Remembering Garry Marshall, Five Years Later

I grew up in Israel in the 1980s, at a time when the whole country had exactly two local television stations. There was so little viewing content that by nighttime both channels would display that familiar multi-colored screen accompanied by a piercing whine until the following day.

I mainly remember watching educational cartoons that had been dubbed in Hebrew or gathering around my aunt Yardena’s television set with my older cousins to watch the latest episode of Dynasty. I could not follow the show’s plot because I had not yet learned English, and I was too young to read the subtitles. I did note, however, that Dynasty was clearly a hit show. Hearing the opening credits’ theme music to this day transports me right back to that cozy living room, 30 plus years later.

When my family moved to the United States in 1989, we suddenly had a lot of channels. This was my happy place! Put me in front of the TV and I was enamored. I spent the earlier hours of my day assimilating to American school and the later hours glued to my TV watching after-school programs I became obsessed with, like Saved by the Bell (Zack and Kelly forever!), Ghostwriter, Hey Dude, and this Canadian, melodramatic, teen soap opera called Fifteen (aka Hillside). Anyone remember this? Ryan Reynolds played Billy, the nerdy younger brother of the popular bad boy, Dylan. You’ve come a long way, Ryan. Keep up the good work.

Our family evenings consisted of the magical world of Nick at Night. This is where I first saw episodes of Happy Days, Lavern & Shirley, and Mork and Mindy. (Nanu Nanu.) Enter: Garry Marshall, albeit subconsciously.

It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized Garry Marshall created and wrote these particular shows and so many more – that he had been part of my everyday life without me even knowing it. It never dawned on me, in general, that shows were created by artists – the writers, the crew, the talent, etc. – and that so much went into putting a project together, let alone a successful project. I did not think about the behind the scenes of it all. It was simply make-believe and escapism of the greatest kind.

I do not remember when it was that I first watched Beaches, but I do remember how much it moved me. So much so that I can’t bring myself to watch it again, as an adult, for fear of being inconsolable for days. Garry had a way of reaching movie viewers beyond the target audience of the stories he directed, and this film is a perfect example of that. I was young, but it still spoke to me, deeply. Beaches was an early testament to the power of the moving picture.

Then came Pretty Woman. At the time of its release, it was undoubtedly inappropriate for my age range, but I watched it just the same.

Side note: My dad once took me to the theater when I was nine years old. He couldn’t decide which film we should see so he let me choose from the following options -- Sleeping with the Enemy or Misery. I had no idea what either film was about. I went with Misery. Suffice it to say, Pretty Woman was practically a kids’ movie. End side note.

I, like the rest of the world, fell in love with Pretty Woman. It is still considered the highest grossing romantic comedy film of all time. And the director behind it all? Garry Marshall, of course. I hadn’t paid much attention back then to opening credits and to a film’s director, but over the years, as I became a fan of his other work: Overboard, The Other Sister, Runaway Bride, Raising Helen, to name a few, Garry Marshall became a household name.

It was also fun to see him on screen in the small but recognizable roles he took on. Most notable, for me, was his role of Walter Harvey in the fan favorite A League of Their Own, directed by none other than his sister Penny Marshall. These Marshalls – where did they come from?!

Fast forward to 2012. I had decided to move to Los Angeles. Burbank, to be exact. I started dipping my toes in the industry, trying to figure out what it was that I wanted to do. Burbank was an exciting place, with Warner Bros. Studios as a backdrop, and quaint coffee places like Priscilla’s, on Riverside, where industry folks stopped to have a cup of coffee and discuss whatever creative endeavors were on their plates. I must have read somewhere that Garry Marshall lived in the neighborhood, because I recall thinking to myself “Man, it would be so cool to bump into Garry Marshall.” It was an exciting thought, but it was just that – a thought.

A few years later, I was working at a talent management company when one of my then-clients, the brilliant and hilarious Peri Gilpin, was invited to a 70 Years of Television celebration at the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences center in North Hollywood. She had a plus-one and asked if any of us at the office wanted to join.

I adore Peri and looked forward to accompanying her. The only logistical thing I was trying to sort out was when I would need to leave the office that day, which was on the complete other side of town, and if I should drive or Uber to the event. Before I could even stress over this detail, Peri graciously offered to have her car swing by and pick me up at my place so we could head to the center together. Life saver.

