(Above: Late actor James Gandolfini, 1961-2013. Courtesy of Wikipedia)
Introduction: A Belated Tribute to the Life and Career of James Gandolfini (1961-20130
Benjamin Franklin once said, "The only things certain in life are death and taxes." Apparently, this will be the case for the late James Gandolfini's family. Gandolfini (1961-2013), at the age of 51, passed away from a massive heart attack in Rome on June 19, 2013, while on holiday with his 13 year old son, Michael. Gandolfini was famous for his portrayal of mobster Tony Soprano on The Sopranos, the hit television series carried by HBO from the airing of its pilot episode on January 10, 1999, to its conclusion on June 10, 2007. He earned enormous praise for this portrayal, winning three Emmy Awards, three Screen Actors Guild (SAG) Awards, and two Golden Globes for Best Actor in a Drama Series. He also garnered two further SAS Awards as a member of the series' cast. His other roles include the woman-beating mob henchman Virgil in True Romance, the enforcer/stuntman Bear in Get Shorty, and the impulsive Wild Thing Carol in Where the Wild Things Are. Later, he produced the 2007 documentary Alive Day Memories: Home from Iraq, in which he interviewed 10 injured Iraq War veterans. His second documentary was released in 2010; Wartorn: 1861-2010, analyzing post-traumatic stress disorder and its impact on soldiers through several year in American between 1861 and 2010. Finally, TV Guide ranked Gandolfini 28th on its "50 Sexiest Stars of All Time" list in 2005.
Gandolfini will no doubt be remembered among the pantheon of Hollywood legends who portrayed famous mobsters in popular cinema and television in the mold of such giants as Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, and Joe Pesci. The joy he brought to millions of viewers who would become his fans worldwide cannot be measured by any amount of money he would profit from them. He was raised in a family with a devout Roman Catholic background of Italian Americans. His mother, Santa, a high school cafeteria worker, was born in the U.S. of Italian ancestry and was raised in Naple, Italy. His father, James Joseph Gandolfini, Sr., a native of Borgotaro, Italy, was a bricklayer and cement mason, serving later as the head custodian at Paramus Catholic High School in New Jersey. James Sr., was a remarkable man, if for no other reason than because he earned a Purple Heart for serving as a wounded veteran in the most terrible war in human history, World War II, and we can therefore safely conclude that he was a key contributor to America's "greatest generation," the generation that not only preserved the sacred fires of liberty and dignity for all Americans, but liberated millions from the shackles of Nazi and Fascist tyranny that had been responsible for untold millions of deaths through institutional genocide and inflicted war casualties. It was these very values, the values of liberty and human dignity, that James Sr., learned while fighting in the trenches of what will hopefully be the last world war in human history that undoubtedly engendered within him a new lease on life and a greater appreciation for the "American way" that he would be impart on his young son in the years to come.
Gandolfini will no doubt be remember among the pantheon of Hollywood elites who portrayed mobsters in cinema and television along with the likes of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, et. al. The joy he brought to millions of viewers who became his fans worldwide cannot be measured by money. He came from a devout Roman Catholic background. His mother, Santa, a high school lunch lady, was born in the United States of Italian ancestry and raised in Naples, Italy. His father, James Joseph Gandolfinii, Sr., a native of Borgotaro, Italy, was a bricklayer and cement mason, and served later as the head custodian at Paramus Catholic High School in New Jersey. James Sr., earned a Purple Heart in World War II, and we can therefore safely concluded he was a key contributor to America's "greatest generation."
Gandolfini, Jr., was a self-made man; he was not raised being fed with a silver spoon. Though we normally associate the concept of a citizen of Middle America as someone hailing from the heartland of the interior, he certainly fits this description beautifully. He was married twice; first to Marcy Wudarski, which ended in divorce in December 2002, with whom he conceived a son, Michael, born in 2000; and finally to former model Deborah Lin, who was 40 years old at the time, in her hometown of Honolulu, Hawaii. Their daughter, Liliana Ruth Gandolfini, was born in Los Angeles, California, on October 10, 2012.
The Federal Government Will Raid Gandolfini's Fortune of By Taking 43% of His Family's Inheritance
It is within the conservative-libertarian ideology that the people should retain the fruits to their labor to the greatest extent possible. The more our government taxes the American people, the less free they -- we -- are. Unfortunately, this divestment of liberty will be the case with Mr. Gandolfini's family, which is in mourning over the loss of its patriarch. The American way has always been predicated upon the principles of the American Dream, a concept first implied in literary rhetoric by French immigrant J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur in 1782. De Crevecoeur described his definition of an American in this observation from Letter III of what became one of the landmark works in early America history, titled Letters from an American Farmer:
(Above: J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, French immigrant who authored Letters from an American Farmer. Courtesy of Wikipedia)
What then is the American, this new man? ...He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds. He has become an American by being received in the broad lap of our great Alma Mater. Here individuals of all races are melted into a new race of man, whose labors and posterity will one day cause great changes to the world. Americans are the western pilgrims.
