All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(24)

During our filming, Cody 3D-printed the lower receiver for an AR-15 semiautomatic firearm. The print could take up to a day, so we were sure to get backups from allies of his. His ideology ran the gamut, but what he valued most was freedom. He explained over beers that he loved America and was a patriot but wanted the technological expansion that had been in the works for decades to continue, untouched by the government. He would fight (using words) for that right and was just fine with being the poster child for the wiki weapons movement. In fact, he enjoyed his bad-boy image, as it set him apart from his conventional contemporaries.

I felt conflicted. I believed in freedom, but as a bleeding-heart liberal I despised guns. They extinguish life, and I would be glad to see them removed from our planet. That said, I did shamelessly go out into the backwoods and fire some guns with this gang of motley boys. I will hand in my liberal/Planned Parenthood ID next time I hit up the DMV.

The 3D-printed gun worked. Back at the hotel I watched the footage late into the night, making sure the story was there. The trip had been a success, despite some nerves early on.

When I got back to New York the next day I walked through the VICE offices with purpose. I had the footage on me and headed straight toward postproduction. Chris, the editor I had been working with for about a year, was seated in his office, enjoying a cup of coffee when I entered. I told him about the scenes I had put together during filming—a tour of Cody’s room, showing us the CAD file, his arsenal, the bullets and the trip to the woods to see if the gun actually worked. Chris looked surprised; he had requested more B-roll on shoots, and I had delivered. He was one of many mentors whose words were gospel to me.

As the edit commenced, Chris mentioned that the film lacked context—yes, the material with Cody was eye-popping, but without another voice it felt one-sided, almost like we agreed with his point of view. I told my dad about it over the phone.

“Well, where did you hear about the story?”

“I heard about it through Faith.”

“Yes, but where did she find out about the story?”

I instant-messaged her, and she said she saw a great version of it in The New York Times.

“Yep, here we come full circle. She saw it in the Times.”

He laughed quietly and said, “Yes, I thought as much. My buddy Nick Bilton wrote it. Email him to see if he can work you in. Gotta jet, on deadline.”

I heard a click before I even had a chance to respond.

I’ve learned since then that you do not take credit for an idea that does not belong to you. Including Nick in the narrative of the story gave voice to the legitimate ethical questions that we as the filmmakers wanted to ask. Nick agreed to sit for an interview while I was shooting another project in L.A. He appeared just on time, answered questions succinctly, and asked if we were close to being done around the one-hour mark. The interview was crucial for the short film.

I begged VICE to host a press screening for the Web film, and they obliged without hesitation. We did it at the Soho House, a trendy private Manhattan club with a screening room. I invited filmmaker Alex Gibney, who did me the honor of attending. My dad was one of the first to arrive and strolled up to me with a look of intent. He wrapped me up into his arms and told me how proud he was. The hug lingered.

He prayed, wished, and ultimately knew that his kids would be successful. Not just because we were his, but because we, as preemies, thrived early on in a world that did not necessarily want us. Maybe it made the sacrifice worth it? I wasn’t always so sure, but that night in that glittering city, a night that I had worked so hard to get to, I believed in our story, in the success of it.





14


    Tyranny of Self





Dad: i am looking for something i want you to read. hold on a sec. here it is:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB122178211966454607

Me: got it.

Dad: david foster wallace giving commencement at kenyon. he killed himself, but his writing on the tyranny of self, something you and i both deal with, is awe inspiring.

Me: that is true.

Dad: i should work on mowing the lawn you know that I adore you and thinking of the world of you. there is a freshness and rigor in your voice. an awareness of things beyond you that i find really exciting. i know there is probly plenty of mayhem out of view but i just feel really good about who you are becoming. as papa would say “i think you are neat.”



Tyranny of self was one way to put it. Extreme ambition could be another way to describe it.

How was my dad able to figure so much out in such a short life? Many have asked me this question. I thought a lot about it and have come up with a series of answers:

     He was naturally brilliant.



     His work ethic far outmatched most civilians’.



     There was a certain degree of mania and/or narcissism involved in his personality that drove him to extremes.





My brain immediately creates an excuse as soon as I type this. I know that most successful people are, to a degree, selfish and careerist. You need to put yourself first in order to get to that next level. I, too, have inherited this gene, and would rather spend time trapped in my apartment making movies than listening to a friend drone on about that crazy dream they had last night.

My dad could be ruthless, cutting, and focused solely on himself. His program of recovery curbed these selfish impulses, but he and I knew they were permanently there. He was good at hiding them as needed. He always made the joke that he was constantly trying to figure out the right way to be a human being. Almost as if it were a character he was trying out. As a sober person, he lost the ability to cut loose through alcohol and cocaine, so he tried to find other ways. For some time, I was convinced that his Twitter feed was more important than whatever I had to say. Too much coffee or expensive food, micro Internet celebrity and the attention it garnered, smoking insane amounts of cigarettes, driving very fast. These were all ways he could still be “bad.”