Reporter announced, “Spielberg, 21,
is believed to be the youngest fi lmmaker ever pacted by a major studio.” 32
NOTES
1 . Quoted in Susan Goldman Rubin, Steven Spielberg: Crazy for Movies
(New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2001), 9.
2 . Quoted in Fred A. Bernstein, “Steven Spielberg’s Mother. An Interview
with Leah Adler,” The Jewish Mothers ’ Hall of Fame (New York: Doubleday, 1986),
www.fredbernstein.com/articles/.
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, 1946–1968 11
spent much of his time helping her with orders. He also made deliveries
around the lot and took great advantage of it. Not only did he see Alfred
Hitchcock, he ate lunch with Charlton Heston and Cary Grant. He spent
much of his time in the editing rooms learning from the experts and even
helped edit a popular television western. He soon became friends with
Tony Bill, a young actor turned producer/director who showed interest
in Spielberg’s work. Bill introduced Spielberg to Francis Ford Coppola
and took him to an acting class taught by actor/director John Cassavetes.
“I got off on the right foot,” says Spielberg, “learning how to deal with
actors as I watched Cassavetes dealing with his repertory company.” 31 He
even worked as a production assistant on the Cassavetes fi lm Faces.
After he graduated from Saratoga High School in 1965, Steven moved
in with his father and applied to the fi lm schools at the University of
Southern California and to the University of California at Los Angeles,
but both turned him down because of poor grades. He fi nally enrolled at
California State College at Long Beach (CSLB), which had no fi lm school
but was located near Los Angeles and Universal Studios. (Spielberg is also
honest enough to say that college was a way to evade the Vietnam draft.)
It was around this time that he went to the Nuart and Vagabond theaters
in Los Angeles and discovered many of the movies that he had not been
allowed to see growing up. In fact, most of Spielberg’s fi lm education before
and since has been from watching late-night movies on television.
He arranged his classes so he could spend three days a week at Universal,
but after awhile he attended so few classes that his father asked Silvers to
encourage Steven to go to school. Silvers told the senior Spielberg that
movie studios required only talent, not degrees. When Steven learned
that producers would preview only 16mm or 35mm movies, he took a job
in the college cafeteria to earn the money to buy a 16mm camera and fi lm
and then spent weekends making movies with college buddies as actors.
In later years, his professors would remember him as the kid with cameras
hanging around his neck who was always fi lming and writing. During the
divorce and soon after, Arnold Spielberg and his son became close, both
sharing their sadness, but it bothered Arnold that his son did not take
education seriously. The two grew estranged again, and Steven moved
into an apartment with a classmate.
BREAKING INTO THE BIG TIME
By 1967, Spielberg was ready to make his “calling-card fi lm,” the one
he would show to Universal executives to prove he could handle a camera,
lighting, and actors. Slipstream was a simple 35mm story about bicycle
spent much of his time helping her with orders. He also made deliveries
around the lot and took great advantage of it. Not only did he see Alfred
Hitchcock, he ate lunch with Charlton Heston and Cary Grant. He spent
much of his time in the editing rooms learning from the experts and even
helped edit a popular television western. He soon became friends with
Tony Bill, a young actor turned producer/director who showed interest
in Spielberg’s work. Bill introduced Spielberg to Francis Ford Coppola
and took him to an acting class taught by actor/director John Cassavetes.
“I got off on the right foot,” says Spielberg, “learning how to deal with
actors as I watched Cassavetes dealing with his repertory company.” 31 He
even worked as a production assistant on the Cassavetes fi lm Faces.
After he graduated from Saratoga High School in 1965, Steven moved
in with his father and applied to the fi lm schools at the University of
Southern California and to the University of California at Los Angeles,
but both turned him down because of poor grades. He fi nally enrolled at
California State College at Long Beach (CSLB), which had no fi lm school
but was located near Los Angeles and Universal Studios. (Spielberg is also
honest enough to say that college was a way to evade the Vietnam draft.)
It was around this time that he went to the Nuart and Vagabond theaters
in Los Angeles and discovered many of the movies that he had not been
allowed to see growing up. In fact, most of Spielberg’s fi lm education before
and since has been from watching late-night movies on television.
He arranged his classes so he could spend three days a week at Universal,
but after awhile he attended so few classes that his father asked Silvers to
encourage Steven to go to school. Silvers told the senior Spielberg that
movie studios required only talent, not degrees. When Steven learned
that producers would preview only 16mm or 35mm movies, he took a job
in the college cafeteria to earn the money to buy a 16mm camera and fi lm
and then spent weekends making movies with college buddies as actors.
In later years, his professors would remember him as the kid with cameras
hanging around his neck who was always fi lming and writing. During the
divorce and soon after, Arnold Spielberg and his son became close, both
sharing their sadness, but it bothered Arnold that his son did not take
education seriously. The two grew estranged again, and Steven moved
into an apartment with a classmate.
BREAKING INTO THE BIG TIME
By 1967, Spielberg was ready to make his “calling-card fi lm,” the one
he would show to Universal executives to prove he could handle a camera,
lighting, and actors. Slipstream was a simple 35mm story about bicycle
10 STEVEN SPIELBERG
DIVORCE
These were not good years for the Spielberg family. The personality differences
between Arnold and Leah fi nally took their toll, and the move to
California capped it. Writer Alan Vanneman describes the breakdown as
“a slow-motion spiral to disaster and divorce—long periods of silence and
avoidance punctuated by bitter arguments that left Steven and his three
younger sisters trembling.” 29 There was also Leah Spielberg’s relationship
with Bernie Adler, Arnold’s assistant at General Electric. When the
Spielbergs separated in 1966, Arnold moved to Los Angeles. (On April 6,
1997, he married Bernice Colner.) Leah and the kids moved to Phoenix
where she married Bernie in 1967. (Trivia: Marrying Adler took Leah
back to her Orthodox roots. She and Bernie opened a kosher deli in Los
Angeles called the Milky Way. Whenever her son is in town fi lming, she
sends a “Tuna Stuffer” to him for lunch. He also loves the cabbage rolls.)
