HOW I HONED MY STORIES OF HEART….MORE ANECDOTES FROM MY BLESSED CAREER….AND LIVING PROOF OF THE HEART OF A MOVIE STAR

BY BRIAN O’KEEFE

Oh. My. God. Like a bolt of lightning, a sudden squeal across the room was aimed in my direction. And then I saw her. And it WAS her. “Ohhhhhhhhh Myyyyyyyyyyy Gooooooooddddddd!” were the three giddy utterances that began to ricochet across the room. And, OMG, it was Jennifer Aniston, for realz, screaming and running towards me. Or so I thought. Standing directly behind me was her real target: fellow producer and Uber-booker Mark Robertson. In a split second I dove out of the way to avoid a collision…and to allow her to do what she wanted: to jump into Mark’s arms.

She was clearly happy to see him. All the celebs loved Mark. For many years, he has been Diane Sawyer’s lead editorial producer, booking the big gets. I would often put together the tape interviews that he and Diane secured for Good Morning America and ABC: Nancy Reagan in her very last television interview she will ever give, Robin Williams in his 2006 interview when he discussed his addiction and alcoholism, George Clooney and any and everyone from his Oceans posse. His biggest claim to fame for himself was the Whitney Houston “crack is whack” sweat fest interview and my personal favorite: the family of Nicole Brown Simpson….long before either trial. He wouldn’t leave California until they sat down with Diane. His tenacity and determination were as deep as his discretion. Chris Cuomo called him “the Prime Minister”. My resume would be a bit emptier without the fruits of his labor.

But back to Jennifer: after she climbed back to Earth out of Mark’s arms, we all got down to business. We were about to tape an Oscar Weekend videotaped surprise involving Diane, Jen, two camera crews…and the recipient of the surprise..our Oscar Princess who i found and picked, Ashley Tang, the Arizona teenager who lost her mother in junior year in high school and her father a year later. She lived alone in their home after their deaths and became valedictorian, honoring their memory in so many ways.

We would be honoring Ashley in a very big way….and she had no idea. Tucked in another room getting her hair done by none other than Chris McMillan, Jen’s hair stylist and the creator of the very famous “Rachel look”. As part of her whirlwind Hollywood weekend including bleacher seats outside the Oscars, a shopping spree— the icing on the cake was a Jennifer Aniston haircut since “Jen was out of town making a movie and couldn’t be in L. A. to meet her”….or so I lied.

Ruses were my thing. As a child of someone who I believe is an alcoholic, lies come real easy. Lies hide truth, cover up imperfections, buffer away shame, shut things down, keep things humming along. Little did I know how little lies would help me dupe people into being surprised on national television. White lies…minimal. And for a good cause.

Our story about Ashley the teenager, who, despite great sadness and pain, refused to leave the family home and studied often all night long to excel and graduate number one in her high school class, is simply a gift. A primer on love and life. And survival.

My inspiration to do stories like hers quite simply comes from another teenager who lost both parents before establishing her sea-legs in adulthood, my beloved mother Bernadette. I am my mother’s son. Always. Heartfelt emotional stories were my thing, my specialty for two decades (see MATTIE blog entry a few months back in bokblog.org archive. ) I have always been extra sensitive, most certainly a gift from Bernadette who also was a talented and respected ICU Burn nurse. TLC were her middle initials….actually Theresa was her middle name. She was the oldest daughter of ten children, who in 1964 lost their mother a few years after losing their father. They stuck together after deep sadness and anguish. (See “Aunt Alice at 90” blog entry)

Back at our Tinseltown After School Special live surprise: Hiding with Mark and Diane behind a huge mirror wall, Jennifer jumped out and shocked dear Ashley. And then this happened: they hugged, cried and dissolved into a puddle as Jen told Ashley how she was inspired by her strength and moved by her story. The Movie Star with a heart as big as the Hollywood sign gave her a bracelet (that Brad Pitt had given her). They giggled like school girls. If I remember correctly the whole thing was Jen and Mark’s idea. But perhaps it was Diane’s. She breathes ideas…in and out ….24/7. No one I know and certainly no one I have ever worked with reads or seems to know as much as she does. Putting together heartfelt essays or profiles with her, often have changes and constant upgrading..sometimes until the very last minute. Sleep and exercise and fuel food come in handy for this journo-cardio. But it is all well worth it: With one poetic swipe across a script, like with a magic paintbrush, Diane turns a mere sentence into a film. She has a poetic sense AND sensibility that is almost staggering. She also very well may be the strongest, smartest television producer I have ever witnessed.

Jennifer seemed as moved as all of us with the Kleenex boxes emptied at the Chris McMillan Salon. Henry Winkler’s wife Stacey was near where I was hiding. I forgot to tell her to send my regards to The Fonz and thank him for the Carousel Ball compliment (previous Blog entry, too) I’m going into Dominick Dunne name dropping mode….as I digress..and I must not time travel by tangent away from the topic at hand: Jennifer. I just made tangent a verb. Naturally.

The name Jennifer isn’t that common, although we all grew up with one or maybe two “Jennifers” in our lives. It has a Scottish origin meaning white wave or white light, and Google says it means a “fair lady”…and aint that true of Ms. Aniston? For ten long enjoyable years, as “Rachel” on “Friends”, she was more than the girl next door, imperfectly beautiful and playing a character who could make you laugh until you cry …and cry til you …um, I don’t know…ate something. ? She and her roommates and buddies on “Friends” created communal glee that helped carry millions through the late Nineties, past Y2K…and into the new century. In one of the most successful sitcoms— and business enterprises in history.

