REMEMBERING PETER LONSDALE

Peter Lonsdale
1951 - 2016

One of the finest people I have known, my great and good friend Peter Lonsdale, died yesterday of an apparent massive heart attack. Being a big-hearted man, it had to be a “massive” heart attack to fell Peter—nothing less could have done the deed. Yesterday was one of the saddest days I have ever experienced. I don’t think that sadness will go away. In fact, I refuse to let it go away.

I met Peter in 1978 when I was hired by the Los Angeles International Film Festival (FILMEX) to be a special programmer for animation. Peter was in the film prep and film traffic department, charged with preparing reels of film, in all forms, for screening, and getting those reels, in big, heavy film boxes, to the right screening room at the right time. 

Peter in the middle with long hair. From the FILMEX program book

As I remember it, we became friends rather quickly. Why would you not want as a friend a young man always ready with a quick smile and sporting an infectious enthusiasm for what you had gathered together for—in this case, the presentation of Film as art. Peter had graduated from U.C. Berkley with a degree in film, and had come down to Los Angeles—sometimes known as Hollywood—to find a career in filmmaking. I’m not sure what his particular ambition was at that time, possibly to direct, but he became a film editor. It was not something he settled for, he became passionate about the powerful contribution that editing makes to the total film. He saw it, I believe, as a craft you needed great knowledge for, and an art you needed great instincts for. No matter what job he was on—a major feature like Back to the Future or a cartoon series for Disney—he always applied the full measure of his knowledge and instincts; his craft and his art.

We remained friends after I left FILMEX for a number of years. When I was a publicist for animation studios, and Peter was just breaking into the industry, I would often hire him to do still photography, another passion of his. 

Photog Peter

I went to his bachelor party when he got married for the first time. But, as often happens in friendships, we drifted apart as he started working in film editing, and I headed towards being a producer and writer.

I was always thrilled to see Peter’s credits as part of the editorial team on such films as Ruthless People, Beverly Hills Cop II, The Rocketeer, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and the Back to the Future trilogy. 

On the editorial team for The Rocketeer.

After he worked on Roger Rabbit, Peter found a great delight in working on animated films, although he also continued to edit live action, both dramatic films, and documentaries.

One day, maybe around the turn of the millennium, I found myself driving behind an SUV with the license plate TOONEDITOR, or something like that. I knew immediately that it must be Peter. I sped up, got in front of him and checked my rearview mirror. It was indeed Peter. As I had him in my speed dial, I called him and we had a short but sweet (and possibly dangerous) conversation while mutually traveling west on Magnolia Boulevard in the Valley. That lead to more, if sporadic, phone conversations, keeping in touch with each other.

Then, in 2003, after I had published my first novel, Blood is Pretty, Peter called me to say he had bought it and would love to get me to autograph it. So we met at a Peet’s Coffee on Ventura Boulevard, I signed the book, and he was the first person to tell me that I had a “voice” in my writing. It was possibly the greatest compliment I have ever received.

But it wasn’t until a little later that I really got to know Peter. It was after the last Writers Guild Strike in 2008 when some members of the guild decided to start Strike.TV, an Internet venue for WGA members to create and own Web series.  I decided I wanted to create a series of VidBits called The Old Curmudgeon’s Book of Questions. It would be very simple, just me as the Old Curmudgeon asking his curmudgeonly questions. But, having no technical filmmaking skills whatsoever, I needed someone to help. I naturally called Peter. For one reason because I didn’t think he would think I was an idiot. And for another—the man had the skills. So we did the series with Peter shooting the video, directing the Old Curmudgeon, and editing the final product.

There was no money involved, just time, effort, and—on Peter’s part—a generosity I had no business expecting, and certainly didn’t deserve. But that was Peter. The most important factor in this was the time we spent together shooting the VidBits, and in his home editing room putting them together. We talked, we talked a lot. We joked. We discussed Jazz, which we both loved, and Rock music, which only Peter liked. And movies, we talked a lot about movies. Peter’s passion for film was a delight to experience. We talked about our daughters—the joys and the concerns—and we talked about youthful sexual adventures we had had, or wished we had had. And, most important, we talked about the love of a good woman, which we were both lucky to have found. And we talked about other friends and colleagues we both had in the film business. I never once heard him say a negative word about his. I’m not sure I could say the same thing about me.

Peter’s generosity to his friends was natural, sincere and appreciated. It’s what made him a true gentleman, in all the best meanings of that word.

After the Old Curmudgeon, I kept coming back and bugging Peter to help me on other video projects—a promo piece for Blood is Pretty; a video of Ray Bradbury that the Buffalo Film Festival asked me to do; coverage of some of the events during Ray Bradbury Week in 2010, which I organized. All of which he did not hesitate to do, all of which I paid him nothing for. Oh, I made lunch now and them, but other than that, I was the bono asking him to do it pro bono. And he did it, always with a smile, with laughs, with a damn fine professionalism, with his heart and his brain.

Peter had a huge and great generous spirit, the kind that could be taken advantage of. And I did. But then, maybe we were Mickey and Judy,  just “kids” having fun putting on a show. I will not venture to guess who was Mickey and who was Judy.

When Bluroof Press, the publisher of my novel, Traveling in Space, suggested we do an audiobook version of the book, I knew I only wanted to do it if Peter would produce it with me and be the sound engineer and editor. I got Bluroof to draw up a contract that cut Peter in on the royalties. We took two years to get the audiobook done. Partly due to our schedules and the busy schedule of Jeff Cannata, the actor who performed and not just read the book. It was fun, sometimes grueling, and I often made us all lunch. But we got it done, and we were all proud of what we had accomplished. And as the audiobook has sold relatively well, there actually has been royalties to share. Not a fortune, but it was with great relief for me that something Peter so generously did for me generated some compensation for him. If any man was worth a million, Peter was that man.

In 2013 I dedicated my short book of essays, Searching for Ray Bradbury, to Peter, saying: “For Peter Lonsdale—Who tolerates my intrusions into his life with equanimity, a smile, and, I hope, just a little love for this crazy bastard who is always presenting him with another project.”

I had—will continue to have—more than a little love for Peter. One reason might be that he reminded me of my father, for I never met anyone who didn’t like my father, who was a sweet and gentle and generous person. Certainly the same can be said of Peter. And Peter died on the anniversary of my father’s birth, tieing the two together forever in my memory. It’s a great thing to have had such a man as a father. And a great thing to have had such a man as a friend.