The divorce was traumatic for Steven, which is why the topic occurs in
so many of his movies. And though his parents and sisters adored him,
Spielberg has said, “I always felt alone for some reason. My mom had her
agenda, my dad his, my sisters theirs. E.T., which certainly defi nes loneliness
from my own perspective, is a lot about how I felt about my mom and
dad when they fi nally got a divorce.” 30
UNIVERSAL STUDIOS
There is a story, supposedly perpetuated by Spielberg himself, that
during a visit to Universal Studios he left the tourist tram and struck out
on his own and then began going to the Universal lot every day. No one
stopped him because he wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and adopted the
air of someone who had the right to be there. For three months he hung
around movie directors, writers, and editors. He even used an empty offi
ce and put his name and room number on the building’s directory and
gave his extension to the switchboard. Eventually, he was stopped and
questioned by Chuck Silvers, assistant to the editorial supervisor for
Universal TV.
The truth is that Steven’s dad asked a friend to ask Chuck Silvers to
show his son around the studio’s postproduction offi ces. Silvers agreed and
spent a day with Steven showing him around and talking with him about
making movies. During the school year, the two corresponded, and Silvers
gave the young man an unpaid job as a clerical assistant in the editorial
department during the summers of 1964 and 1965. Instead of his own offi
ce, however, he shared a space with the company’s purchasing agent and
DIVORCE
These were not good years for the Spielberg family. The personality differences
between Arnold and Leah fi nally took their toll, and the move to
California capped it. Writer Alan Vanneman describes the breakdown as
“a slow-motion spiral to disaster and divorce—long periods of silence and
avoidance punctuated by bitter arguments that left Steven and his three
younger sisters trembling.” 29 There was also Leah Spielberg’s relationship
with Bernie Adler, Arnold’s assistant at General Electric. When the
Spielbergs separated in 1966, Arnold moved to Los Angeles. (On April 6,
1997, he married Bernice Colner.) Leah and the kids moved to Phoenix
where she married Bernie in 1967. (Trivia: Marrying Adler took Leah
back to her Orthodox roots. She and Bernie opened a kosher deli in Los
Angeles called the Milky Way. Whenever her son is in town fi lming, she
sends a “Tuna Stuffer” to him for lunch. He also loves the cabbage rolls.)
The divorce was traumatic for Steven, which is why the topic occurs in
so many of his movies. And though his parents and sisters adored him,
Spielberg has said, “I always felt alone for some reason. My mom had her
agenda, my dad his, my sisters theirs. E.T., which certainly defi nes loneliness
from my own perspective, is a lot about how I felt about my mom and
dad when they fi nally got a divorce.” 30
UNIVERSAL STUDIOS
There is a story, supposedly perpetuated by Spielberg himself, that
during a visit to Universal Studios he left the tourist tram and struck out
on his own and then began going to the Universal lot every day. No one
stopped him because he wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and adopted the
air of someone who had the right to be there. For three months he hung
around movie directors, writers, and editors. He even used an empty offi
ce and put his name and room number on the building’s directory and
gave his extension to the switchboard. Eventually, he was stopped and
questioned by Chuck Silvers, assistant to the editorial supervisor for
Universal TV.
The truth is that Steven’s dad asked a friend to ask Chuck Silvers to
show his son around the studio’s postproduction offi ces. Silvers agreed and
spent a day with Steven showing him around and talking with him about
making movies. During the school year, the two corresponded, and Silvers
gave the young man an unpaid job as a clerical assistant in the editorial
department during the summers of 1964 and 1965. Instead of his own offi
ce, however, he shared a space with the company’s purchasing agent and
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, 1946–1968 9
pressure cooker until the lid blew off—instant gore! He fi lmed toy trucks
and paper-mache mountains so they looked life-sized, and he did all of his
own editing and splicing. The problem came in the summer when Steven
needed to dub in the sound and many of the kids were busy elsewhere.
He had to persuade them to recite their lines while trying to match their
words to their scenes in the movie. Firelight was complete with soundtrack
and sound effects. (Steven is self-taught on clarinet and organ so he made
his own score.) Arnold Spielberg rented the Phoenix Little Theater for
the night of March 24, 1964. Leah put the letters on the marquee and sold
tickets for one dollar. The movie cost $400 and brought in $600. (Sadly,
little of Firelight remains today.)
CALIFORNIA
But the very next day, the Spielbergs moved once again, this time to
Saratoga, California. Arnold Spielberg’s talent had earned him yet another
promotion, and they were now moving to the area that would soon
be known as “Silicon Valley.” Moving never got easier, says Steven.
A “C” student all through high school, the only reading that Steven
enjoyed was fi lm magazines, science-fi ction stories, and MAD magazine.
He was particularly bad in math and admits he still cannot perform fractions.
Although his father helped with his movie making, he continued
to hope that Steven would go to college and even got him up early every
morning to help him with math—another reason that Steven resented his
father. Father and son often argued and, as happens in so many families,
they were estranged for a number of years and then became good friends.
After this move, the young man ignored fi lmmaking to concentrate on his
studies. “I was trying to get out of high school, get some decent grades, and
fi nd a college,” 26 he says. But life got harder for the young man, because it
was in Saratoga that he experienced true anti-Semitism for the fi rst time.
In school, students hit him, threw pennies at him, and called him “Jew.”
Once someone threw a cherry bomb between his legs while he sat on the
toilet. Another time someone ground his face in the dirt. Being treated
differently because of his religion scared and angered him. After he had
twice come home with a bloody nose, his mother began picking him up
after school. “To this day,” says Spielberg, “I haven’t gotten over it, nor
have I forgiven any of them.” 27 (Nor will he put up with anti-Semitism.
