PRESIDENT OBAMAMAKES ME CRY

Henry had finished law school and was working in Washington, DC for Henry Waxman when the country voted in Barack Obama. Through his connections and my family-friendly fame, I got an invitation to participate in the White House Easter Egg Roll and meet the president of the United States, with Henry as my date. It was deeply emotional and joyous for us, being at the White House, the People’s House finally free of Bush and Cheney, with our first Black president working for a more just America inside its walls. I read books to groups of children on the lawn, mingled with military families, signed autographs, and took pictures. When it was time, we were escorted through the White House to the president’s quarters by a military escort and then into the Blue Room, where President Obama, Michelle Obama, and their daughters were waiting to meet with us for a few minutes. They were all Home Alone fans, and the president thought I was “a funny guy.” The kids asked about the spider and paint cans, and Michelle was as charming as a person can be. I was on autopilot because it does not get any more out-of-body than a moment like this. We had our picture taken as a group (which was later sent to me, signed by the President and Michelle) and said our goodbyes. Our military escort took us into the rotunda outside the room, where there were a hundred or so people mingling. Henry and I stood there in shock, having just hung out with Barack and his family, when a voice cut through the din of conversation. “Daniel Stern! Daniel Stern, come over here.” Henry and I turned to see Joe Biden waving at me. The vice president was standing with his wife Jill and Michelle’s mother, Marian Robinson, who lived upstairs at the White House. They were laughing and having the time of their lives, enjoying the Easter festivities, and brought us right into the conversation. Mr. Biden was a huge fan of Breaking Away but knew so many of my other movies, which was crazy. Mrs. Biden was as warm and welcoming as could be, and when they found out Henry and I had visited Iraq with the USO, they were even more engaged with us. Mrs. Robinson told us that sometimes living at the White House felt claustrophobic. She laughed as she explained that she had finally figured out how to sneak out of the White House but had not yet figured out how to sneak back in. The experience, especially sharing it with Henry, felt like the culmination of a political era in my life. When I got on the plane to go home, I was embarrassed that I could not control my sobbing—with joy, relief, and gratitude—in front of the other passengers.

By this point, I was acting when I was inspired by a part, a director, a paycheck, or a location. I directed a play, American Buffalo, in Portland so that Laure and I could live near Ella for a couple of months. I shot an HBO show, Getting On, with Laurie Metcalf, just because I loved her so much. I did a Hallmark Christmas movie for a nice paycheck, where Laure and I rented a breathtaking house on Vancouver Bay. Drew Barrymore asked me to be in her directorial debut, Whip It, which was a blast, especially the night Jimmy Fallon took us on an underground bar crawl through Detroit, meeting up with the White Stripes and getting incredibly hammered in a pop-up bar in some abandoned building. I spent a month living on a farm in Malta, shooting a film but mostly spending my days smoking hash, swimming in the Mediterranean, and making a couple of papier-mâché sculptures just for fun. (When I left, I gave the sculptures to my driver, who kept the sweatsuit and pajamas that I dressed them in but threw out the sculptures themselves. Everybody’s a critic.)

I made my Broadway debut, costarring with Laurie Metcalf again in a powerful, Alzheimer-themed drama called The Other Place. What a joy to act with her every night and watch her performance get deeper and deeper. She is one of the most brilliant stage actresses ever, and it was the honor of a lifetime to dance with her on that stage. I acted in and directed a new TV series called Manhattan, which was a 1940s drama about the building of the nuclear bomb. Laure and I brought the dogs and the horses, rented a farm in Santa Fe for five months, and had the time of our lives. I had never directed an epic drama like this before and loved leading the crew to make a visually spectacular show filled with world-class performances. The bonus of this adventure was that Santa Fe is a major art destination, and home to a world-class bronze foundry called Shidoni. I set up a studio in the garage and did two sculptures while I was there, learning so much from their master craftsmen. The triple bonus was that I connected with a high-end gallery there on the famed Canyon Street, who agreed to represent me and show my work. Having my sculptures in such a classy gallery was a real confidence booster.

