Directing a Crusade

Outside, morning birds twitter around Rob Reiner’s tidy, white Brentwood compound. The household staff is quietly occupied, and the filmmaker’s wife, Michele, is breast-feeding their month-old daughter on an elegant, white, slipcovered chair.

“Last year, we made a joke that I was getting pregnant to put into practice everything we’ve learned over the last couple of years,” she laughs. “And the fact is, it’s true.”

On a matching chair nearby, Reiner begins to explain what he’s learned, what he’s been trying to tell the public for years, about babies.

“A long time ago, people looked at infants as lumps,” he says. Now, science has taught that their brains are developing faster than they will during any other period in their lifetime. A baby’s first three years offer an opportunity for nurturing or its sad opposite, extreme neglect, that can mark her for life.

Knowing what they know now, Reiner says he’s been “interacting” with his daughter from the day she was born, holding her, talking to her, pointing out things. “She’s not going to understand all the language, but she’s hearing language and we know she’s picking up things.”

If only more parents nurtured their children in the first three years, more would enter kindergarten ready to learn, Reiner believes. Social problems would decline. Billions of dollars could be saved in remedial programs.

Switching gears at midlife, the Hollywood director has set himself an ambitious goal: shifting the national consciousness to value early childhood development. For the past three years, he’s pursued his crusade with a zeal far beyond the usual celebrity-activist’s role of lending one’s name to a cause. He has created his own foundation, mobilized a national awareness campaign, lobbied for White House conferences, donated $200,000 of his own money and inspired politicians such as New Jersey Gov. Christine Todd Whitman, who used his ideas to open two community-based, “one-stop shops” for young children’s services. Reiner helped the Republican promote the public-private family centers last fall amid her reelection campaign.

“For a well-known Democrat, that took something,” Whitman says.

Now Reiner’s pushing further. This spring, he is crisscrossing California, speaking to groups and talk-show hosts, promoting a cigarette tax initiative that would provide counties with an estimated $700 million a year to integrate parent education programs along with child care, health care and intervention services for families at risk. [See box.]

If the measure qualifies this spring for the ballot and passes in November, he envisions a statewide system of neighborhood resource centers, where pregnant women and parents can come without stigma to locate whatever help they might need.

Patty Siegel, executive director of the California Child Care Resource and Referral Network, says, “There’s been a lot of academic writing, a lot of preachy stuff on the value of integrated service. Everybody knows it works well. Most don’t have the money to make it happen.” If passed, the measure would “begin to create in California a laboratory and an opportunity to do bold and innovative social change,” she says.

Early polls show that 80% of Democrats and 60% of Republicans support the measure, according to Stu Mollrich, the campaign’s Newport Beach political consultant. Families are popular now, and few can resist Reiner’s high profile and infectious enthusiasm, he says.

“We haven’t seen a major person from the entertainment industry take on a statewide ballot proposition in this way,” Mollrich says. “The thing about it is, when he calls somebody, they return his phone calls. And he’s very persuasive.”

While the potential pot of gold could be a dream come true for financially hamstrung child advocates, some privately admit to mixed feelings. One objects to an “I, Rob Reiner” approach to policy change that dismisses the contribution of longtime, lower-profile activists.

“It’s the People-ization of the country,” complains another, resigned to the notion that celebrity sells. “You give your eye teeth for media coverage. The question is, at what price?”

Parents Making the Personal Political

Now 50, Reiner is a tall, balding man with a commanding voice and kind eyes who manages to come across as both unpretentious and immodest, funny and sad, easygoing and aggressive.

Many people still remember Reiner, the eldest child of comedian Carl Reiner and singer Estelle Reiner, as “Meathead,” Archie Bunker’s long-haired son-in-law from the ‘70s sitcom “All in the Family.” A self-described hippie during the ‘60s (“I inhaled,” he says), Reiner later made his mark directing. Starting with the satirical “This Is Spinal Tap” (1984), followed by “Stand by Me” (1986) and “The Princess Bride” (1987), he moved on to romantic comedy with “When Harry Met Sally” (1989) and, more recently, films with a political edge--”The American President” (1995) and “Ghosts of Mississippi” (1996).

In 1987, he co-founded Castle Rock Entertainment, whose movie division was downsized significantly in June after its parent company, Turner Broadcasting System, merged with Time Warner. He continues to develop his own projects.

Rob and Michele, 42, a former photographer, say the crusade for children grew from their concern over parenting their two boys, now 6 and 4. The couple are both veterans of psychotherapy. Reiner, after his 1979 divorce from director Penny Marshall, had undergone nine years of Kleinian psychoanalysis, six days a week. (The theories of Melanie Klein, who broke with Anna Freud, stress symbolism and the primitive wishes of children over real-life experiences.) They now consult every few weeks with a child psychiatrist.

Reiner’s parents, also veterans of psychotherapy, say they were diligent and caring parents, but their own children have become better parents than they were.