At a car dealership, he placed an order for a car, drove away, and then
learned that his salesman said, “I just got a Jew to pay full price for a
car!” 28 Spielberg called and cancelled his order and refused to change his
mind even when the dealership’s owner apologized.)
pressure cooker until the lid blew off—instant gore! He fi lmed toy trucks
and paper-mache mountains so they looked life-sized, and he did all of his
own editing and splicing. The problem came in the summer when Steven
needed to dub in the sound and many of the kids were busy elsewhere.
He had to persuade them to recite their lines while trying to match their
words to their scenes in the movie. Firelight was complete with soundtrack
and sound effects. (Steven is self-taught on clarinet and organ so he made
his own score.) Arnold Spielberg rented the Phoenix Little Theater for
the night of March 24, 1964. Leah put the letters on the marquee and sold
tickets for one dollar. The movie cost $400 and brought in $600. (Sadly,
little of Firelight remains today.)
CALIFORNIA
But the very next day, the Spielbergs moved once again, this time to
Saratoga, California. Arnold Spielberg’s talent had earned him yet another
promotion, and they were now moving to the area that would soon
be known as “Silicon Valley.” Moving never got easier, says Steven.
A “C” student all through high school, the only reading that Steven
enjoyed was fi lm magazines, science-fi ction stories, and MAD magazine.
He was particularly bad in math and admits he still cannot perform fractions.
Although his father helped with his movie making, he continued
to hope that Steven would go to college and even got him up early every
morning to help him with math—another reason that Steven resented his
father. Father and son often argued and, as happens in so many families,
they were estranged for a number of years and then became good friends.
After this move, the young man ignored fi lmmaking to concentrate on his
studies. “I was trying to get out of high school, get some decent grades, and
fi nd a college,” 26 he says. But life got harder for the young man, because it
was in Saratoga that he experienced true anti-Semitism for the fi rst time.
In school, students hit him, threw pennies at him, and called him “Jew.”
Once someone threw a cherry bomb between his legs while he sat on the
toilet. Another time someone ground his face in the dirt. Being treated
differently because of his religion scared and angered him. After he had
twice come home with a bloody nose, his mother began picking him up
after school. “To this day,” says Spielberg, “I haven’t gotten over it, nor
have I forgiven any of them.” 27 (Nor will he put up with anti-Semitism.
At a car dealership, he placed an order for a car, drove away, and then
learned that his salesman said, “I just got a Jew to pay full price for a
car!” 28 Spielberg called and cancelled his order and refused to change his
mind even when the dealership’s owner apologized.)
8 STEVEN SPIELBERG
like it when his grandfather called him by his Hebrew name, Schmuel . 22
Steven had heard bits and pieces about relatives killed in Poland and the
Ukraine but he was too young to appreciate such sacrifi ces.
WINNING
Using Camelback Mountain Desert in Phoenix as North Africa,
Steven fi lmed his fi rst fully scripted movie in 1962. Escape to Nowhere was
a 40- minute fi lm about German Field Marshall Erwin Rommel fi ghting
the Americans. Both parents wore fatigues and took turns driving a Jeep.
Neighbor boys played both Americans and Germans, and because there
were so few German helmets, boys would put one on, run by the camera,
and then hand their helmet to someone else. Arnold Spielberg provided
fi reworks and what appeared to be explosions. Escape to Nowhere won fi rst
prize in the Arizona Amateur Film Festival. The prizes were a 16mm movie
camera and some books on making movies. Steven promptly donated the
books to his high school’s library and traded in the camera for an 8mm
Bolex and sound system. He learned that he could send cut footage to Eastman
Kodak where a magnetic strip was placed on the fi lm so he could add
sound. He also learned that he could shoot, rewind, and shoot again. Now
he could make double exposures, make people disappear, and turn “beautiful
young women . . . into ghoulish nightmares.” 23 When he purchased a
polarizer, he could fade in and fade out. He fi lmed master shots on one roll of
fi lm, close-ups on another, and action/trick shots on a third. He would break
down the fi lm and hang the separate shots on his homemade cutting rack
and then tape onto each scene its description and location in the fi lm. In an
interview many years later, Spielberg said, “I remember doing things at 16
that I was later surprised to see being done in 35mm in the movie theater.” 24
Where did he learn all of this? It just seemed natural, he says.
It was with this new camera that Steven began making Firelight, his fi rst
feature-length movie and the one some say showed his “true potential as
a fi lmmaker.” 25 Inspired by the meteor shower he had watched with his
dad so many years before, Steven wrote about aliens abducting earthlings
for an extraterrestrial zoo. As before, he fi lmed on weekends during the
school year using family, friends, and local college students. Anne was
the typist and script girl, and Nancy was the star of the movie, the person
abducted and killed by aliens. Steven’s father invested in the fi lm,
rigged the lights, and built the set and anything else his son needed. His
mother’s serving cart became the dolly on which Steven sat holding the
camera while Anne pushed him to where he wanted to go. But the topper
may have been the special effects: 30 cans of cherry pie fi lling cooked in a
like it when his grandfather called him by his Hebrew name, Schmuel . 22
Steven had heard bits and pieces about relatives killed in Poland and the
Ukraine but he was too young to appreciate such sacrifi ces.
WINNING
Using Camelback Mountain Desert in Phoenix as North Africa,
Steven fi lmed his fi rst fully scripted movie in 1962. Escape to Nowhere was
a 40- minute fi lm about German Field Marshall Erwin Rommel fi ghting
the Americans. Both parents wore fatigues and took turns driving a Jeep.
