|
|
 |
| Remembering Pit |
|
One of VARIETY's modern day greats
Jack Pitman (Pit) was cremated Dec. 18 at Golder's Green Crematorium in London. He died at his home Dec. 14, finally succumbing in his long-running battle with cancer. He was 75.
Simesite offered all those who knew Pit the opportunity to drop us a line with their memories of one of VARIETY's great contemporary writers and a distinctive personality.
The funeral service was attended by Pit's wife Ruth, his daughters Joanna (in from Chicago) and Tanya (in from France) together with their spouses, and his son Sebastian. Among the 100 or so mourners were friends from both inside show business and outside it. VARIETY simesiters attending were Jeremy Coopman, Lee Simkins and Roger Watkins, the latter delivering a short hurrah for their former colleague.
A non-religious affair, the proceedings were overseen with great care and dignity by Pit's brother, Mel, who flew in from the U.S. Tanya read a touching letter from Pit's long-time friend Herb Kraus of Chicago and actor Oliver Cotton read from Pit's book England Ebbing after praising him as a theatre critic and as a person.
Film producer-director Alan Horrocks spoke from the heart about Jack's value as a human being and Ruth's cousin Michael Hertz, in from Berlin, shared some memories with the other mourners. Journalist Anne Karpf recalled how when she found herself subject to competitive frosting on a foreign trip, it was Pit alone who extended the hand of friendship, a gesture that has stayed with her for some 25 years.
Ruth had earlier made a delightful recording of Ivor Novello's We'll Gather Lilacs which was played halfway through the speeches and provided a poignant highlight in the eclectic mix of music played.
As to background, Pit grew up on Chicago's west side and attended Roosevelt College as an English major in the '50s. But didn't finish. Instead he worked briefly as an announcer on a small radio station, then as a reporter for the City News Bureau, which covered police blotter
stuff for the local newspapers. Subsequently, he became a publicist for a local p.r. firm with mainly show biz accounts.
Pit joined VARIETY's Chicago office in 1959 where, in the main, he covered films and niteries. He moved to NYC a few years later to take a publicity job with MGM, but soon after rejoined VARIETY on the television beat there. He became one of the ace reporters on the paper.
In 1967, Pit married Ruth,a Brit living in N.Y., and when their twin girls were born she wanted to move back to London. Syd was able to
arrange a transfer for him to the London bureau where he started in 1969. In time, he became the drama critic – and was recognised as one of the most outstanding of the breed in the U.K. until he retired in 1992.
After retirement, he went to work on tv scripts and books, his first such, England Ebbing, displaying his disappointment at the decline of a country he much admired. The Literary Journal described it as a masterpiece. He described himself as "the best kind of anglophile, a disabused one."
Here are some immediate recollections by his colleagues:
by MARK ADAMS
Like Elizabeth (see Elizabeth Guider, below), my introduction to the London office as a tyro film hack came in the form of a few sage-like words from Jack – normally these would be swear words, as Jack had a wonderfully explicit way of expressing his annoyance about matters. But he really knew what was going on; wrote wonderful theatre reviews and was a great sub-editor. VARIETY in London in those days (though this was only the mid-'80s) was all manual typewriters, a steam-driven fax machine and Jack puffing away on his pipe, sitting back in his chair and sounding off like a trooper. Most excellent times.
See LES BROWN's Letter to Jack Pitman
by PETER BESAS
It really wasn’t until after Pit had ankled the sheet that I got to know him better. Before that, I’d briefly chat with him when I happened to be in London and dropped by the St. James’s Street digs. He’d be sitting at his desk puffing on a pipe and complaining about the high cost of tobacco in England and the rising exchange rate of the pound.
It was Pit to whom I phoned my big scoop which ran as the Page 1 headline in the Feb. 23, 1981 issue, when a group of Civil Guards tried to overthrow the Spanish government and held Congress at gunpoint through the night, while the tv cameras kept rolling in the chamber taping the whole episode, without the Civil Guards realizing it. My phone call was on a Tuesday, and Pit quickly forwarded the story to New York so it could get into the next day’s edition. (Those were the days before the fax machine came in.)
