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In his memoirs, "A Moment of Gratitude: Taking Care of My Heroes" (Post Hill Press), actor Steve Guttenberg writes about his hero — his father, Stanley — and their journey from childhood to Hollywood careers (in “Cocoon” and “Cops Academy series) and their final years together when Stanley was diagnosed with kidney failure - Guttenberg dedicated himself to being his father's caregiver.
Read the excerpt below, and Don't miss Lisa Ling's interview with Steve Guttenberg on "CBS Sunday Morning" on January 19th!
A Time for Gratitude: Taking Care of My Heroes by Steve Guttenberg
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It was late June 1968. The air becomes humid. Fourth grade is coming to an end and I can feel three months of craziness approaching.
I am ready. Because I keep collecting. I have enough fireworks to last all summer. I took every penny I made news daily Delivering routes and pouring them into "belts," these manly configurations consist of 144 firecrackers. These particular belts come straight from China, with Chinese calligraphy on the packaging, and they were the ultimate asset to my younger self. Better than gold.
I bought belt after belt from Andy Mahoney, who was notorious in my neighborhood for setting fire to neighbor's garages with chlorine bombs. He was an anti-hero, a rebel with a cause, and he was five years older than me. The only reason he talks to me is because I buy stuff from him.
Initially, I stored all my gunpowder in a clever hiding place I devised: the side drawer of my desk. Miraculously, my mother didn't find them. But they can't sit in that drawer forever; I have to see if they work.
So I decided to get a pack of matches, lock myself in the bathroom at home, and throw the lit firecrackers out the only window. My father is in the study and my mother is in the kitchen. How could I possibly be caught? I started creating my own personal 4th of July preview.
Don't you know? Someone noticed.
"What's going on?" I heard my mother say from downstairs. "Stanley, I smell smoke."
"Check the air conditioner," the father said. "I'm going to have a look at the attic."
I heard my father's footsteps rushing towards the attic, praying he would skip the bathroom I had converted into my private powder studio. But then he started knocking on the door.
"Steven? What on earth are you doing in there?"
"Nothing." I said, my voice extremely calm.
I threw the other lit belt out the window.
"Open this door, Now!"
I looked around my bathroom at home: Where could I hide these suckers? Where can I hide myself? There seems to be no hope anywhere. So, after a while, I opened the door.
A plume of smoke billowed into the rest of the house. I was covered in soot. My father looked me over, and as he stood there for what felt like an eternity, I was sure he was going to hand me my head. And not on a plate.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he said. I started to sweat. "How many firecrackers do you have?"
I walked over to my trusty desk drawer and opened it. He was the only person other than Andy Mahoney who had seen the storage room.
"With so much gunpowder, how did you get so many firecrackers?"
"Dad, they're called belts," I said. He raised his eyebrows - that wasn't the right answer. “I got them with my newspaper route money.”
He reached into the drawer and grabbed most of it with one giant hand.
"Follow me."
We walked outside. I was sure we were going to the trash can, but he walked right past it.
"You and I are going to light every firecracker in these strips and destroy them."
Do I want to set off firecrackers with my dad? These are contraband, but he - an ex-cop - is willing to put himself in danger for me? That's a father. That's a father.
We stood on the terrace and handed each other a tube of gunpowder as the sun began to set. My dad had his Zippo lighters - he carefully lit each one and threw it on the lawn. puff! Bang! Dad was setting off firecrackers, which made me confused. I carefully twisted a cookie from my belt and handed it to my dad, bucket first, and within seconds it exploded into a cloud of green shards.
Then my dad got creative - he lit firecrackers and threw them high so they exploded in mid-air and bit the edge of the mimosa tree. After a while, he turned to me.
"Here, you order some," he said. "I also have a Zippo."
I started slowly, lighting the wicks and throwing them to the ground as I ran. But I saw my father's confidence and started throwing them on the lawn. Dad threw one. I threw one. Our explosions echo each other: call and response, questions and answers.
"What the hell are you two doing?" Mom said, sticking her head out of the bedroom window.
"We're setting off firecrackers, Ann. Me and my partner."
His partner. Dad calls me his buddy. It was like I was in the Yankees and the Mets at the same time.
We stood there for hours as the sun set over the mimosa trees. I looked up at my father: my hero, my partner. We lit the last lamp. Of course, one of them exploded between my fingers; the pain was excruciating, but I didn't dare speak out. This is also great.
It was dark when we lit the last few lamps. They unraveled and exploded in the air, lighting up the backyard with a blinding light.
"That's it, Steven. We're done. Good job."
I walked back into the house and something changed. Dad trusts me a little more. Kind of like a man.
Excerpted from A Time of Gratitude: Caring for My Heroes by Steve Gutenberg. © 2024, Steve Gutenberg. all rights reserved. Reprinted with permission from Post Hill Press.
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A Time for Gratitude: Taking Care of My Heroes by Steve Guttenberg
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