Neighbor boys played both Americans and Germans, and because there
were so few German helmets, boys would put one on, run by the camera,
and then hand their helmet to someone else. Arnold Spielberg provided
fi reworks and what appeared to be explosions. Escape to Nowhere won fi rst
prize in the Arizona Amateur Film Festival. The prizes were a 16mm movie
camera and some books on making movies. Steven promptly donated the
books to his high school’s library and traded in the camera for an 8mm
Bolex and sound system. He learned that he could send cut footage to Eastman
Kodak where a magnetic strip was placed on the fi lm so he could add
sound. He also learned that he could shoot, rewind, and shoot again. Now
he could make double exposures, make people disappear, and turn “beautiful
young women . . . into ghoulish nightmares.” 23 When he purchased a
polarizer, he could fade in and fade out. He fi lmed master shots on one roll of
fi lm, close-ups on another, and action/trick shots on a third. He would break
down the fi lm and hang the separate shots on his homemade cutting rack
and then tape onto each scene its description and location in the fi lm. In an
interview many years later, Spielberg said, “I remember doing things at 16
that I was later surprised to see being done in 35mm in the movie theater.” 24
Where did he learn all of this? It just seemed natural, he says.
It was with this new camera that Steven began making Firelight, his fi rst
feature-length movie and the one some say showed his “true potential as
a fi lmmaker.” 25 Inspired by the meteor shower he had watched with his
dad so many years before, Steven wrote about aliens abducting earthlings
for an extraterrestrial zoo. As before, he fi lmed on weekends during the
school year using family, friends, and local college students. Anne was
the typist and script girl, and Nancy was the star of the movie, the person
abducted and killed by aliens. Steven’s father invested in the fi lm,
rigged the lights, and built the set and anything else his son needed. His
mother’s serving cart became the dolly on which Steven sat holding the
camera while Anne pushed him to where he wanted to go. But the topper
may have been the special effects: 30 cans of cherry pie fi lling cooked in a
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, 1946–1968 7
The problem, he says, was that they enjoyed it at fi rst, but then grew
bored. During the school year, they could work only on weekends, and as
the boys grew older, most of them preferred to spend time with girls and
cars. When some did not return, Steven had to rewrite and reedit. “That
was a major problem,” he says. “It still is a major problem!” 13 And while
he remembers being unpopular , Anne says that many girls thought he
was cute “in a nerdy way.” 14 Steven says about himself, “I was skinny and
unpopular. I was the weird, skinny kid with acne. I hate to use the word
wimp, but I wasn’t in the inner loop. I never felt comfortable with myself,
because I was never part of the majority.” 15 After purposely losing a race
to a mentally retarded boy, he was often called “Retard.” 16 He refers to the
incident as “the height of my wimpery” and says, “I’d never felt better and
I’d never felt worse in my life.” 17 Sometimes he compares his youth to an
American sitcom, “The kind that ABC buys for a season before they drop
it.” 18 When he found the courage to take a girl to the drive-in (in the
fi fth grade with his father driving), the girl put her head on his shoulder,
and his parents later lectured him about promiscuity. In a scene partially
recreated in E.T. , Steven got sick while dissecting a frog in biology class.
He left the room and stood in the hall with the other “weak-stomached
students” 19 who, to his dismay, were all girls. Gawky kids often fi nd that
they can make people laugh. Since Steven was not into comedy, he used
his movies instead. (Trivia: Spielberg says that actor Eddie Deezen looks
like he, Spielberg, did in school.)
RELIGION
Spielberg once called his family “storefront kosher” 20 because they did
not practice their faith on a strict or regular basis. They did light candles
on the Sabbath, went to temple on Friday nights and High Holy days, and
Steven was bar mitzvahed in an Orthodox synagogue. But for most of his
formative years, Steven was the only Jew he knew outside of his family,
and each time the family moved, he had to assimilate again. Even though
it was his mother’s idea to live in gentile neighborhoods, Steven resented
his father for causing the moves. It was easy for his father, he says, “My
father assimilated into the gentile world of computers, and that’s a very
Wasp world.” 21 The young boy was so desperate to be like the gentile kids
that he even duct-taped his nose down to fl atten it, and every Christmas
he begged his dad to hang Christmas lights so their house would not be the
only one on the block without them. He was even ashamed of his beloved
grandfather with his long white beard who prayed in the corner of their
home wearing a long black coat and a black hat. And he certainly did not
The problem, he says, was that they enjoyed it at fi rst, but then grew
bored. During the school year, they could work only on weekends, and as
the boys grew older, most of them preferred to spend time with girls and
cars. When some did not return, Steven had to rewrite and reedit. “That
was a major problem,” he says. “It still is a major problem!” 13 And while
he remembers being unpopular , Anne says that many girls thought he
was cute “in a nerdy way.” 14 Steven says about himself, “I was skinny and
unpopular. I was the weird, skinny kid with acne. I hate to use the word
wimp, but I wasn’t in the inner loop. I never felt comfortable with myself,
because I was never part of the majority.” 15 After purposely losing a race
to a mentally retarded boy, he was often called “Retard.” 16 He refers to the
incident as “the height of my wimpery” and says, “I’d never felt better and
I’d never felt worse in my life.” 17 Sometimes he compares his youth to an
American sitcom, “The kind that ABC buys for a season before they drop
it.” 18 When he found the courage to take a girl to the drive-in (in the
fi fth grade with his father driving), the girl put her head on his shoulder,
and his parents later lectured him about promiscuity. In a scene partially
recreated in E.T. , Steven got sick while dissecting a frog in biology class.
He left the room and stood in the hall with the other “weak-stomached
students” 19 who, to his dismay, were all girls. Gawky kids often fi nd that
they can make people laugh. Since Steven was not into comedy, he used
his movies instead. (Trivia: Spielberg says that actor Eddie Deezen looks
like he, Spielberg, did in school.)
