EULOGY
FOR CHARLTON HESTON
By Fraser C. Heston
'My father asked that we read this poem at his memorial.'
Reading:
“CROSSING THE BAR”
BY
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
EULOGY
In Act 3, Scene 2 of Shakespeare’s Julius Cesar,
Mark Antony stands before the assembled throng,
and cajoles them into hearing his now famous eulogy
for his great and departed friend. I hope the Bard and my father will forgive me for mangling his words
to my own purpose, when I beg you all,
friends, family and countrymen to lend me your ears,
for I come to praise Mark Antony, not to bury him.
Thank you all so much for coming. The outpouring of
kind thoughts and gracious prayers has been all but overwhelming these last few days,
our hearts are full to bursting.
If the measure of a man can be taken not only by the
scale of his achievements, but more significantly by
the quality of his friends, then let my father be judged
by the presence of those here today in the sight of God.
You enriched his life beyond measure, and I know that
he would want me to thank you for your undying
friendship, love and devotion, on this day, of all days.
Charlton Heston was born, in 1923, in a small town
north of Chicago, which he called No Man’s Land,
Illinois, in the heart of this great land. 84 years, one Depression, one World War, half a dozen regional
conflicts, about 80 films, dozens of plays, countless TV programs, hundreds of speeches, a handful of acronyms (AFI to NRA to SAG) a passel of presidential campaigns, six million tennis sets, five books, two kids, three grandchildren and one marriage later, he departed this world after a six-year struggle with a fatal illness,
on a quiet spring evening, in the arms of his family,
in his home on a ridge in Los Angeles.
All-in-all, that’s a pretty good run, for a shy kid
who grew up in the backwoods of Michigan.
His life as an artist, soldier, actor, writer, director, sportsman, statesman, advocate and patriot on the
world’s stage are well documented. It’s not my purpose
to expand upon the enduring legacy of a career which bestrode America from Hollywood to Washington,
from Cecil B. DeMille and William Wyler to
Dr. Martin Luther King and President Ronald Reagan.
Rather I would speak of him as a man. For it was not
as one of his iconic, Old Testament characters that those
of us who knew him will remember him, but rather as
a loving, New Testament, father, a grandfather,
a husband, a colleague, and a friend,
with a ready smile and an infectious sense of humor.
Indeed his capacity for love was almost boundless.
He loved his wife from the moment he first met the
flashing-eyed, raven-haired beauty, Lydia Clarke in a Northwestern University classroom and demonstrated it
by pulled her hair (as one does) until the moment he
slipped quietly from this world, in her arms, more than
sixty four years later. He loved his talented, gorgeous daughter Holly and his son, as a man loves life itself,
until he left us, still holding tight onto our hands.
He loved and was devoted to his grandchildren,
Ridley, Charlie and Jack, who enriched his life beyond
my capacity to describe. His friendships with men like
Walter Seltzer, Joe Canutt, Leo Ziffren, Joe Field and