A good many years later, Pit and his wife Ruth visited me in Madrid, staying in my guest room, though we really didn’t know each other very well. After that, each time I was in London on private trips, I’d take the long Underground ride up to Highgate and drop by the Pitmans’ typically English house, with its little garden in the back. It was in the garden that I taped Pit’s interview for my book on VARIETY; once I got there for a big birthday bash of his, accompanied by other ex muggs Jack Kindred and Mort Bryer.
At other times we’d rendezvous in the West End, maybe for lunch with Roger Watkins. The talk ranged over the old VARIETY, the British national health program, the latest London legit events, and perhaps a bit of politics thrown in.
Between my trips to London, we’d correspond occasionally, with Jack always signing his missives Pit. His letters were always typed on an old manual typewriter with a faded ribbon, something I’d kid him about.
In fact in a letter dated Jan. 21, 2002, he complained about the "ribbon crisis": "I have lately discovered that nobody seems to be making blacks ribbons for Hermes 3000 manual portables. They used to . . . but suddenly, mysteriously, frustratingly, ribbons for my Hermes have vanished. So, por favor, if you should chance past a Madrid stationery, and if it should stock the ribbon I need, please grab a few . . ."
In my last phone conversation with him in November, he indicated that things were coming to a head with his health, but that he was resigned and at peace with the situation, and satisfied that he had had a good life. I guess that’s all any of us could ask.
by MORT BRYER
I vividly remember getting the news of Jack's move to jolly old London. I turned green with envy and shortly thereafter asked Syd to let me work in the London office as well. In a very nice way,he said NO! At that time both my wife and I really loved London and wanted to drop our anchor there.
We did not jump the big pond and I see now that the price of a bottle of Scotch costs less here in the U.S. Ditto for grub and petrol. Jack would have understood.
byJEREMY COOPMAN
"Balls." Or (expletives deleted) as Pit used to huff every morning, pipe in
hand, feet on the table, eyeballing the Herald Trib or sometimes the Wall
Street Journal.
You had to be timely if you needed him to edit your copy. As well as being a
great journalist and reviewer, he was also as fine a copy editor as you
could find. Supply him with a strangled piece about film starts in the
U.K. and it would come back singing, dancing and bursting with insight. (You'd even get to think that Blighty had a vibrant film industry by the
time Jack finished with the story.) I used to be desperate to complete
my copy before Jack checked out at 5.30 pm – on the dot – just so he could
weave his magic over the story. A word added here, a superflous
VARIETYism excised there, and the piece flew off the page.
And he knew how to keep us in our place. "Nobody likes a smart ass,"
he'd growl, after pencilling through yet another failed witticism.
It was a privilege to work with the man. "Balls."
by ELIZABETH GUIDER
"You've got plenty of enthusiasm, which you probably got from Hank Werba in Rome, but you also need to develop some skepticism." That was the first – and if I remember rightly, the longest – single piece of advice that Jack Pitman gave me that first week I worked in the old London office of VARIETY at St. James's Street and Piccadilly. I came to relish just about every laconic bit of wisdom he imparted through puffs of that pipe he always seemed to be smoking. Pit clearly loved the business, but he had a wonderfully astringent way of putting everything, and everybody, in their place. And in perspective. It didn't take long to realize how useful and effective his approach to the biz and to the Brits was . . . He is one of the reasons I cherish those wonderful years in London in the late '80s.
by BOB HAWKINS
I don't mourn Pit, I'd rather salute him. Pit, the discreet and warm family person, the firm but convincing opinionator. But also – and especially – the Pit I knew and, despite minor differences, envied and admired best and most. He was the consummate writer, who could distill, dissect and opine with supreme clarity and elegance.
By his own choice and, yes, a certain lazyness (which I so often told him) he seemed not to exploit to the full his talent –- except for the many who loved him. But he I guess liked it that way. And I admire him for that too. Ruth, my love.
by HY HOLLINGER
I was greatly moved by the tributes and memories of Jack Pitman, whom I first met when I was sent to Chicago to cover an exhibitors' convention.
Meeting Jack and Les Brown and working with them helped turn a dull assignment into a fun trip
by FRANK MEYER
The first time I met Pit was in 1977 when I was attending a CBS Records convention in London. I walked into the office and Watt introduced us. I think his first words were, "Do you ever review theatre?" I said I did and he asked me to review a fluffy summer comedy in the West End that night, which I did.