RELIGION
Spielberg once called his family “storefront kosher” 20 because they did
not practice their faith on a strict or regular basis. They did light candles
on the Sabbath, went to temple on Friday nights and High Holy days, and
Steven was bar mitzvahed in an Orthodox synagogue. But for most of his
formative years, Steven was the only Jew he knew outside of his family,
and each time the family moved, he had to assimilate again. Even though
it was his mother’s idea to live in gentile neighborhoods, Steven resented
his father for causing the moves. It was easy for his father, he says, “My
father assimilated into the gentile world of computers, and that’s a very
Wasp world.” 21 The young boy was so desperate to be like the gentile kids
that he even duct-taped his nose down to fl atten it, and every Christmas
he begged his dad to hang Christmas lights so their house would not be the
only one on the block without them. He was even ashamed of his beloved
grandfather with his long white beard who prayed in the corner of their
home wearing a long black coat and a black hat. And he certainly did not
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, 1946–1968 5
site, Spielberg said, “ ‘The last few years in scouting have deeply saddened
me to see the Boy Scouts of America actively and publicly participating in
discrimination. It’s a real shame.’ With that, Spielberg announced that he
had decided to quit the advisory board of the Boy Scouts of America after
having been a member for 10 years. He had also donated money to fund
camps, helped write the guidelines for a cinematography merit badge, and
was honored by the Scouts several years prior at the group’s quadrennial
jamboree. He was also featured prominently in promotional material for
the group. All that has come to an end thanks to Spielberg’s consideration
of the ethics involved in supporting a group that practices discrimination.
Spielberg said he will continue to encourage the group to ‘end this intolerance
and discrimination once and for all.’ ” 8
DISCOVERING THE CAMERA
The Spielbergs enjoyed trips to the White Mountains. At one point,
Leah Spielberg gave her husband an 8mm camera with which to fi lm their
trips, but his results bored young Steven, who complained until his father
gave him the camera. The trips then became directed and choreographed
mini-movies: when and how to pack and unpack, when and how to exit
the car, anything to turn a mundane experience into something interesting.
When Steven was 11, his father threatened to take away his train
set because he kept wrecking the cars. The boy realized that to keep the
trains and continue the train-wreck experience, he could fi lm the wreck.
He called this, his fi rst movie, The Last Train Wreck.
The Boy Scouts offered only a photography badge, but Steven convinced
his scoutmaster to let him make a movie instead. With the help
of his family, he fi lmed The Last Gun (aka The Last Gunfi ght, aka The Last
Shootout ) at Scottsdale’s Pinnacle Peak Patio restaurant, chosen because it
had an old stagecoach. In this, his fi rst movie with a plot, the stagecoach
driver is killed by bandanna-wearing, cap-pistol-carrying desperados who
also rob a passenger (sister Anne) of her jewelry box. The fi lm premiered
in 1959 in front of his fellow Boy Scouts, and Steven earned not only his
merit badge but also the cheers from a real audience—something he took
to immediately.
The usual Steven Spielberg productions starred family, friends, and
pets. A Day in the Life of Thunder (aka This Is a Dog ’ s Life ), made in 1958,
was about a very muddy cocker spaniel named Thunder being washed by
the girls and was told from Thunder’s point of view. By the time the boy
had made several movies, he knew that fi lmmaking was his future. “I had
learned that fi lm was power.” 9 In fact, the shy little boy with poor grades
site, Spielberg said, “ ‘The last few years in scouting have deeply saddened
me to see the Boy Scouts of America actively and publicly participating in
discrimination. It’s a real shame.’ With that, Spielberg announced that he
had decided to quit the advisory board of the Boy Scouts of America after
having been a member for 10 years. He had also donated money to fund
camps, helped write the guidelines for a cinematography merit badge, and
was honored by the Scouts several years prior at the group’s quadrennial
jamboree. He was also featured prominently in promotional material for
the group. All that has come to an end thanks to Spielberg’s consideration
of the ethics involved in supporting a group that practices discrimination.
Spielberg said he will continue to encourage the group to ‘end this intolerance
and discrimination once and for all.’ ” 8
DISCOVERING THE CAMERA
The Spielbergs enjoyed trips to the White Mountains. At one point,
Leah Spielberg gave her husband an 8mm camera with which to fi lm their
trips, but his results bored young Steven, who complained until his father
gave him the camera. The trips then became directed and choreographed
mini-movies: when and how to pack and unpack, when and how to exit
the car, anything to turn a mundane experience into something interesting.
When Steven was 11, his father threatened to take away his train
set because he kept wrecking the cars. The boy realized that to keep the
trains and continue the train-wreck experience, he could fi lm the wreck.
He called this, his fi rst movie, The Last Train Wreck.
The Boy Scouts offered only a photography badge, but Steven convinced
his scoutmaster to let him make a movie instead. With the help
of his family, he fi lmed The Last Gun (aka The Last Gunfi ght, aka The Last
Shootout ) at Scottsdale’s Pinnacle Peak Patio restaurant, chosen because it
had an old stagecoach. In this, his fi rst movie with a plot, the stagecoach
driver is killed by bandanna-wearing, cap-pistol-carrying desperados who
also rob a passenger (sister Anne) of her jewelry box. The fi lm premiered
in 1959 in front of his fellow Boy Scouts, and Steven earned not only his
merit badge but also the cheers from a real audience—something he took
to immediately.