(from Letter III, 1782)
This description fits well with the family background of Gandolfini. The people of his ancestry escaped the shackles of oppression from the European hinterlands across the Atlantic to meander forth onto this continent in the hope that they might find greater liberty and opportunities for prosperity. And while Gandolfini's family will doubtlessly not be hurting financially from what The New York Daily News reports that Uncle Sam will be pick-pocketing as much as 55% of his fortune that by all rights should be inherited by his surviving family members, the principle of this act is simply wrong and immoral. It is, as the great Chief Justice John Marshall stated in his opinion written for McCulloch v. Maryland: "That the power to tax involves the power to destroy; that the power to destroy may defeat and render useless the power to create….”
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Below is the article from The New York Daily News, dated July 5, just three short days ago, and one day after our nation celebrated its 237th birthday:
James Gandolfini will a tax 'disaster,' says top estate lawyer
The late 'Sopranos' star's will is 'a disaster' that could see over $30 million of his estimated $70 million estate go to the government, top estate lawyer William Zabel told the Daily News.
BY DAREH GREGORIAN / NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
PUBLISHED: FRIDAY, JULY 5, 2013, 2:31 PM
UPDATED: FRIDAY, JULY 5, 2013, 2:31 PM
James Gandolfini died of a heart attack last month while vacationing in Italy with his son.
The taxman is coming after James Gandolfini's heirs.
The late "Sopranos" star's will is "a disaster" that could see over $30 million of his estimated $70 million estate go to the government, a top estate lawyer told the Daily News.
"It's a nightmare from a tax standpoint," said William Zabel, who reviewed the document at The News' request.
The 51-year-old's "big mistake" was leaving 80% of his estate to his sisters and his 9-month-old daughter, Zabel said.
That made 80% of the estate subject to "death taxes" of about 55%, and the bill is due in nine months, Zabel said.
RICHARD DREW/AP
Michael Gandolfini, left, son of James Gandolfini, arrives for the funeral service of his father on June 27.
That means his family will have to start selling off his property and liquidating his assets soon in order to pay the tab, since it's unlikely the actor had tens of millions of dollars in cash on hand.
"The government doesn't accept the fact that it's difficult to come up with the money you owe," said the lawyer, who's represented the likes of billionaire George Soros and "King of All Media" Howard Stern.
"They can get an extension of time to pay the entire amount, but they're going to have pay a substantial amount in nine months."
The 20 percent of the estate that Gandolfini left to wife Deborah Lin isn't directly subject to the death tax, but even she'll take a big hit, Zabel said.
The will calls for the shares to be divvied up after all the taxes are paid, which means Lin will get 20% of the $40 million left after taxes, instead of 20% of $70 million.
SPLASH NEWS/SPLASH NEWS
James Gandolfini’s funeral at New York's the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine on June 27.
"It's a catastrophe," Zabel said.
The exact size of Gandolfini's estate is unclear.
While his net worth has been estimated at $70 million, an inventory of his assets doesn't have to be filed until December.
He also had a separate trust fund set up for his wife and at least one other for his 13-year-old, son Michael.
Michael's includes a $7 million life insurance payout, which would not be affected by the will issues.
NEIL DECRESCENZO/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
The summer home of actor James Gandolfini on Barnegate Bay in the town of Matoloking, N.J.It's unclear at this point if royalties from Gandolfini's film career and his work on "The Sopranos" will go directly into the estate or to his wife through a separate trust.
If that money is going into the estate, it too will be subject to the death tax, Zabel said.
He said there are ways for the beloved actor's family to get out from under the enormous tax burden, but it would be tricky.
One solution could be for the sisters and daughter to renounce their shares in the estate for payments later on down the road.
Gandolfini's lawyer and one of the executors of his estate, Roger Haber, did not return a call for comment on Friday.
Gandolfini died of a massive heart attack while on a trip to Rome with his son last month.
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It looks as if Uncle Sam is going to force the estate of James Gandolfini to pay out what this article claims could be as much as 55% of his fortune. With a the tax code containing in or around 74,000 pages, how can any tax lawyer possibly know all the regulations that continue to change and grow by the day? Of course, this self-made man who died having lived the "American Dream" must, according to the Left, "pay his fair share"! The poor and shiftless must eat at the expense of those who dared to dream of a bright future as young children. Unfortunately, from a perspective of familial love, compassion, and sentimentality, it actually costs more to die from a heart attack than the actual state of being dead itself.