Years later when my wife Mikki and I made our first trip to London together, the Pitmans had us to their house for dinner with the girls. I remember sending pipe tobacco and discussing various blends with him. Give the angelic chorus a good review, Pit.
by SIMON PERRY
Pit's passing saddened me sharply. Some
of the happiest memories of my working life, I realise, were made in that room Pit and I shared in the St James's Street attic, with him uttering (through the pipe smoke) things like: "Two's a trend. Write it!"
by LEE SIMKINS
Memories of Pit? Well, many of course. The pipe, typewriter and expletives we'll take as read but I remember him introducing into his repertoire of one-liners, at some stage, "Be of good cheer, the Pit is here" every morning on arrival at the office. Then every day he'd would amble into my office and say, "So," (followed by a puff on his pipe), "What news from the Rialto?" Our secretary would give him a blank look and he'd say " ah, nothing, eh!" and off he'd go. One time, he was joking around with Annie Martin and said something funny. She giggled and said, "Ah, good old Jack Pitman . . . some say". He let out a huge guffaw and replied, "But not you, eh?". It was just a simple bit of badinage. But it sticks with me.
by ROGER WATKINS
“You’re learning, kid,” Pit would say to me, his feet on the desk, “but you’re far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” No matter that I was his boss.
Rank around VARIETY counted for very little, at least around the offshore bureaux. What mattered was the quality of the output and there was no doubt about it, Pit’s immense writing talent totally overshadowed the rest of us operating in London. His ability as a wordsmith to turn an unmatchable phrase was matched by his intellect, perception and understanding of how show biz worked.
Pit had courage, too. A small example: after listening to Lew Grade tear into him for a review he wrote about one of Lew’s films, he floored the hard-nosed British showman with the line:”I’m not here to blow smoke up you, Lew. Goodbye.” And hung up on the London office’s biggest advertiser. Lew later called back and apologised.
Pit abhorred screen violence and the London office faced requests from producers not to let Pit review their movies. He scorched ‘em, of course, but not because they were violent, but because they were a letdown intellectually, creatively and as entertainment.
More suited to his cerebral prowess was legit theatre and this is where he really counted around London town, his reviews were up there with the best of them. Broadway producers would actually get on a plane if Pit thought a production would transfer to the U.S. Local impressarios personally came into the London office first thing Thursday mornings to pick up VARIETY to see what Pit had written.
Though Pit counted among his friends writers, critics and creative types, he was no intellectual snob. There was much that he admired about what British tv pitched to the masses. And there was even more that he thought was unworthy of the time, effort and space.
Pit loved VARIETY as was, and he loved being part of it. But his real pride and joy were his wife, Ruth, his daughters Tanya and Joanna, and his son Sebastian.
As I write this I am truly tearful. I will not hear again his wonderful asides (e.g. "Rich or poor, it's nice to have money," "Don't applaud, throw money"). Pit's like do not come around that often.
Representing Simesiters,
Watt gave the following address at Pit's funeral service:
Men are often defined by what they do for a living. So – as a former colleague of Jack’s – I’d like to say a few words about Jack, the professional.
First and foremost Jack was a writer. And no ordinary one, at that. He was schooled in Chicago journalism – at a news agency – where he learned to write as he typed.
And that meant you had to be fast. Not only mentally quick but also physically speedy on the typewriter keyboard. It must have been a good training ground because Jack could commit a story to paper faster than anyone I’ve come across in my 40 years in journalism.
Jack came into his own when he left regular journalism and joined VARIETY. Some of you will know that VARIETY is a peculiarly show biz publication. It is one which, in Jack’s day, ran by its own, unique journalistic rules. It had a skeptical view of the entertainment trade. It had a jaundiced view of show biz managements.
Jack’s views and VARIETY’s views were virtually identical, making him the archetypical mugg. (A mugg was the name given by the paper to its staff writers.)
VARIETY, in those days, had its own language, a made-for-the-trade lingo, called Slanguage. And Slanguage comprised words that were sometimes so obscure that their meaning was known to only a very few show business “insiders.”
Initially for Jack, who majored in English, that must have been a shock. For a start, he became known as Pit. ( Pit was the 3-letter epithet that ran at the end of Jack’s reviews.) But it wasn’t long before Pit became a master of VARIETY’s arcane language, elevating it – at times – to the realms of poetry.