The usual Steven Spielberg productions starred family, friends, and
pets. A Day in the Life of Thunder (aka This Is a Dog ’ s Life ), made in 1958,
was about a very muddy cocker spaniel named Thunder being washed by
the girls and was told from Thunder’s point of view. By the time the boy
had made several movies, he knew that fi lmmaking was his future. “I had
learned that fi lm was power.” 9 In fact, the shy little boy with poor grades
4 STEVEN SPIELBERG
the moon. “Steven wasn’t exactly cuddly,” his mother says. “What he was
was scary. When Steven woke up from a nap, I shook.” But she quickly
adds that she and the kids “had a great time.” 6 In later years, Steven would
produce Poltergeist (see chapter 3), which he says is, “the darker side of my
nature—it’s me when I was scaring my younger sisters half to death when
we were growing up—and E.T. is my optimism about the future and my
optimism about what it was like to grow up in Arizona and New Jersey.” 7
TRUE BOYHOOD HOME
In 1957, Arnold Spielberg took a job with General Electric, and the
Spielbergs moved to the place that Steven still considers his true boyhood
home: Phoenix, Arizona. Here he had the suburban home and family that
he tries to recreate in so many of his movies. Here he fi nally had a dog
(Thunder), a pet lizard, and even parakeets that freely fl ew inside the
house. He watched television as much as he could—an escape that became
his education. He loved comedians Imogene Coca, Sid Caesar, and
Soupy Sales, and the TV show The Honeymooners. Television introduced
him to many black-and-white movies and so fascinated him that he even
enjoyed listening to the hissing and watching the “snow” when the channels
ended their daily programming. He especially enjoyed Spencer Tracy,
and Tracy’s Captains Courageous inspired aspects of Spielberg’s Empire of
the Sun just as Tracy’s Adam ’ s Rib inspired the male-female aspects of the
Indiana Jones movies. He also admired Frank Capra’s work, particularly
It ’ s a Wonderful Life, with its depiction of the all-American community.
He especially appreciates the way Capra fi lmed crowd scenes.
THE BOY SCOUTS
Another of Steven’s passions was the Boy Scouts. He desperately wanted
to earn the 21 merit badges necessary to become an Eagle Scout, but he
had few talents and no athletic ability. For example, at a summer camp he
demonstrated the proper way to sharpen an ax and sliced open one of his
fi ngers. He did, however, become his troop’s fi rst Eagle Scout, and in high
school he became a member of the Boy Scout Honor Society, the Order of
the Arrow. In 1989, he was awarded the Distinguished Eagle Scout Award
from the National Council of the Boy Scouts of America at their national
jamboree. Spielberg believes in the values that scouting teaches, and he
sees earning badges as a way to learn how to set goals and achieve them,
but he left his position on its advisory board in April 2001. According to
an article by Margaret Downey in July 2001 on the “Scouting for All” Web
the moon. “Steven wasn’t exactly cuddly,” his mother says. “What he was
was scary. When Steven woke up from a nap, I shook.” But she quickly
adds that she and the kids “had a great time.” 6 In later years, Steven would
produce Poltergeist (see chapter 3), which he says is, “the darker side of my
nature—it’s me when I was scaring my younger sisters half to death when
we were growing up—and E.T. is my optimism about the future and my
optimism about what it was like to grow up in Arizona and New Jersey.” 7
TRUE BOYHOOD HOME
In 1957, Arnold Spielberg took a job with General Electric, and the
Spielbergs moved to the place that Steven still considers his true boyhood
home: Phoenix, Arizona. Here he had the suburban home and family that
he tries to recreate in so many of his movies. Here he fi nally had a dog
(Thunder), a pet lizard, and even parakeets that freely fl ew inside the
house. He watched television as much as he could—an escape that became
his education. He loved comedians Imogene Coca, Sid Caesar, and
Soupy Sales, and the TV show The Honeymooners. Television introduced
him to many black-and-white movies and so fascinated him that he even
enjoyed listening to the hissing and watching the “snow” when the channels
ended their daily programming. He especially enjoyed Spencer Tracy,
and Tracy’s Captains Courageous inspired aspects of Spielberg’s Empire of
the Sun just as Tracy’s Adam ’ s Rib inspired the male-female aspects of the
Indiana Jones movies. He also admired Frank Capra’s work, particularly
It ’ s a Wonderful Life, with its depiction of the all-American community.
He especially appreciates the way Capra fi lmed crowd scenes.
THE BOY SCOUTS
Another of Steven’s passions was the Boy Scouts. He desperately wanted
to earn the 21 merit badges necessary to become an Eagle Scout, but he
had few talents and no athletic ability. For example, at a summer camp he
demonstrated the proper way to sharpen an ax and sliced open one of his
fi ngers. He did, however, become his troop’s fi rst Eagle Scout, and in high
school he became a member of the Boy Scout Honor Society, the Order of
the Arrow. In 1989, he was awarded the Distinguished Eagle Scout Award
from the National Council of the Boy Scouts of America at their national
jamboree. Spielberg believes in the values that scouting teaches, and he
sees earning badges as a way to learn how to set goals and achieve them,
but he left his position on its advisory board in April 2001. According to
an article by Margaret Downey in July 2001 on the “Scouting for All” Web
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, 1946–1968 3
FIRST ENCOUNTERS
Steven’s fi rst memory is of attending a Jewish temple (in Avondale) in
his stroller and being awed by the red light that glowed in the sanctuary
where the replica of the Ark of the Covenant is kept. This may be where
he began his fascination with what he calls “God Lights.” 5 That this
should be his fi rst memory is almost a revelation about how important his
religion would become to him, though not for many years. When Steven
was about three, the family moved to New Jersey. One starry night his dad
put him into the car and drove him to a hilltop. With blanket in hand,
father and son walked to the top of a hill, spread out the blanket, and sat
down. The father pointed to the sky and showed his sun the Perseid meteor
shower. Thus began Steven Spielberg’s love affair with the sky that
he has shared with millions of moviegoers. At the time, however, Steven
says that his awe of what he observed was fl awed when his dad added the
scientifi c terms because it took away some of the mystery. But that was
then. Today he quickly credits his father with introducing him to the
magic of the sky.
