The world knows Jerry Goldsmith for his art, for the incredibly powerful impact of his music, for the indelible influence that music has had upon our lives and upon our culture. And the world knows Jerry for the ways in which his creative genius inspired and uplifted us, how his music moved us to feel--to feel the power of every conceivable human emotion, from the depths of fear to the heights of awe-inspiring human courage, from the depths of loneliness to the glorious possibilities of love.

But there is something that all of us present today know that the world may not. And that is that the music that Jerry created for all of us was, in so many important ways, the music of his life. The music was Jerry--larger than life, because Jerry strove to encompass, to capture, all of life.

Indeed, 'larger than life' were the words Jerry's children used to describe their sense of their father as they were growing up. Ellen and Carrie and Joel and Jennifer and Aaron always knew how deeply important Jerry's music was to him, that his was not a 9-5 job. His eldest daughter, Ellen, shared her room with her father as he worked. She would go to sleep and Jerry would continue composing into the night. When the children came home, they knew the importance placed on their keeping the volume down so that their father could work. And they experienced Jerry's music as an expression of his depth and substance as a human being; they knew the powerful emotions with which their father infused his music. Carol shared with me that Jerry did not merely love his work, 'he was his work.' His talent was a powerful force, not only for Jerry but for anyone who was close to him. Carol put it so beautifully when she shared: 'Jerry's work was a necessity, almost like
air.'

And at the very same time that Jerry's children spoke of their father as being larger than life, they also told me of how he was always there for them, no matter what the circumstances might be. He was maestro, and he was father. Being a father was deeply important to Jerry; and he worked at it. Having grown up with a father who was really unable to show emotion or to express affection, Jerry ended just about every conversation with his children with his expression of love. The words 'I love you' were never withheld, nor were his hugs and kisses for his children. Jerry was a physically affectionate and demonstrative father. And there was no one he would rather sit and talk with than his children. They knew, always, as they know today, how deeply loved they were.

But no one, no one could have experienced Jerry's love any more deeply than did Carol. Today marks the 32nd anniversary of Jerry's and Carol's marriage. And Carol told me last night that although this day would be one of painful parting, it could not diminish the power of what she and Jerry shared. Carol, I thought a lot about what you said, and then took note of the number 32, your years of marriage; every Hebrew letter has a numerical equivalent. The number 32 in Hebrew is signified by the letters lamed and bet; together those letters spell the word lev, or 'heart." You were very much the heart of Jerry's life.

These last months of his life, when I had opportunities to sit in quiet conversation with him, and also with Carol, I was witness to the depth of devotion, to the deep affection, to the unwavering commitment Jerry and Carol felt toward each other. Their love was easy; it was natural; their words of endearment flowed so freely and so genuinely between them. But deeper than all the words of love and the affectionate gestures, Jerry knew that he could fully trust and depend of Carol for anything and everything. He told me that, during the most difficult periods of his illness, he felt worst for Carol, for burdening her in any way. And all that Carol wanted was to be strong for Jerry, to do anything for him that could bring some measure of comfort. In truth, the greatest comfort that Jerry needed was exactly in what Carol loved to give, her presence, and her heart.

Last night she recalled some of the happiest moments she and Jerry had shared: their four months living in Rome that she saw as having been their true honeymoon, the lifelong friends they made there; their many travels over the years, which Jerry absolutely loved. She recalled how, in so many diverse ways, she and Jerry were one. When they went to the theater, if Carol loved the play, Jerry was sure to love it as well. If she hated it, so did he. But the more intimate, private moments--in the circle of friends, at their home--were among the times that Jerry and Carol most enjoyed. Cantor Lam and I had shared one of the great Goldsmith 'Two Pianos, 8-Hands Evenings' with them, listening to the music and singing with Carol and Jerry, and sharing in Carol's hospitality. Jerry was filled with joy, and he was ready to share that joy and love with all of us present.

