To the man who believed in me . . . as the curtain was the falling.
His name, Sumner Redstone. Years ago, a small-time theater owner. Then bought up a theater chain. Did pretty well at it. No . . . very well. Then, with a steel will, bought Viacom. Did pretty well at that. No . . . very, very well. Bright? Very bright. Let’s just say that during World War II he was called upon to help break the Japanese code. Not bad for a nineteen-year-old kid.
Is he rich? Suppose so . . . if you call multibillions rich.
Fact be, though, that ain’t his real wealth. Far from it. His persona embodies an all-but-extinct trait: a commitment to personal honor.
Is he a longtime friend? About forty years’ worth. Loyal? Yeah, big time. Would I consider him “friendship treasured”? Yeah, big time too. However, neither has zero to do with why he’s on the first page of my life’s trek. But all to do with the fact that, without him, my life’s trip would have ended.
In May 1998, I stroked out—three times! Flatlined.
Alone in the ICU, with no visitors allowed, one man defied the rules. Demanding entrance, he insisted on being by my side. It was Sumner.
“You’re gonna make it, Evans! You’re gonna make it! I won’t let you die.”
During the first week he held my hand tight, watching me go through one stroke, then another. Each day, as he left the hospital, the doctors would take him aside.
“Mr. Redstone, please call before you come again. He probably won’t make it through the night.” But he never listened. For weeks to come, geography took a back seat. Whether it was from Boston, Chicago, or New York, he never called—he came.
He would sit by my side, all but pleading: “Don’t die on me, Evans! If I can make it, being burned to a crisp, you can too! Everyone thought I’d die. I didn’t. And neither will you.”
That depth of caring goes beyond friendship or loyalty. It has everything to do with CHARACTER. On that level, in my life, no one stands taller.
When you’re lying immobile, there is a thin line between life and death. In that abyss, how easy it is to surrender. It was Sumner who wouldn’t let me.