THE FRIGHTENED AND FRIGHTENING CHILD
In an effort to protect their children (by June 1956, Steven was joined
by sisters Anne, Sue, and Nancy), the Spielbergs rarely permitted the kids
to watch television or go to movies, so Steven was thrilled when he saw
his fi rst movie, The Greatest Show on Earth. But the little boy was disappointed
that there was no real circus on stage and that the movie was
about adults with the only real excitement coming toward the end—a
train wreck. And while the Spielbergs assumed that Walt Disney movies
were the best for their children, they had no idea how much Bambi and
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs would frighten their very impressionable
son. Steven Spielberg admits that he was, and still is, afraid of many
things. As a child, he was terrifi ed of swaying tree branches outside his
bedroom window, clouds, wind, the dark, and clowns—even the shadow
puppets he made on the ceiling. But he enjoyed the stimulation of being
scared and soon learned that the best way to overcome your own fears is
to frighten others, which he mercilessly did to his sisters. As Anne got
older, she teamed with her brother to scare Sue and Nancy. Their mother
often tells of the time that Steven put the head of one of Nancy’s dolls on
a bed of lettuce and served it to the little girl. There were also times when
he would stand outside the girls’ bedroom window and howl, “I am the
moon.” According to their mother, her daughters are still frightened by
FIRST ENCOUNTERS
Steven’s fi rst memory is of attending a Jewish temple (in Avondale) in
his stroller and being awed by the red light that glowed in the sanctuary
where the replica of the Ark of the Covenant is kept. This may be where
he began his fascination with what he calls “God Lights.” 5 That this
should be his fi rst memory is almost a revelation about how important his
religion would become to him, though not for many years. When Steven
was about three, the family moved to New Jersey. One starry night his dad
put him into the car and drove him to a hilltop. With blanket in hand,
father and son walked to the top of a hill, spread out the blanket, and sat
down. The father pointed to the sky and showed his sun the Perseid meteor
shower. Thus began Steven Spielberg’s love affair with the sky that
he has shared with millions of moviegoers. At the time, however, Steven
says that his awe of what he observed was fl awed when his dad added the
scientifi c terms because it took away some of the mystery. But that was
then. Today he quickly credits his father with introducing him to the
magic of the sky.
THE FRIGHTENED AND FRIGHTENING CHILD
In an effort to protect their children (by June 1956, Steven was joined
by sisters Anne, Sue, and Nancy), the Spielbergs rarely permitted the kids
to watch television or go to movies, so Steven was thrilled when he saw
his fi rst movie, The Greatest Show on Earth. But the little boy was disappointed
that there was no real circus on stage and that the movie was
about adults with the only real excitement coming toward the end—a
train wreck. And while the Spielbergs assumed that Walt Disney movies
were the best for their children, they had no idea how much Bambi and
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs would frighten their very impressionable
son. Steven Spielberg admits that he was, and still is, afraid of many
things. As a child, he was terrifi ed of swaying tree branches outside his
bedroom window, clouds, wind, the dark, and clowns—even the shadow
puppets he made on the ceiling. But he enjoyed the stimulation of being
scared and soon learned that the best way to overcome your own fears is
to frighten others, which he mercilessly did to his sisters. As Anne got
older, she teamed with her brother to scare Sue and Nancy. Their mother
often tells of the time that Steven put the head of one of Nancy’s dolls on
a bed of lettuce and served it to the little girl. There were also times when
he would stand outside the girls’ bedroom window and howl, “I am the
moon.” According to their mother, her daughters are still frightened by
2 STEVEN SPIELBERG
low, he sold some jewelry and then took the family on a vacation. Leah
Posner carries loving memories of an “exciting” man who walked with her
through a snowstorm and lifted his head to the heavens and said, “How
wondrous are thy works.” To Leah, this was more than a loving image.
“This is who I am,” she says. “This is who Steven is.” 3 She studied to
become a concert pianist and says that such an accomplishment gave her
confi dence, but she gave up the piano when she married Arnold Spielberg
on February 25, 1945. Outgoing and full of spirit, Leah rarely said “no” to
her children. Compared to her husband’s more pragmatic nature, it is easy
to see why Leah was Steven’s favorite parent.
Arnold Spielberg had an inquisitive technical mind and a career
that required much of his time. He also earned many promotions,
which meant that the family had to move every few years. As a child,
Steven could not know and appreciate that his father was in on the
ground fl oor of the computer industry and that he would eventually
hold 12 patents. All the boy saw was a distant father who disrupted his
young life with constant moving. And while the boy was awed by his
father’s war service, it is unlikely that he truly realized just what the
man had accomplished during those years. Arnold Spielberg enlisted in
the U.S. Army Signal Corps in January 1942. When he found himself
in India working with aircraft parts and other war materiel, he asked
to be assigned to the 490th Bombardment Squadron. He was promoted
to master sergeant and became “an expert signalman.” Using bamboo
poles, he designed “a high gain, bi-directional rhombic antenna” whose
signal was “clear as ‘Ma Bell.’” He also made changes to radio equipment
that enabled his base to use their only generator. During one
task he nearly electrocuted himself but went on to rewire a circuit so
the same thing would not happen to anyone else. Last but not least,
Master Sergeant Spielberg fl ew combat missions into Imphal to deliver
food and ammunition to British and Indian troops and bring out the
wounded. Although it took many years, his contributions to the war
effort were fi nally acknowledged. In 1999, he received the meritorious
service award from the Selective Service system. In April 2000, his son
honored him by donating the money to build a theatre at America’s
National D-Day Memorial. On April 6, 2001, Arnold Spielberg was
awarded the Bronze Star Medal. Quoting the government tribute, “He
set up the communications system that serviced the control tower for
planes practicing strafi ng and bombing missions on an island in the
Indian Ocean. He also started to train as a radio gunner and learned all
about the B-25s, the famous Mitchell bomber, communication equipment,
inside and out.” 4
low, he sold some jewelry and then took the family on a vacation. Leah
Posner carries loving memories of an “exciting” man who walked with her
through a snowstorm and lifted his head to the heavens and said, “How
wondrous are thy works.” To Leah, this was more than a loving image.