Conclusion: The Eulogy to James Gandolfini
Though the evil Uncle Sam has engaged in parading on the metaphorical corpse of James Gandolfini as a result of its surly persona, it will never be able to divest from the world the sweet memories his fans and, most importantly, his beloved family, experienced during this life and career in Hollywood. In closing, I will post two testaments to James Gandolfini the Man and the James Gandolfini the Actor. The first, though, will be the tribute to him as an actor. I am first going to post the YouTube video of the final scene of the last episode of The Sopranos:
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And finally, in the most appropriate manner I know how, I will present you with the moving eulogy in the form of a letter by the creator of The Sopranos, David Chase (Courtesy of CNN.com):
Dear Jim,
Your family asked me to speak at this service. I am so honored and touched. I'm also really scared, and I say that because you, of all people, understand this. I would like to run away and then call you four days from now from the beauty parlor. [Ed. note: That's a reference to a 2002 incident in which Gandolfini disappeared from the set of "The Sopranos," eventually calling the show's production office four days later from a beauty salon in Brooklyn.]
I want to do a good job because I love you, and because you always did a good job.
I think the deal is, I'm supposed to speak about the actor, the artist, the work part of your life. Others will have spoken beautifully about the other beautiful and magnificent parts of you — father, brother, friend. That's what I was told. I'm supposed to also speak for your cast mates, who you loved; for your crew that you loved so much; the people at HBO; and Journey. I hope I can speak for all of them and pay credit to them and to you.
Experts told me to start with a joke, recite a funny anecdote. Ha ha ha. But as you yourself so often said, "I'm not feelin' it." I'm too sad and full of despair. I'm running too partly because I would like to have had your advice, because I remember how you did speeches. I saw you do a lot of them at awards shows and stuff, and invariably, I think you would scratch two or three thoughts on a sheet of paper and put it in your pocket, and then not really refer to it. And consequently, a lot of your speeches didn't make sense.
I think that could happen here. Except in your case, it didn't matter if it didn't make sense because the feeling was real. The feeling was real. The feeling was real. I can't say that enough.
I tried to write a traditional eulogy, but it came out like bad TV. So I'm writing you this letter and I'm hoping it's better. But it is being done to and for an audience, so we'll give the funny opening a try. I hope it is funny. It is to me; I know it is to you.
One day toward the end of the show, fourth season — four or five — we were on the set shooting a scene with you and Steven Van Zandt. I think the setup was that Tony had received news of the death of someone and it was inconvenient for him. And it said, "Tony opens the [refrigerator] door angrily, and Tony starts to speak." And the cameras rolled, and you opened the refrigerator door, and you slammed it really hard. You slammed it hard enough that it came open again. And so then you slammed it again, and it came open again. You kept slamming it, and slamming it, and slamming it, and slamming it. You went apes*** on that refrigerator.
And the funny part for me was, I remember Steven Van Zandt — because the cameras were going, and we had to play this whole scene with the refrigerator door open. And I remember Steven Van Zandt staying there, standing, and trying to figure out, "Well, what should I do first as Silvio? Because he just ruined my refrigerator." And also as Steven the actor, because we were going to play a scene with the refrigerator door open; people don't do that. And I remember him going, sort of trying to tinker with the door, fix the door.
And so we finally had to call "cut," and we had to fix the refrigerator door — and it never really worked, because the gaffer tape showed, we couldn't get a new refrigerator, and it was a problem all day long. I remember you saying, "This role, this role. The places it takes me to, the things I have to do. It's so dark." And I remember saying to you, "Did I tell you to destroy the refrigerator? Did it say anywhere in the script, 'Tony destroys a refrigerator'? It says 'Tony angrily shuts the refrigerator door.' That's what it says. You destroyed the refrigerator."
Another memory that comes to mind is, very early on — might have been the pilot — we were shooting in that really hot summer, humid New Jersey heat. And I looked over and you were sitting in an aluminum beach chair, with your slacks rolled up to your knees, and black socks, black shoes. And a damp, wet handkerchief on your head. And I remember looking over there and going, "Well, that's really not a cool look."
I was filled with love, and I knew then that I was in the right place. Because I said, "Wow, I haven't seen that done since my father used to do it, and my Italian uncles used to do it, and my Italian grandfather used to do it. They were laborers in the same hot sun in New Jersey, and they were stonemasons — your father, I know, worked with concrete. I don't know what it is with Italians and cement.
