I Remember Me
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Through his memoir, we meet the man behind the success in roles rarely seen before: son to Romanian immigrant Irving Reiner, husband to fellow Bronx native and renowned singer Estelle Reiner, father to the prolific filmmaker Rob Reiner, Dr. Annie Reiner psychoanalyst & gifted singer, and Lucas Reiner, a globally recognized fine artist.
Written with the same combination of playful jest and modest humility that has garnered the love and respect of fans for generations, I Remember Me remembers the creative and inspiring journey of one of the most revered comedic icons of the past hundred years.
shooting, at a small theater in downtown L.A., where Shelley Winters and I had our non-consensual “affair.” We had very limited time to film the last scheduled scene of the morning. I needed but one quick shot of Shelley Winters and David Opatashu, seated in the audience and watching the theater curtain rise. All that was required of them was to watch the curtain rise as Jose Ferrer makes his first entrance on stage right, acknowledges some scattered applause, crosses the stage and sits in a
waiting to be assigned, a platoon of fellow inductees and I marched up and down Collins Avenue. We started from the hotel where we were billeted and marched ten blocks to the mess hall where we were fed. It was here along the Florida coast that my training as an actor was first put to use. Somehow—probably because I told him—our sergeant in charge learned that I had been a performer and chose me to bark out the cadence for our ten-block march to the mess hall. Three times a day, as we strode
Guild members—all, that is, but its president. I am painfully aware that as I deride a man who has had an airport, a library, and an aircraft carrier named after him, I may be losing readers—but I probably lost them when they read chapter nineteen, “Do You Know Any Commies?” I have two more bones to pick with our late, much-beloved president, and I may as well pick them now. Bone number one has to do with a piece of legislation that Herbert Hoover worked on before he became our
ago, my brother-in-law, Eddie Lebost, and his wife, Sylvia, flew to Maine and adopted Barry when he was a few days old. They had no idea that this cute little bundle they brought home to their Bronx apartment would someday accomplish the following: At age six: Test the explosive potential of a Fourth of July cherry bomb by tossing it into a bathtub filled with water. At age fourteen: Experiments with illegal substances. At age eighteen: Grow up to resemble Elvis
in what high esteem he was held by his fellow Little Leaguers. Maud told me about this meeting and how happy she was to learn that I had no need to embellish the facts about her husband’s short career as a major Little League ball player. In his short baseball career, these are some of Luke’s stats: His combined overall batting average for his career was over .525, yes .525, mostly line-drive hits. His pitching record one year was eleven wins and no defeats—among them that no-hit,