“Every neurosis we had, our kids got by osmosis,” says Carl. “They must have sensed turmoil. One grandfather was a screamer, and I was an actor, an insecure person.” Children “get the good and the bad in you,” adds Estelle, a jazz singer who currently performs in Los Angeles.

The bottom line, Carl says, is that whatever mistakes parents make can be corrected “by going to the right correctional facility, in our case psychoanalysis.” All their children are now “flourishing and happy to have us with them,” he says. Their daughter, a Kleinian psychoanalyst who writes plays and books, lives in Los Angeles, as does their other son, an artist.

Proud of Rob’s new work, his father says the first time he heard him talk about children, “it was an inspirational thing. He sounded like a professor. I couldn’t believe it was Rob talking!”

As Reiner and his wife’s respect grew for the power of the early years, the more they were amazed that so many others disregarded that power.

“We would watch the news and there would always be stories about some horrible murder, or a postal worker shot up somebody at McDonald’s,” Reiner says. “They would always interview teachers, friends in the neighborhood, and we heard the same thing: ‘He was always a nice boy.’ ‘Never a problem with this guy.’ We would look at each other and say, how come nobody asks the only question that matters, which is what happened with this child in terms of his parents in the first few years of his life? Why aren’t people addressing the root causes of social problems essentially?”

In 1994, he called up the vice president’s wife, Tipper Gore (“Just called her up out of the blue!”), who encouraged him to promote the “0-3” field. He hired two researchers to assess the situation. That December, Rob and Michele hosted a gathering for representatives from the vice president’s office, Los Angeles Mayor Richard Riordan, pediatricians, philanthropists and advocates from around the country, and directors Steven Spielberg and Warren Beatty.

Reiner’s high profile, it seemed at first, would be best used in the usual way, raising awareness and handing the ball off to policymakers. Then, he says, he discovered a void of leadership. “There was no real national spokesperson.”

Hiring former White House aide Chad Griffin and Beverly Hills talent agency official Ellen Gilbert to run the nonprofit Reiner Foundation, Reiner schooled himself in the Carnegie Corp. report “Starting Points” and the newly synthesized brain research. He learned how consistent nurturing sculpts infants’ brains in ways that allow them to learn easier and socialize better, for instance, than those who have been neglected.

From academic researchers, he discovered that money spent on high-quality prevention programs could possibly save billions of dollars that might have been spent on child welfare services, special education, counseling, foster care or even incarceration. From policy experts, he found out that in the United States--compared with France, Sweden or Japan--public programs for children younger than 5 have been historically underfunded.

It’s a message that advocates had been trying to promote for years. But their efforts often failed, according to some studies, because they preached only to the already converted, and their lengthy and depressing reports served largely to make people angry at parents. What’s more, they have been stymied by arguments that parents know better than the government what’s best for young children and that mothers should stay home with them, as well as by the perception of the powerful that the issues are those of the powerless.

“I was the first person to get this information out,” Reiner says. “I basically put it on the national agenda.”

In the midst of his public appearances, Reiner was contacted by former state Assemblyman and school reform leader Michael Roos. Roos had seen Reiner on CNN and was impressed with his informed passion. It was Roos who proposed they create the voter initiative to help improve children’s readiness for school.

“He wanted action,” Roos says. “I had the way.”

Stumping for Support Among Friends, Foes

The moon fading into a white winter morning, Reiner wings north, first class, to San Francisco. With him are Roos, director of the California Children and Families First Initiative, and Maryann Maloney, the initiative’s communications director. They fly coach.

Reiner scans a packet detailing the day’s schedule--first a radio talk show with a potential adversary, then a press conference with a friend, Mayor Willie Brown, who will endorse the cigarette tax initiative and become a co-chairman of the campaign. Proponents are expecting the tobacco lobby to fight the initiative with a lot of money and arguments that all citizens, not just smokers, should fund such services.

Oblivious to fellow passengers, Reiner studies new surveys and updates. He’s seen too many celebrities get tripped up by a reporter’s question and wind up looking foolish. Sipping orange juice, he says he’s not looking to use his new-found clout to run for public office himself.

“The only job I would remotely be interested in is president of the United States and only if they handed it to me,” he says, adding, “That would be preposterous. I’m not going to run for it. It’s horrible.”

Nevertheless, he thinks he’d make a perfectly good president because, like a director, a president must possess a good sense of “overview” and know how to balance the talents of a variety of specialists for the sake of the end product. Some child advocates, like, say, actors and costume designers, are experts with narrow agendas. “Their wanting to make it perfect becomes the enemy of the good.”

The mayor’s secretaries and assistants have been eagerly anticipating Reiner’s arrival, and when he walks past the flags and seals into the carpeted anteroom, their faces light up, glazed uniformly with that happy, blank expression of people experiencing a brush with Hollywood. Ushered into an elegant office, Reiner gets on the phone for the live talk show with KSFO-AM’s ultraconservative Geoff Metcalf.

Surprisingly, Metcalf has more good than bad to say about the initiative.

“I’m playing Mozart to my son,” Metcalf tells Reiner. “And I read to him. I really do believe that eventually it’s going to have an impact on him.”

