This story is adapted from a letter written by Richard Jewell to his son, Chris. In the letter, Richard feels inadequate in viewing the production of The Search for the Real McCoy with his son. He hopes to be able to speak in person with his son and tell him that his father and director, Oliver Stone, had something in common.
I'm a simple man. I'm tall, slender, black-haired, blue-eyed, so I am compared to others. I look a hundred years old, as I feel sometimes. I have never had a friend. I don't see people often.
I wish I could tell you the first time I ever saw a movie, but that's not true. It was when I was twenty-six and a waiter at the Waldorf-Astoria, where I worked as a bellhop for three years.
One time I sat in the dark with a colleague who became a friend. We listened to her tell about a movie she had seen in a fast food restaurant, and the image of a huge advertisement came to me.
The image of a big picture, flashing on the wall in the background of an ad for a movie called A Guy Named Bull. I knew that movie immediately.
I looked the other way, because we were thinking of going to a movie the next day, and I didn't want to miss a movie. The guy had the same kind of experience, and he told us how beautiful the theater looked.
As we ate our dinner, he put his hand on my shoulder and whispered "We're going to see this movie tonight." I knew exactly what he meant. I had seen it, and it was beautiful.
He had seen my life; and then he did the same for me. We had to wait over ten years to get together again.