I hoped (and sort of believed) that Norman Lear would live forever.
Norman was a national treasure. A truly great man in a time when they are increasingly hard to find. A great philanthropist. A great innovator. A great visionary. A great father. A great veteran. A great American. He had my back, and America’s back. He was always there for us. All of us.
One of the true honors of my life was being able to call Norman a mentor, and a friend. If you were lucky enough to call Norman a friend, too, you know what I mean.
Norman Lear was also a patriot, often in ways most people never saw, or maybe didn’t understand.
There’s no person I’ve met in my life that I was more excited for my kids to meet. And with his mix of kindness, wisdom and toughness, he set an example for everyone he ever interacted with.
Norman Lear was also a patriot, often in ways most people never saw, or maybe didn’t understand. Patriotism isn’t always popular in Hollywood. But Norman loved the country he served as a young man in World War II enough to challenge it, and to fight to make it better. He once bought a copy of the Declaration of Independence to use as a tool to get young people to vote. He was a guardian of democracy.
A humble and kind elder, he led by example. An early and longtime IAVA board member, donor and adviser, Norman was a passionate supporter of his fellow veterans. He was especially supportive of my generation of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans, at a time when many people were unable or unwilling to publicly back us because they were afraid to criticize the war or be associated with its warriors. He issued a call to action for all of Hollywood to stand with veterans, donate to our charities, and most of all, to create films and shows that focused on our issues (like PTSD) and included characters that were young veterans themselves. His remake of “One Day at a Time” was case in point. And a generation in entertainment has followed.
I was honored to know Norman, to work alongside him on so many issues and causes, to be in his home, to have him on my show. To hug him. To be around him. He’d call me up out of the blue when he wanted to talk about something, check in on America, or work on a big idea — like combining Veterans Day and Election Day. Sometimes he’d call just to tell me he loved me and supported me.
Norman also of course taught me “over and next.” His rule for a good life that I refer to almost daily, and which has gotten me through some of my hardest times. He joined me on my podcast back in 2020 to explain it. “When something is over, it’s is over! And we are on to next. But if there was a hammock in the middle between those two words, that would be the best definition I have of living in the moment. And this is my moment right now. And your moment."
This is the moment, for all of us. There’s no point wasting time on this earth looking backward or losing yourself in regret.
The world needs this kind of wisdom and contagious love now more than ever. But his name (and especially his voice) always makes me smile and feel warm. Even now.
I am comforted by the knowledge that my friend was ready to go. He had lived a good life, and he knew it. His legacy will continue to inspire the next generation of artists and activists.
But complacency will not honor his memory. Norman would want us to fight even harder now against the forces of evil, racism, fascism, repression and hate.
I love you, Norman. Thank you for all you’ve given to this beautiful world, that you made immeasurably more beautiful.
You’re the only exception to your own rule. There’s no “over and next” when it comes to you, my friend. And there will never be anyone else like you.