Reiner explains that contrary to popular opinion, the way the baby will be influenced will be through his emotions. “The security he gets and the connection he feels with you is going to give him a tremendous sense of emotional stability, and that, in fact, grows brain cell connections and lays the groundwork for learning in later life.”

In a few minutes, surrounded by lights and cameras, Reiner is fielding questions from two dozen reporters. He enthusiastically agrees with a reporter who asks whether the movie industry itself isn’t responsible for the rise in teen smoking. On-screen smoking that’s not character-driven, he says, is “disgraceful.”

Judging by the big media turnout, the morning is labeled a “five-star success,” and the entourage catches an early flight home. By early afternoon, the plane is warm. Reiner fiddles with the air and then asks the flight attendant, “Is it hot in here or”--the comic’s deft pause--”am I just happy to see you?” She chuckles; fellow passengers laugh. Some are still smiling when the plane touches down at LAX.

How Much Can Celebrity Help?

Child-care and early-education programs have received more bipartisan attention in recent months than they have in years. At the federal level, President Clinton announced a $21.7-billion child -care initiative--to be financed largely by a proposed settlement with the tobacco industry. States such as North Carolina and Vermont are allocating unprecedented, though still limited, funds for programs such as home visiting and parent education. In California, Gov. Pete Wilson has proposed $54 million in the next budget for early childhood development programs and an additional $665 million worth of expanded child care. (The governor’s staff said Wilson hasn’t taken a position yet on the Reiner initiative.)

Reiner has made friends among state leaders. When Ohio Republican Gov. George Voinovich first heard Reiner speak at a National Governors Assn. meeting, he says, “I was so impressed with his sincerity and his commitment and concern about getting the message across. It was almost panic on his part that not enough people understand how important those first three years are.” As chairman of the group, Voinovich has since made birth-to-3 his top priority. He says he has also obtained funding to distribute copies of the Reiners’ “I Am Your Child” parenting video to every new parent in the state.

Some leaders have trouble applying such enthusiasm to babies in high-risk populations, according to Matthew Melmed, president of the nonprofit organization Zero to Three. Melmed recalled a National Governors Assn. meeting last year when “Rob Reiner talked about the importance of the early years and the governors gobbled it up. They all wanted to do all kinds of things in their states. Then they moved to the next agenda item, welfare reform. They were just as enthusiastic about efforts to ensure that mothers of infants as young as 3 months were out in the work force without adequately thinking through what’s happening to the baby.”

Celebrities are crucial in creating awareness, he says, but their role is limited. Others caution that popularizing information can also oversimplify the research about brain development, give insufficient weight to genetic influences that can’t be altered or make parents overly anxious.

While brain cell growth in the early years, indeed, provides the largest window for long-term damage as well as positive development, other periods, especially puberty, are also important. Carnegie Corp. President David Hamburg says he’s teased Reiner that life does not end at age 3. “I said, as your kids get older, I hope you turn your attention to adolescents.”

What annoys some child advocates about Reiner is what they see as a dismissive, “limousine liberal” attitude toward them. According to one who assisted with an ABC television special he directed, “It was, like, if you can’t deliver the answer I want in 10 seconds, let’s get the next person in. I don’t have time for that.”

Siegel, on the other hand, says Reiner’s impatience brings a needed sense of urgency. “Those of us who live and get gray in the corridors of Sacramento and Washington, that’s the way we know. We’re so enmeshed in those ways, it’s hard to think of something new.”

While some professionals criticized Reiner’s TV special, which featured Tom Hanks, Roseanne, Michael J. Fox and others, as superficial, Siegel says young parents in her office loved it. The initiative has also touched a nerve among ordinary day-care workers unschooled in public policy. When initiative petitions were presented in January to a conference of 1,000 teachers and day-care workers, she says, “People ran to the table to get them. That day was a wake-up call for me.”

Friends say Reiner’s crusade has been his life for the last year and a half. He hasn’t made a movie since the 1996 “Ghosts of Mississippi.” There were chuckles in Hollywood over the holidays when his cards mentioned that contributions in the recipient’s name had been made to his own nonprofit Reiner Foundation.

If he could afford it, Reiner says he’d work on early childhood issues full-time. Just as he found directing more fulfilling than acting, he says advocating for childhood development is also more deeply satisfying. The movies’ impact on people’s lives is fleeting; helping parents and children is direct and lasting.

Still, he is now considering some scripts, including a romantic comedy about a couple assessing their marriage after 15 years. He will also appear in “Primary Colors” as a radio talk-show host interviewing a presidential candidate.

Meanwhile, he will also be working on a new national child-care campaign, to include another TV special, a video, a Web site and a section in Good Housekeeping. Already, he sees the national consciousness shifting.

If the statewide initiative qualifies and passes, “we’ll be well on our way to giving this a national imprimatur,” he says. “If we pull this off, it will send a very loud message around the country. It will say this is what parents of young children want: They want a support system.”