autodidacticism

A film that I Exec Produced is going to Cannes.
Thank you for making and telling this story. I am honored to have been invited on this journey.
It’s been a tough few days. I needed this little bright light moment.

Paul Farber once called me from a castle in Germany.

He was deep in his dissertation… trying to make sense of an image that would later become the cover of his book A Wall of Our Own. We talked about monuments: who gets remembered, who gets erased, and what it means to take up space in public.

It was one of those conversations you don’t forget.

Fast forward… And now here we are.

Rising Up: Rocky and the Making of Monuments has opened at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. And it is powerful. The show moves across time, boxing, bodies, history, representation, and asks the kind of questions that stay with you long after you leave.

I walked through it slowly. Took it in. Let it work on me.

I’m really proud of Paul. Truly.
He calls me his “Friendtor” and I don’t take that lightly.

And yeah… I’m in the show too, which means a lot.

Go see this. Don’t rush it. Let it sit with you. At the center of the show is an invitation for us to consider who the actual human boxing legend we should be honoring.

We’re your neighbors.
We live here. We care about what happens here.

That’s why we’re running together to serve as Democratic Committeepeople for Ward 38, Division 13.

Our goal is simple:
• Increase voter turnout
• Keep neighbors informed
• Help election day run smoothly

This is about making sure everyone in our community has a voice.

🗳️ Vote Tuesday, May 19
📍 Ward 38, Division 13

Picture it. It’s the fall of 1985. I am in my first language class ever. It’s the beginning course, and the teacher is Larry Simmons.

About ten minutes into the first class, he tells us that we will never speak English again during class. And he means it. He conducts the entire class in French. I am excited and terrified. I liked French. I did not yet know about James Baldwin and them going to Paris to live. I just knew something in me was stirred.
We were to call Larry “Laurent.” If you spoke English, you had to put money in a jar. I still wonder what he did with all those coins. If you had one of those tiny pencils, he would sn**ch it up, throw it out the window, and shout, “Oiseau!” That is how I learned to say ‘bird’ in French.

During those first few weeks, I was completely lost. Even though my name was André, I was convinced my French name must be “Devoirs.” Larry kept pointing at me and demanding, “Où sont tes devoirs?” Someone finally told me that ‘devoirs’ meant ‘homework’.

But Larry was more than a French teacher. He was a mentor in ways that didn’t need to be spoken. I was fourteen. I did not yet know who or what I was. Larry could sense a tender soul. He surrounded me with support and love. He would see me at the bus stop and offer a ride home. We would talk about life, French class, and silly things.
And I hate that I feel the need to say this, but this is the world we live in now. He was never inappropriate. He was a proper and powerful mentor.

I remember him talking about his partner, their lives, and their travels. I don’t recall whether he used the word’ husband’. It was the 80s. They were an example of happy people in a happy relationship. I listened in awe as he described a world I could barely imagine. Larry saw something in me and stepped in as a mentor in ways I did not even know I needed.

I finally made it to Paris last February. I walked the streets and yelled, “Bonjour, Laurent!” I knew he would be proud that I finally made it.
We lost Larry this past February.

Rest on, Laurent.

You meant so much to so very many.

It’s 1993. I’m walking down the hall at Central Park East Secondary School in East Harlem when I see a man sitting in a chair with a camera, just filming. It was my first job after college. I was on a teaching fellowship at the school. I had always wanted to work in film but feared there was no clear path for me.

The man in the hall was Frederick Wiseman. I asked him what he was doing, and he told me he was making High School II. I asked what High School I was about. He mentioned Philly. We hit it off. I became an informal PA while he made the film, helping him understand who people were and what was happening. He explained to me what cinéma vérité was. I was twenty-two and had no idea I was standing next to a genius.

When the rough cut was ready, we all drove to Cambridge, Massachusetts. He made us soup and screened the film. One member of the school’s team really wanted a moment removed. Fred pushed back, and the scene stayed.

That was the first moment I began to truly believe I could do this film thing.

About two years ago, I wrote to Frederick to thank him for encouraging me. I told him about my career. He wrote back, celebrated my commitment to film, and sent a few of his films on DVD.

Thank you, Fred Wiseman. I learned so much from my year with you. I try to honor your legacy in every project I create.

I spent the morning in this building working with to lay down the Narration for Bridging The Gaps: The Documentary. It’s been nearly two years of work.

We do this work because we believe in and care about community.

I can’t wait to share this movie with y’all.

Side Note: I must have run ‘50-11 errands to this building when I was Assistant on The Best Man.