EPILOGUE

WHEN I MOVED TO MAUI, I discovered the remote little town of Hana. You can only get there over a very winding road, a difficult, two-to-four-hour drive through dense rain forest, with dozens of hairpin turns and maybe sixty one-lane bridges. You have to want to be in Hana. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. Hana is largely untouched by man. It’s in the tropical jungle, so the air smells like rain all the time. Everywhere you look are long, rolling valleys, dark green pastures dotted with horses, lush mountains shrouded in clouds.

In 1976, I rented the old Lindbergh cottage in Kipahulu, an unspoiled wilderness next town over from Hana. It’s a simple A-frame with lava rock walls on a hundred-foot cliff overlooking the Pacific. Charles Lindbergh had it built for him and his wife, Anne Morrow Lindbergh. She wrote her books there; he died there and is buried outside a local church, in a eucalyptus casket. Shirley MacLaine lived and wrote there, too.

At that time I was still the cool guy from Hollywood, running a big office, going a million miles an hour. I loved that Hana was so very different from L.A., so much slower and more relaxed, but I thought I still needed to be able to conduct business when I was there. The problem was, the telephone in the house was a three-person party line. I worked the phones a lot. A party line just wasn’t going to cut it.

I looked up the one phone company in Hana, which turned out to be in a house about a thirty-minute drive away. When I arrived I found a family eating their lunch. An older man, maybe seventy-five, greeted me. I explained to him that I did a huge amount of business by phone, and that I needed four dedicated lines, with a hold button. I was speaking about a million times faster than people in Hana do. He heard me out, looking at me like I was from Mars, then said, “Listen, son. You don’t need a hold button. If you don’t have time to talk to someone, call them back later.”

That’s Hana. It’s not a place you go to conduct business. There aren’t many places to meet except a few restaurants. No malls, no movie theaters, no golf courses, no traffic lights, nobody moving fast. And no hold buttons.

In 2003 I bought a share of a condo there in a small hotel complex. It sits on a long, sloping hill with a postcard view of the ocean pounding a black lava jetty. It has everything I need. There’s a little patio where I can sit peacefully smoking a joint and watch humpback whales breach in the ocean, then have dinner by candles and starlight. It has a small kitchen where I can cook my favorite meals with the world’s best produce. There’s even a small wine cellar.

For me, Hana’s a magical place where I can make believe for a little while that I don’t have responsibilities to artificial things anymore. There, your only responsibilities are to yourself and the planet.

Even though I’m “retired,” I’m as busy as ever. Every year I organize a big New Year’s Eve party and concert to raise funds for charity. They started out on my lawn but grew too big over the years. It’s a tremendous amount of work and it nearly kills me every year, but what a great time. For 2015 the charity was the Maui Food Bank. Alice and his band played, and Sarah McLachlan and Ray Benson, and my friends and neighbors Steven Tyler, Lily Meola, Pat Simmons, Pat Simmons Jr., Michael McDonald, local hero Willie K, and Weird Al Yankovic. So far we have sponsored 308,000 meals for the people of Maui. Yes!

I still travel extensively at least six months out of the year. When I’m away for long periods, I can’t wait to escape back to Hana for brief getaways. I tend to go there when I can string three, four days together. I enjoy coming with special people, and I enjoy coming alone. When I’m alone, I don’t talk for three or four days. Only in my head, to myself. Just like when I was a kid.

I think of Hana as a tuning fork. It helps you fine-tune and get yourself back into whatever natural rhythm is most comfortable for you. If you’re uncomfortable with yourself, it’s a very hard place to be, because it forces you to deal with your discomfort, too.

Whenever I’m there, I find a miracle in every single moment. There are rainbows every day. There are amazing waterfalls. The beaches are spectacular—black sand, red sand, white sand. Even the roosters crowing all the time next door is miracle stuff to me.

One evening I drifted over to the hotel for a quiet martini. While I was enjoying my drink, a couple of middle-aged hotel employees, native Hawaiians, got on a makeshift stage and started playing and singing songs. No high-tech speakers or amps. No roadies arranging lights or expensive gear. Just one guy on a faded purple ukulele, the other on an old scratched-up guitar. And they seemed thrilled, very happy doing what they liked to do, singing nostalgic, traditional Hawaiian songs to twenty, thirty people.

For me, this was another little miracle. It confirmed for me everything I’ve learned and said and written about fame, success, and happiness. I realized how incredibly lucky I am just to be alive to experience such wonderful moments.