He so deeply loved life, and there are so many ways in which that love reflected itself, again, in the music. Jerry's son, Joel, noted yesterday how truly special his father was as a film composer; that he was one of the first to go for sub text, never to score a scene in any obvious way, but to interpret the meaning and bring it to life in the score. To do that, Jerry was always ready to push the envelope, (including using metal kitchen bowls as instruments for one of his scores), never content with what might be the safer approach. He threw aside any concerns about possible rejection of his work; it was simply not in his character to ever allow his music to become predictable. And he always made it work; he always pulled it off. To interpret three very important, yet significantly different dimensions of Patton's life for the film, Jerry combined three different styles in the music; in addition to a march, he integrated the sounds of an echoed trumpet, as well as a church organ. He wove them all together to bring the complexity of his character to life.

Well beyond the many awards Jerry received, his concern remained always with the significance of the work, with the music; he loved the process of making the music, just as he put himself fully into the process of creating his life: all of it with extraordinary energy, with great passion, with a desire to know better the sub text of that life. And in creating the life, he created many blessings for us all. He and Carol drew to themselves a circle of friends no less than extraordinary. Carol told me that it is from those friends that she has learned the art of loving and giving. The outpouring of love for Jerry, for her, for the children, never stopped. That love sustained Jerry and Carol over these last three years. There were both great gestures and small; no matter; all of it was sweet and nurturing, caring and loving. Carol told me that no one could ask for more, and Jerry was well aware of it all up to his final breath.

In these last months, I came to know Jerry as a man in search of answers, someone who wanted to know the meaning of life's greatest and most confounding questions, questions which had become so personal for him. And so we did a little learning together and also shared something of the pain of questions for which there are few comforting answers. Those conversations, for me, were powerful statements from Jerry about how fervently, how passionately he was in love with life.

That love of life was Jerry's life-work, interpreted and celebrated by the consummate artist. And this is what everyone who knew Jerry loved about him. And it is what all those who worked with him respected about him. On the occasion of Jerry's 70th birthday, 250 studio musicians who had worked under his direction, put on these great caps with white pony tails attached; they revealed in expressing their appreciation for him, and in hearing his laugh-filled response. They adored Jerry, not only for his genius but for how accessible and loving he was toward them. They knew his work would be exciting; they took for granted that it would be ground-breaking; but they admired him not only for the art, they admired him for the man he was.

And when he last performed with the London Symphony, at the conclusion of the concert Jerry signalled the orchestra to rise and take their bow; the musicians refused to rise. His was the only bow they permitted; they allowed the audience only to applaud their maestro.

Today, we are the ones who applaud Jerry, for all he has given, for the immeasurable ways in which he has enriched and ennobled us all."

Rabbi Eli Herscher

Re-printed here with kind permission

The Public Memorial Service

The public memorial service at the Hillside Memorial Park was held in front of an estimated gathering of over 400 family, friends and fans. A number of composers, musicians, film makers and industry dignitaries included Lalo Schifrin, Cliff Eidelman, Robert Townson , Mike Lang, Brian Tyler, Richard Kraft, Thomas Newman, John Mauceri, David Newman, James Newton Howard, John Frizzel, Mark Mackenzie, Doreen Ringer Ross (BMI Chief), Bruce Botnick, Alexander Courage, Robert Drasnin, William Ross, Paul Williams, Arnold Kopelson, Richard and Lauren Shuller Donner, Michael Crichton, Mace Neufeld, Andrew Vajna, Joe Dante, Alex North's widow Anne Marie North, Franklin Schaffner's widow Jean and spouses of some too ill to attend (Mrs. Robert Wise, Mrs. Leonard Rosenman) . Speakers included Carrie and Joel Goldsmith sharing some personal stories about their father with the audience, as well as close friend and long time music editor Ken Hall. After the moving eulogy and service the Goldsmith family allowed attendees to make their own goodbyes to the maestro and pass by his closed casket before the composer was laid to rest.

Jerry Goldsmith Memorial Funds

Jerry Goldsmith Scholarship Fund for Film Music Composition
c/o UCLA School of the Arts
Dean's Office
Box 951427
Los Angeles
CA 90095
USA

Jerry Goldsmith Memorial Fund for Cancer Research
Tower Cancer Research Foundation
9090 Wilshire Blvd
Beverly Hills
CA 90212
USA