“This is who I am,” she says. “This is who Steven is.” 3 She studied to
become a concert pianist and says that such an accomplishment gave her
confi dence, but she gave up the piano when she married Arnold Spielberg
on February 25, 1945. Outgoing and full of spirit, Leah rarely said “no” to
her children. Compared to her husband’s more pragmatic nature, it is easy
to see why Leah was Steven’s favorite parent.
Arnold Spielberg had an inquisitive technical mind and a career
that required much of his time. He also earned many promotions,
which meant that the family had to move every few years. As a child,
Steven could not know and appreciate that his father was in on the
ground fl oor of the computer industry and that he would eventually
hold 12 patents. All the boy saw was a distant father who disrupted his
young life with constant moving. And while the boy was awed by his
father’s war service, it is unlikely that he truly realized just what the
man had accomplished during those years. Arnold Spielberg enlisted in
the U.S. Army Signal Corps in January 1942. When he found himself
in India working with aircraft parts and other war materiel, he asked
to be assigned to the 490th Bombardment Squadron. He was promoted
to master sergeant and became “an expert signalman.” Using bamboo
poles, he designed “a high gain, bi-directional rhombic antenna” whose
signal was “clear as ‘Ma Bell.’” He also made changes to radio equipment
that enabled his base to use their only generator. During one
task he nearly electrocuted himself but went on to rewire a circuit so
the same thing would not happen to anyone else. Last but not least,
Master Sergeant Spielberg fl ew combat missions into Imphal to deliver
food and ammunition to British and Indian troops and bring out the
wounded. Although it took many years, his contributions to the war
effort were fi nally acknowledged. In 1999, he received the meritorious
service award from the Selective Service system. In April 2000, his son
honored him by donating the money to build a theatre at America’s
National D-Day Memorial. On April 6, 2001, Arnold Spielberg was
awarded the Bronze Star Medal. Quoting the government tribute, “He
set up the communications system that serviced the control tower for
planes practicing strafi ng and bombing missions on an island in the
Indian Ocean. He also started to train as a radio gunner and learned all
about the B-25s, the famous Mitchell bomber, communication equipment,
inside and out.” 4
Chapter 1
THE FORMATIVE YEARS,
1946–1968
Once you learn about the life of Steven Spielberg, you begin to see examples
of its infl uence in many of his movies. While other people pay counselors to
listen to their childhood recollections, Spielberg makes money telling the
world about his.
Arnold Spielberg and Leah Posner Spielberg lived in Cincinnati, Ohio,
when their fi rst child, Steven Allan, was born on December 18, 1946. For
the next three years they lived in the Jewish neighborhood of Avondale,
where Steven spent a lot of time with his maternal grandparents, “Mama”
and “Dadda” Posner. One day the little boy and his mother were at a
store and he wanted a toy Greyhound bus and threw a tantrum when she
refused to buy it. The family rabbi happened to observe the incident and
called “Mama” Posner, who, in typical grandmotherly fashion, promptly
went out and bought the toy for her grandson. As she watched him play
with it, she noticed how he balanced the bus on the table’s edge with two
of the wheels hanging over the side. In later years, she realized that she
had witnessed his fi rst experimentation with special effects. “You mark
my words,” she once said. “The world will hear of him.” 1 Besides spoiling
her grandson, Jennie Posner taught English to Holocaust survivors to help
them become U.S. citizens. She was also an in-demand public speaker
whose speaking voice, says her daughter, was “like a singing voice.” 2
Philip Posner immigrated to the United States from Russia. Offi cially,
he was in the clothing business, but he preferred to spend time dancing,
playing the guitar, and telling stories. (One of his brothers was a Yiddish
Shakespearean actor, and another brother danced and sang in vaudeville
before becoming a lion tamer in the circus.) Once, when money ran
THE FORMATIVE YEARS,
1946–1968
Once you learn about the life of Steven Spielberg, you begin to see examples
of its infl uence in many of his movies. While other people pay counselors to
listen to their childhood recollections, Spielberg makes money telling the
world about his.
Arnold Spielberg and Leah Posner Spielberg lived in Cincinnati, Ohio,
when their fi rst child, Steven Allan, was born on December 18, 1946. For
the next three years they lived in the Jewish neighborhood of Avondale,
where Steven spent a lot of time with his maternal grandparents, “Mama”
and “Dadda” Posner. One day the little boy and his mother were at a
store and he wanted a toy Greyhound bus and threw a tantrum when she
refused to buy it. The family rabbi happened to observe the incident and
called “Mama” Posner, who, in typical grandmotherly fashion, promptly
went out and bought the toy for her grandson. As she watched him play
with it, she noticed how he balanced the bus on the table’s edge with two
of the wheels hanging over the side. In later years, she realized that she
had witnessed his fi rst experimentation with special effects. “You mark
my words,” she once said. “The world will hear of him.” 1 Besides spoiling
her grandson, Jennie Posner taught English to Holocaust survivors to help
them become U.S. citizens. She was also an in-demand public speaker
whose speaking voice, says her daughter, was “like a singing voice.” 2
Philip Posner immigrated to the United States from Russia. Offi cially,
he was in the clothing business, but he preferred to spend time dancing,
playing the guitar, and telling stories. (One of his brothers was a Yiddish
Shakespearean actor, and another brother danced and sang in vaudeville
before becoming a lion tamer in the circus.) Once, when money ran
Saturday, February 7, 2009
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