I was so proud of our heritage. [His voice breaks.] It made me so proud of our heritage, seeing you do that. I said before that you were my brother. This has a lot to do with that. Italian-American, Italian worker, builder, the Jersey thing. The same social class. I really feel, even though I'm a lot older than you, I've always felt that we are brothers, hardly from another mother. It was really based on that day. I was filled with so much love for everything that we were doing, that we were about to embark on.
I also feel you're my brother in that we had different tastes, but the things that we both loved — which was family, work, the people in all their imperfection, food, alcohol, talking, rage, and a desire to bring the whole structure crashing down. We amused each other.
The image of my uncles and father reminded me about something that happened between us one time. Because these guys were such men — that was the point of it. Your father, and these men from Italy. And you were going through a crisis of faith, about yourself, and a few other things. Very upset. I went to meet you on the banks of the Hudson River, and you told me, you said, "You know what I want to be? I want to be a man. That's all. I want to be a man."
Now, this is so odd, because you were such a man. You're a man in ways many men, including myself, wish they could be a man. The paradox about you as a man is that I always felt personally that with you, I was seeing a young boy. A boy about Michael [Gandolfini]'s age right now. Because you were very boyish. And about that age when humankind and life on the planet are opening up and putting on a show, really revealing themselves in all their beautiful and horrible glory. And I saw you as a boy, as a sad boy, amazed and confused and loving and amazed by all that.
And that was all in your eyes. And that was why, I think, you were a great actor — is because of that boy that was inside. It was a child reacting. Of course you were intelligent, but it was a child reaction, and your reactions were often childish. And by that I mean they were pre-school, they were pre-manners, they were pre-intellect. They were just simple emotions, straight and pure. And I think your talent is that you can take in the immensity of humankind and the universe and shine it back out to the rest of us like a huge, bright light. And I believe that only a pure soul, like a child, could do that really well. And that was you.
Now, to talk about a third guy between us — there was you and me and this third guy. People always say, "Tony Soprano. Why do we love him so much when he was such a prick?" And my theory was they saw the little boy. They felt and they loved the little boy, and they sensed his love and hurt. And you brought all of that to him.
You were a good boy. Your work with the Wounded Warriors is just one example. And I'm going to say something because I know you'd want me to say it — that no one should forget Tony Sirico's efforts in this. He was there with you all the way, and in fact, you said to me just recently, "You know, it's more Tony than me." And I know you, and I know you would want me to turn the spotlight on him, or you couldn't be satisfied.
So Tony Soprano never changed, people say. He got darker. I don't know how they could misunderstand that. He tried, and he tried, and he tried. And you tried, and you tried, more than most of us, and harder than most of us, and sometimes you tried too hard. That refrigerator is one example. Sometimes your efforts were a cost to you and to others. But you tried. And I'm thinking about the fact, like, how nice you were to strangers on the street, fans, photographers. You would be patient and loving and personable. And then finally, you would just do too much, and then you'd snap. And that's of course what we read about, the snapping.
I was asked to talk about the work, and so I'll talk about the show we used to do and how we used to do it. I guess everybody knows we always ended an episode with a song. And that was kind of like, letting the great geniuses do the heavy lifting — Bruce [Springsteen] and Nick [Lowe] and Keith [Richards] and Howling Wolf, and a bunch of them.
So if this was an episode, we would end with a song. And the song, as far as I'm concerned, would be Joan Osborne's "What If God Was One of Us." And the setup for this — we never did this, you never even heard of this. But the setup was, Tony was somehow lost in the Meadowlands. He didn't have his car and his wallet, and his car keys. And I forget how he got there — there was some kind of a story. But he had nothing in his pocket but some change. He didn't have his guys with him. He didn't have his gun.
And so mob boss Tony Soprano is like one of the working stiffs, getting in line to get on the bus. And the way we were going to film it, he was going to get on the bus. And the lyric that would have gone over that would have been — we don't have Joan Osborne here to sing it — "If God had a face/What would it look like?/And would you want to see/If seeing meant that you would have to believe?/And yeah, yeah/God is great/Yeah, yeah/God is good/Yeah, yeah, yeah."
So Tony would get on the bus, and he would sit there, and the bus would pull out of this big billowy haze of smoke. And then the key lyric would come on, and it was: "What if God was one of us/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Trying to make his way home?" And that would be playing over your face, Jimmy.
But then — and this is where it gets kind of strange — now, we would have to update it, because of the events of the last week. And I would let the song play further, and the lyrics would be, "Just trying to make his way home/Like a holy rollin' stone/Back up to heaven all alone/Nobody callin' on the phone/Except the pope, maybe in Rome."
Love,
David
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