RESURRECTING A MOCKINGBIRD. Pts. 1-2

One of my favorite Hollywood stories revolves around the movie, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The famous leading actor told an almost equally famous story.

During the making of the movie, it seems Gregory Peck (“Atticus”) and Mary Badham (“Scout”) were engaged in the filming of one of their memorable scenes when Peck caught Harper Lee, (the author of the famous novel they were replicating) in his peripheral vision. He thought he noticed a bit of moisture on her cheeks, and mentally congratulated himself for the quality of his work.

When the director yelled, “Cut,” the talented actor strode over to Ms. Lee to greet her, and, no doubt, was expecting an exhaustive compliment.

 But as he neared the writer, she exclaimed,

“Oh Gregory! You have a little pot belly just like my daddy!”

No doubt, the author’s “left-handed compliment” helped bring Peck back to a sense of reality.

(Interestingly enough, the now 65 year old “Scout” remained in touch with Gregory Peck the remainder of his life, and insisted on calling him, “Atticus”).

The imminent actor sometimes spoke of his inability and/or unwillingness to “get off” on fame and fortune, and I think, as a result, he exhibited a decided humility and empathy for others.

In 1963, Gregory Peck and Jack Lemmon were being considered for the Academy Award for Best Actor. The former for, “To Kill a Mockingbird” and the latter for, “Days of Wine and Roses.” As it fell together the hostess, Audrey Hepburn, announced that the Mr. Peck had won the award. Jack Lemmon related that as Gregory Peck passed by him, on the way to receive the trophy, he paused and reaching down squeezed his left shoulder, as if to say,

“Don’t let them tell you otherwise, Jack. You and I both know who really deserved the Oscar.”

Pt. 2

Speaking of the wonderful example and attitude to which I just alluded, I am just SO totally taken up with two traits, in particular. And it occurs to me that neither of the attributes can or ever shall operate independently of the other.

Humbleness

(and)

Empathy

Among all the experiences to which I have been privileged to participate in my own life, and which alludes to this theme, one stands out among the rest.

It was during the mid-90’s that my daughter, “Margaret,” was placed in the G. Pierce Woods mental facility in Arcadia, Florida. The background is far too long and tedious to enumerate here, but suffice it to say that Margaret had been exhibiting some bizarre symptoms, and had previously been diagnosed with Schizophrenia.

My wife and I would drive the hundred miles to Arcadia once a month, and spend time with her. We’d sometimes drive off campus, as Margaret would get a day pass, and we’d frequent a particular restaurant there. Curiously enough, in this town which “boasted” a large mental facility, every painting was askew and hanging crooked on the restaurant wall.

One weekend, as we drove up, Margaret was standing on the parking lot curb. But she was not alone, as she normally was. No, alongside her was this great hulk of a fellow, obviously another mental patient; well over six feet in height, and rather overweight.

My first inclination was, “Oh, no. I didn’t come here to entertain, nor spend any time with this guy,” and the anger seethed within me. My wife and I dismounted the car, and walked the few steps towards Margaret and “Bob,” as in “What About Bob?” (You would have to know the movie).

Margaret introduced me to Bob, and he immediately proceeded to share the most heart-rending little story.

“No one ever comes to see me. Not my daddy, not my mother, not my friends.

…Would you hug me?”

Uh!!! Never in my life had I heard such a sad plea. And as the result of that poignant plea… everything changed. My entire mindset metamorphosed.

And right there before God and everybody, as the phrase goes,… I wrapped that big lug of a fella in my arms.

And I think for that one moment in time, Bob realized that someone took time to care, to love and empathize with his plight, and for that one moment in time, I think my momentary friend must have experienced the smallest measure of peace and contentment.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "McDonald's Daily Diary." Vol. 35. Copyright pending.

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above