We arrived in a black SUV and were let out near a small crowd of attendees and PR reps running around, getting ready to move through the evening’s press line. Peri gracefully walked onto the red carpet and did her thing as I waited at the end of the varying media outlets' line-up. As I people watched, I noticed a rather thin man, on the shorter side, gray haired, with a suit and tie, walking around. No freakin’ way! He looked like Garry Marshall.

He walked towards the area I had staked out. Oh wow! It is Garry Marshall. Trying my best not to gawk, my eyes followed him around, as he walked past me, and in through the doors of the main building to be seated. Oddly enough, I had recently finished listening to his memoir during my exceptionally long, LA-traffic-filled morning commutes. His inspiring decades-long career in the industry was fresh on my mind.

A few moments later, we were all seated in the auditorium. The lights dimmed and along with Two and Half Men’s John Cryer, the influential Garry had been appropriately chosen to open the evening with some remarks about his early experience in television. Garry was witty, composed, and had that recognizable voice that boomed across the room.

At the end of the ceremony, Peri and I slowly made our way outside, where a reception followed. I can’t recall which one of us spotted Garry first, but there he was. He sat at a little round, tall table on a patch of grass, eating his dinner, with a couple of other folks on either side of him. We went to introduce ourselves and he put his fork down so he could chat with us for a bit. I somehow kept it together, though I was admittedly starstruck.

At one point, Garry asked me if I had ever been to the Falcon Theatre in Burbank to see one of the plays he’d put on. Incredibly, I had lived in Burbank for over three years by that point (I had even interned for a while at an office in the neighborhood) but I had never attended a show. I embarrassingly had no idea it was Garry’s theater, which he founded in 1997.

He let me know that they put on shows with fresh talent, many of whom were looking for representation, and that I should come down sometime to see if I wanted to sign any of the actors. He asked if I had a business card. Since I regretfully did not, he reached into his breast pocket and said, “Here. Here’s mine. My wife makes me carry cards.” He gave us both his card.

He was so engaging and generous with his time. I vowed to go to an upcoming show. I spent the next day crafting the perfect “so great to meet you” email and sent it to the email address on his card. His assistant responded and let me know that Garry didn’t own a computer. He generally received letters/correspondence via messenger or the mail, but that she’d pass along my note. I loved that Garry was the kind of guy who didn’t have a computer. And that he was the kind of guy who still carried business cards.

A few weeks later, I started to think about the right way to follow up with Garry, excited to potentially attend an upcoming show, when his name popped up all over the news. Just like that, Garry Marshall was gone.

I couldn’t believe it. I had just met him. What a loss. What a legend.

After his death, the Falcon Theatre was aptly renamed the Garry Marshall Theatre.

For a while, the theater screened a different film of his each weekend. They sold out quickly. Each time I drove through Toluca Lake, I would pass the theater, and it was a bittersweet site. Garry’s absence in Hollywood, and in the world in general, was undoubtedly felt.

Fast forward a few more years, and I found myself working at another management company in Studio City. The office building was right next door to a church. On the grounds of the church, in the back, a single white bench was nestled against some shrubs, facing a patch of manicured grass and an overgrown tree; its branches and leaves reaching over the brick wall of the parking lot. Every lunch hour, I walked down to this serene space to meet one of my coworkers who saved me a spot on the bench, and we ate lunch together. It was the only place to sit in the entire plaza, and lucky for us, it was never occupied.

One day, when my coworker wasn’t there, I walked up to the empty bench to sit with my own thoughts.

It was one of those days where nothing seemed to matter. The industry felt particularly difficult to navigate, and on top of that, I was dealing with personal life problems that were weighing on my heart. I suddenly noticed the small plaque that had been smack dab in the middle of the bench all along. It read:

"Life is more important than show business." Bench donated by Garry Marshall

Of all the benches in all of Los Angeles, what were the odds I would be sitting on the bench that Garry Marshall had donated? It was a sign, a hidden gem, a hug from the universe. It was somehow just what I needed to see in that exact moment. Shared wisdom in the most unexpected way.

Garry was a well-respected, well-known director who didn’t need to make time for anyone, but he seemed to make time for everyone. As for his mantra in life, it rang true, and it echoed beyond show business.

No matter what you decide to pursue in your lifetime with passion and grit, you must remember to leave room for everyday life and for those who are important to you.

I am grateful I had the opportunity to meet Garry and indebted to Peri for bringing me along on such a lovely evening. And to Garry – thank you sincerely for your films, your television shows, your time, your wisdom, and for the laughter.