At some level it's still hard for me to admit that my father died. I can talk about it and around it, but those two words. 'He died.' What can that possibly mean? That I won't get to hear his voice again?

At some level it's still hard for me to admit that my father died. I can talk about it and around it, but those two words. 'He died.' What can that possibly mean? That I won't get to hear his voice again?

My son Cary's generation likely won't know who my father was, but it's something nice for him that his grandfather was an icon. I had one chance to pass along that name.

Dad has, and had, a deservedly glowing reputation. However, this belief in 'reputation first' seems to have given rise to his fears of what might be rumored after his death.

I remember going on carriage rides with Dad when we'd visit. I think quiet L.A. suited him better, but he loved to see shows here, he loved to visit his friends in the Hamptons.

It's not what your parents give you. It's what you do with your own stuff.

I have a lot of favorite films. I tend to love the silliness of 'Bringing Up Baby.' 'Charade' is fantastic. 'His Girl Friday,' the banter in that, that alone made me want to be a writer.