Then her Second Act: MovieStardom. She became a staple for magazine editors and an infatuation of paparazzi and tabloid fabricators. We all remember her courtship with Brad Pitt ending so rawly and publicly making her the Melissa Rycroft of Movie Stars. (I produced Melissa’s foray into broadcasting my Inner Dominick Dunne aka “Ego” can’t help but blurt out.) Even more presentable journalism would submit to the love and “white light” of Jennifer Aniston. I produced a piece last year about Jennifer’s yoga coach and her new book. Viewers can’t get enough of any morsel. Like chocolate. Or Doritos. Or…nah..I won’t say. We always want more.

Which brings us to my last Jennifer Aniston story. In 2013, she produced a Showtime film about mental illness. She sat in an interview with one of the film’s actresses and it’s director, Ron Howard’s daughter Bryce Dallas Howard (who is Henry Winkler’s Godchild!—-see, its all connected…a la Dominick)

Let’s be bluntly honest: we only covered the premiere of a film about mental illness on a cable channel because Jennifer was attached. It’s true. But perhaps a benefit of celebrity, because it was a beautiful film about something that effects many families. That’s our girl!

We had to interview them at a hotel room very close to The Ellen DeGeneres Show. We were on a schedule also shackled to that other commitment. Jen had Chris McMillan nearby. Not a hair out of place. In eight years, she changed a little but was still cute and gorgeous rolled into The Girl Next Door. She was barefoot, adorable, ever comfortable in blue jeans and a very loose pretty blouse. We were getting ready to begin, but Jen seemed nervous, agitated, even. “Can we get started, please?! “I’m worried we don’t have enough time”, she said, twitching almost.

Nodding to the film’s publicist and looking at her with a “please help me before Jennifer gets mad” look, I bravely and politely countered: “We’re good. We have 45 minutes before you leave and we will keep it under 30”….which was non-greeted with one thing: Silence. NOT A SOUND for a good seven seconds as the room pre-gasped for what Jennifer was about to say. Seven seconds is longer than you think. Go ahead..count to seven and imagine more than a dozen cameramen, publicists, hangers on, a makeup team and a dresser watching. They were my theatre in the round audience for the end of my career. Or so it felt. “I think you’re wrong, sir” her voice now in a Rachel-esque mini-whimper. Oh. My. God….. “Jennifer Aniston is pissed at me” did audio laps in my head. “She’s gonna be late for Ellen…and then Ellen DeGeneres will be pissed at me,” joined the Devil’s chorus in my brain.

The PR woman and I appeased her that she wouldn’t be late to “Ellen” down the street. For some reason Jen thought she had to leave in only 20 minutes and therefore was rushed. And flustered. Reluctantly she slunk back into her seat hitting her watch and wrist with her index finger..AND her middle finger and shaking her head with an ever-faint tinge of anger. She actually “harrumphed” a word I have never used before. I got a Rachel Unhappy look…you know that facial expression that usually happened 17 minutes into a Friends episode, before the sitcom-conflict-resolution in the last minutes of the show. With a swift kick of gentle gritting of the teeth. Ugh!

But the interview was great. Jennifer did most of the talking which softened any guilt that we were only doing it for celebrity tabloid denominator reasons.

Then this happened: Jennifer Aniston jumped out of her seat when it was over, pulling off her microphone. “Where is he?!!” “Where’s who?,” I wondered out loud. Me! She was looking for me once the interview was over. I braced myself. “I am sooooo sorry,” she came in an almost jog stride over to me. “My watch is broken. I was wrong and YOU were right!” said the Movie Star with a Heart. Aaaaaaaaaw! The One. The Only. The Face that has sold millions of magazines was in front of my face and she was apologizing to me. How cool is that!?

I thanked her and asked to take a picture and she happily complied. Oh, one more thing. “I wanted to give you an update on Ashley Tang!,” I said. (From eight years ago! Seriously, Bri??? what was I thinking?) I soon got that look one gets when one violates the Celebrity Chit Chat Code. Kinda like a “ get-away-from-me-you-stalker” look, as she grabbed onto her publicist, one of the more powerful men in Hollywood.

Oh no, you don’t. Oh yes I did. I persisted. “Yeah, Ashley the Arizona teenager that Oscar weekend a few years ago (“EIGHT, Brian!, Really?!? “the devil voice ridiculed me in my head. “She’s famous, moves in big wide circles with Mark and Diane…that you are not in and she meets a lot of people, you idiot!” the Devil’s chorus continued to chirp.)

She shook her head no, clinging to her liferaft publicist heading for the elevator. But I knew what to do. So, by the time I said “Remember, when you, and Diane Sawyer” and the millisecond i got the “son” in “Mark Robert-son” uttered, she screamed in her distinct girl-squeal I fondly remembered: “Ohhhhhhh Myyyyyyyy Goooooddd!” “How is Ashley doing!!!??”” That squeal had returned…with a giddy happy Jennifer Aniston. I told her Ashley had graduated medical school and sent her love. “send her my love, will you?” And she disappeared. The Movie Star in blue jeans and bare feet. “The Fair Lady”. Adorable. Real. Jennifer.