Today is May 5. Mia’s birthday. If you’re reading this, Mia, here’s what’s happened in the family over the last few years:

Keira and her beautiful daughter Karter are living with Winona and your grandmother Terry. Karter is a piece of work. Like her mom, she eats only mac and cheese. I love her so much.

Amber is an angel in human form. She loves L.A., works in the industry, and has received production credits on a few films. She’s my go-to person when I need someone to talk to about real stuff.

Chase has been living in Maui the last four years. Lucky me, a golf buddy. He and beautiful Natasha have two-year-old Zada. She has replaced chicken soup in my life—she cures everything. She’s so sweet and Hawaiian.

Monique is doing great. Our relationship was bumpy at first. It must have been tough to have this new person show up when her mom died. I was sadly thinking our relationship was disappearing altogether when she called to tell me she was getting married and asked if I would walk her down the aisle. I cried. I have come to love and respect Mo, her husband. He’s a traditional tattoo artist—no, I’m not getting one—and a great cook. He loves Monique and the whole family.

You did well, Mia.

Thank you, thank you.

There it is again, those two simple words. For the last fifty-five or so years of my life I have said these words first when I wake up and last when I go to sleep, and more times than I can count in between. It still makes me feel good every time I say it.

So:

Thank you to my father . . . It’s only recently that I have come to realize how much of my journey, which at times I thought unique, was molded by the love and sacrifice of my father for me and my family. As I tried to understand why I made and continue to make choices in my life, I have come to realize that his love, and his selfless sacrifice in trying to give me a better life than he had, drive everything I do. So lucky to have had him in my life.

Thank you to all my aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, my brother Ed and his beautiful children and grandchildren!

Thank you to the amazing mentors in my life. . . . They taught me to be thankful and to see the miracle in all things. They have shown me through example that service to others is a true path to happiness. I’m particularly grateful to Chef Roger Vergé. I can’t imagine what path my life would have taken without him. As I was writing this book Mr. Vergé passed away, and he is missed every day.

Another mentor who passed is George Greif. He taught me everything about everything . . . and made the best chicken soup!

Thank you to my clients, who allowed me to do my job without creating losers, and to help create culture and history, not wait for it. You believed in me maybe more than I believed in myself. Alice tops the list—first client, last client, and best friend.

Thank you to Mike Myers for your love and belief in me . . . for taking what I always thought of as a random life and giving it some cause and effect. Also for making me realize that maybe there is something in my life journey that can help other people get to where “thank you” has an important place in everything they do. Thanks also to all the people who gave of their time and energy to make Supermensch—especially the friends who agreed to be interviewed. Thanks for your time and love.

Mikey D, a scream-out to you. You are always there when I need someone. Thank you.

Thanks to my Alive family: Joe Greenberg, who started it all; Cindy, Donna, Gail, Bob, Joe, Allan, Danny, Noel, Carolyn, Toby, Lionel, Suber, John, and all the rest I left out.

Thanks to my Maui family: Tom and Lynn, Nancy, Joan, Melanie, Dick and Lauren, Jerry and Ani, Steve and Agatha, Owen, Chuck and Gail, Jim F., Mick F., Steven T., Mike K., Pat and Chris, Woody and Laura, Sammy and Kari, Michael and Amy, Mike Meldman and the gang at Makena who have made life on Maui even better!

Thanks to so many friends along the way who have shown me so much love. . . . I can’t name you all but you know who you are: Alice and Sheryl, Jake and Ruth, Pat and Chris, Gerry and Heather, Jim, Elizabeth and Robin, Leslie, Peter and Tara, Herb and Julie, Elizabeth and Kim, Kristine, David, Bobs (all of you), Marty. And all my Buffalo colleagues, and the old Jews lunch club: Jerry, Dick, Tom, Larry, Jim, and we all miss Bud. And a big thank-you to all the Hollywood Vampires, wherever you are.

Thanks to all the chefs who shared the journey: Emeril, Daniel, Dean, Mark, Michel, Nobu and the HRC chefs, and all the rest. Congrats, it worked!

Tony, thanks for the opportunity to write this book . . . I think!

And finally, thank you to whoever created this world we live in, for dropping me in a part of the planet where I had the chance to live my dreams. So few humans come out of the womb in a place where they have shelter, food, and safety—where they can grow and be anything they can dream of. Thank you, thank you for this ultimate gift.