Actor James Whitmore died Friday from lung cancer at the age of 87. Whitmore had a long, successful acting career that earned him a Tony, a Golden Globe and an Emmy in addition to a couple Oscar nominations, including Best Actor in 1976 for Give ‘Em Hell, Harry.

I had the great honor of meeting Mr. Whitmore back in 1993. I was a recent college graduate with a degree in art and philosophy from the Great Books program at a relatively obscure University, and was looking for another job in addition to bagging groceries part time at a Kroger in Mansfield, Ohio. (All those resume-enhancing practical skills I learned from Homer and Kierkegaard were paying off!) They were filming a movie at the old adandoned state prison and my neighbor had gotten a job as an extra. I figured what the heck and spent the next few months at the best job I’ve ever had – an extra in The Shawshank Redemption.

I have tons of great stories from my experience as a prisoner in Shawshank (My cell was two doors down from Red’s) and one of my favorites was getting to meet James Whitmore. He was only on the set for a short amount of time (if my fading memory serves me well) and on the last day he made it a point to come over where they “kept the extras” and shake the hand of each and every one of us. It’s an “old school” mentality that I’ve experienced a couple other times with “vintage” performers like Willie Nelson. It’s as though they feel part of their job, some certain percentage of time “on the clock,” is for showing appreciation to the fans and the people that make their careers possible, and to not seem insincere while doing it. I can understand the impracticality of that approach in today’s celebrity-obsessive environment (starcasm), but it’s a shame that the feeling I had when Jame Whitmore came up to me and introduced himself is something we are rarely able to experience from people in the entertainment industry.

I met a lot of great folks on the set of Shawshank, but none with the humility and graciousness of James Whitmore. Every time I go to the movies and balk at the $8 ticket price I think of Mr. Whitmore and imagine him there in the ticket booth saying, “Thanks, son.”

I’ll miss you Brooks.

Dear fellas, I can’t believe how fast things move on the outside. I saw an automobile once when I was a kid but now they’re everywhere. The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. The parole board got me into this halfway house called “The Brewer”. And a job bagging groceries at the Foodway. It’s hard work and I try to keep up but my hands hurt most of the time. I don’t think the store manager likes me very much. Sometimes after work I go to the park and feed the birds. I keep thinking Jake might just show up and say hello. But he never does. I hope wherever he is he’s okay and makin’ new friends. I have trouble sleepin’ at night. I have bad dreams like I’m falling. I wake up scared. Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am. Maybe I should get me a gun, and rob the Foodway so they’d send me home. I could shoot the manager while I was at it, sort of like a bonus. I guess I’m too old for that sort of nonsense anymore. I don’t like it here. I’m tired of being afraid all the time. I’ve decided not to stay. I doubt they’ll kick up any fuss. Not for an old crook like me.

PS: tell Heywood I’m sorry I put a knife to his throat. No hard feelings, Brooks.

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