I had The Iceboxx Studio for five years and had established a legitimate career as a sculptor—galleries in Palm Springs, Santa Fe, and Venice carried my work as well as The Iceboxx. My work was in art magazines and interior design publications. I did art fairs in Palm Springs and Beverly Hills, created and maintained a website, and everything else that goes with being a small business operator. (Oh, and the sculpting too.) But I wasn’t used to selling myself. I always had an agent in show business to tell people how great my work was and how much it would cost to buy my services, and I hated having to do that for myself in this new world, especially because I didn’t really need the money. Then I discovered Public Art. I competed with other artists to create an original work of art that would be displayed on the Waterfront Park at the Port of San Diego. Each winning artist would be given a ten-foot-tall flagpole to create a work of art with, and those poles would line the waterfront walkway. I won one of the slots when I submitted a small model of one of my original poses, a man doing a one-handed handstand, this time on top of a flagpole. Getting chosen for that put me on the map, and I started getting offered other Public Art projects. It was the perfect job for me, and I grew to love it. When a city hired me to celebrate their heritage through one of my sculptures, I would dig into their history and attend the city’s town hall meetings to listen to the citizens about what aspects of their city were important to them. I worked with the arts commission, city planners, and even the city’s safety and construction departments when it came time for installation. It was the perfect combination of public service and art.

Grinding in traffic every day to The Iceboxx was starting to eat me up. I loved the space and being in the cool Art District that was growing all around me, but my style of art was not the avant-garde stuff that the galleries on my block sold. My acting fame caught people’s attention, but I felt I was intruding into the cool kids’ party with my Rodin-inspired work. I didn’t need or enjoy the foot traffic in and out of my studio, especially since most of my commissions were public art projects. I had lost interest in selling myself or my art. So I was wide open when an artist friend from Malibu told me about studio space near Ventura. It was the same distance from Malibu as Culver City, except that instead of driving down the Pacific Coast Highway into the hell of LA, the commute was up the PCH along the beautiful coast and farm fields. I checked it out and fell in love. An elementary school had been converted into an art colony, each classroom turned into an art studio, with the auditorium serving as a gallery and store. On top of that, the artists had set up community outreach programs to teach art in schools, held monthly art fairs, had professionals running the gallery, and the rent was half of what I was paying in Culver City. The move to the new studio gave me a gigantic creative boost. I felt that I had proven myself as a professional artist in the coolest art district in the world, and now it was time to just focus on the work itself, to try to be the best sculptor I could be. It never ceased to amaze me that I ended up sculpting in a kindergarten classroom, just like the one I dreamed about, making papier-mâché with my teacher, Mrs. Burton, that started me sculpting in the first place.

Laure and I fell in love with Ventura and the farm fields surrounding it. We started snooping around with a realtor, looking at lemon farms and avocado farms, educating ourselves about water issues, fruit-pickers, tree-trimmers, sprayers, and everything else that goes into running a farm like that. We were in no rush to take on such a big move and change, and still wrapped up in Malibu, but we were getting ready to move on. We had done what we set out to do—raise our family and commit to helping our community as best we could. I was now the chairman of the Art Task Force for the city, with a goal to create a new official Arts Commission that would oversee public art and education in Malibu. I had loved it all—coaching, teaching, community organizing, even fundraising—but our kids had grown and gone, and it was time for the parents of the next generation of kids to take the reins, do the work, and keep things going to pass on to the generation after that. I had stepped up to become the president of Malibu Foundation in an attempt to wean the organization of its dependency on Laure and transition it into an organization that could function well without its founders. Over my term as president, we recruited new board members, reinforced the staff of the Boys & Girls Club, expanded our connection with the national board, and tried to assure the strength and longevity of all that we had helped build. When Laure and I were comfortable and confident that everything was in good hands, we announced that we would resign from the board and become emeritus board members. Like our kids going off into the world, this twenty-year dream was up and running, and we were so proud and exhausted. Boys & Girls Club of America saluted us with a service award, and the Malibu community gave us a wonderful farewell party. We were touched and honored. Little did we know just how honored we would be.

Not only did the community recognize the contribution that Laure and I had made, but so did President Obama. That’s right, my old friend Barack. Our community nominated us for, and the President bestowed upon us, the President’s Call to Service Award, the nation’s highest honor for volunteerism. We were given a plaque and the special pin you wear to show this honor, although I am still afraid to take it out of its case. He also included a letter to each of us, thanking us for dedicating our time and service, and congratulating us on all we had achieved. I might not have an Oscar or a Tony, but in my family, there can be no higher honor than to get recognized for public service. Laure and I were brought to tears by this huge surprise. It touched us in the deepest possible way. We had done our work out of our love and commitment to the betterment of the youth and families in our community, not for any public recognition. I had never even heard of the President’s Award before. But man, did that feel special. (And it still does!) Laure and I had been together for most of our lives and had long ago bonded with each other through our marriage, our children, and our home. But creating the Malibu Foundation for Youth and Families, which is still growing and thriving, with Boys & Girls Clubs branches at every single school in Malibu, created a new kind of bond for us—sharing a vision for building a safe home for all of the kids in town to call their own, and then bringing it to life. We finally felt like our work in Malibu was done. So now what?