Pit’s mastery of slanguage – and, indeed, of the written word in general was driven by a powerful intellect. His book – England Ebbing – was described by the Literary Journal as a masterpiece.
His deep appreciation of the best in theatrical writing and performance was matched by his ability to get down on paper what he actually meant to say. As a much less accomplished writer myself, I can tell you that that isn’t easy. But to do it – as Pit did it – in a way that riveted your attention was nothing short of brilliant.
If Pit’s prose was never less than compelling reading – to the great envy of most of his colleagues – his speech patterns around the office have burned deep into the memories of his co-workers.Here’s one I like to recall –
When I went out of my way to praise a particular review he had turned in, he looked at me for a long moment, took his pipe out of his mouth, smiled, and said: “Don’t applaud, kid. Throw money!”
Elizabeth Guider, these days managing editor of VARIETY, recalls Pit talking to her during her first week at the old London office. He told her: "You have plenty of enthusiasm, which you probably got from Hank Werba in Rome, but you also need to develop some skepticism."
Elizabeth said she came to relish just about every laconic bit of wisdom he imparted through puffs of that ever-present pipe. She said: “Pit clearly loved the business, but he had a wonderfully astringent way of putting everything, and everybody, in their place, and into perspective. It didn't take long to realize how useful and effective his approach to the biz and to the British was."
She concludes: “He is one of the reasons I cherish those wonderful years in London in the late '80s.”
Jeremy Coopman, who is here today, and who, as a tyro writer, was being eased into the VARIETY way of reporting, remembers that “as well as being a great journalist and reviewer, he was also a fine copy editor.”
Jeremy said if you supplied him with a mangled piece of reporting it would come back singing, dancing and bursting with insight – a word added here, a superfluous VARIETYism excised there, until the piece flew off the page.
“And he knew how to keep us in our place,” Jeremy recalled. “Pit would growl ‘Nobody likes a smart ass,’ as he pencilling through yet another failed witticism of mine. I used to be desperate to complete my copy before Jack left the office just so he could weave his magic over the story.”
In Jerry’s view: “It was a privilege to work with the man.”
And from Bob Hawkins, who ran the London office for several years and was in charge when Pit first came over to London from New York.
Bob said: “I'd rather salute Pit than mourn him. He was a discreet and warm family person, a firm but convincing opinionator.
“I envied and admired Pit despite our minor differences." Bob hails Jack as “the consummate writer, who could distil, dissect and opine with supreme clarity and elegance.”
From Simon Perry, who shared an office with Jack and is now a leading figure in British films: “Some of the happiest memories of my working life, I realise, were made in the room Pitand I shared in the St James's Street attic, with him uttering things through pipe smoke. Things like: 'Two's a trend. Go write it!'
And as an example of Pit’s personal presence in the office I like this quote from Lee Simkins, also here today. Lee – as a 19-year veteran of the London office – has seen many come and go during his tenure. He recalls his foremost memory of the old London office as being Pit's pipe, his manual typewriter and his shouts of mild expletives!
It’s true that Pit never embraced the advance of technology, preferring to work with established tools of the trade - i.e. his trusty manual portable typewriter. This was not without its problems. In a letter to his colleague, Peter Bases, in Madrid dated Jan. 21, this year, he complained about the "ribbon crisis". He said:
"I have lately discovered that nobody seems to be making black ribbons for Hermes 3000 manual portables. They used to . . . but suddenly, mysteriously, frustratingly, ribbons for my Hermes have vanished. So – por favor, Don Pedro – if you should chance past a Madrid stationery store . . . and if it should stock the ribbon I need . . please grab a few . . . “
Pit may not have liked electronic technology but it will do him one final service. Some of those who worked with Jack over the years have set up a web site which records much of what I have said this afternoon. And much more. There are a few photographs up there on the site and we are hoping to add to them.
We want to make part of the site a permanent memorial to one of VARIETY’s greatest writing talents, one that we are saying goodbye to today.
I’m pleased to say he was a friend of mine.
God bless Jack.
Desk London -- Dec 18, 2002 |
|
|
More from this Mugg |
|
|
 |
|
| Jack Pitman, who died at his London home Dec 14, 2002 at age 75 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
