The Boys : A Memoir of Hollywood and Family
Ron Howard
Foreword
BRYCE DALLAS HOWARD
I’ve always been confused by how fathers are portrayed in American popular culture as out-of-touch bumbling idiots. Because my only experience of male parenting is that of an incredibly engaged father.
My grandfather Rance Howard came from a generation of men who were not traditionally involved with their kids’ lives in any meaningful way. That didn’t prevent him from accompanying his boys on set, not just as their guardian-manager but as their ever-present moral and ethical compass. He was a modern, progressive, dedicated dad, and that intentionality and legacy, along with my grandma Jean Howard’s smarts and leadership, laid a multigenerational foundation for my family.
All families have extraordinary stories. As my dad says in these pages, the success our family has achieved is something none of us takes for granted. It wasn’t destined, and we could’ve just as easily ended up Oklahoma farmers as Hollywood creators. As is so often the way, a few breaks in a different direction, and what might feel like fate would have unfolded along a now-unrecognizable path. How our family differs is that our twists and turns have played out more publicly than usual.
While the relationship between my dad and my uncle Clint marks an unbreakable bond between two wildly different people—one that I marvel at—it’s a sibling story that so many of us can relate to. My dad and uncle are bonded by the love of their parents. Through all the ups and downs, they have remained close, far beyond the obligatory birthday and holiday phone calls. They hang out, talk baseball and movies, watch games, shoot hoops, golf, walk, and laugh a lot. No one makes my dad laugh harder than my uncle Clint. Classic big-brother/little-brother stuff. Yes, blood and genetics connect us, but as we so often witness, that connection isn’t guaranteed. It takes a commitment to nurture family relationships over years and decades: work and a grounding force. My grandparents were that force.
Granddad and Grandma Jean established a very specific Howard family culture, one of warmth, encouragement, and gratitude. Being decent to your fellow humans has always been our driving principle. They taught us to take responsibility for our actions and support one another unconditionally, even when we disagree, not by preaching but by modeling. We were constantly reminded that we’re a family of equals, a collective in which pretense is frowned upon. We were taught that fame is never a substitute for family.
Storytelling as a craft is taken seriously in our family, and a committed work ethic was modeled for us. As my uncle Clint says, we are “grinders and scrappers.” Hollywood is as brutal as it is glamorous, and the only way to survive is through discipline and sticking together. That’s something my grandmother and ultimate role model instilled in all of us. My grandmother’s vision and belief in what was possible for our family—as well as her joie de vivre—are what made it all possible. I never once heard her complain, despite enduring many real ailments and challenges that would have warranted more than a little griping on her part. Her relationship with my grandfather was the picture of partnership and teamwork, setting an example for the kind of symbiotic relationship I wanted in my own life.
Like my father, uncle, and grandparents, I, too, am a storyteller—a privilege I also never take for granted. And while much of my family is connected to Hollywood, we are fortified by the grounded, down-to-earth “midwestern Zen” values and life habits my grandparents set for us.
As I read through the pages of this book, I expected familiar stories, but before long I found myself on a surprising adventure. To hear the tale of my grandparents through the words of their two boys and get a peek into their spectacular and unique childhoods, navigating the wilds of the film and TV industry in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s, transported me. These pages capture a turning point in the entertainment industry, as told through the personal lens of one family.
If I were to tell the story of my life, it wouldn’t start with me. My story and identity are the culmination of several generations, starting with my grandparents. They continue to inspire me and inform my own path. My siblings and I want to be better people, not to course correct the legacy but to live up to it. The bar is high, and we don’t want to fall short.
When I was six, we were living in England as my young father prepared to shoot Willow and my mom prepared to give birth to my brother, Reed. We have a home video that shows my dad expressing concern that these two momentous events were happening simultaneously: “Movies! Babies! MOVIES! BABIES!” He then asked me to predict the day Reed would be born (which I did, with eerie accuracy). This dynamic of a concerned, involved father including his children in these family discussions was similar to how his parents brought their boys into the fold. Granddad and Grandma Jean showed him it was possible to grow up on a movie set and have a childhood. They even put my dad in a crib while they were performing summer stock, attending to him between scenes. Unconventional? Sure. But inclusive and family-centric nonetheless. Like his own parents, my dad protected us from the craziness while still giving us a firsthand look at the circus.
In my documentary feature directorial debut, Dads, I, too, was drawn to the subject of family. I hoped to interview an expecting father, and as luck would have it, my brother and his wife were about to have their first baby. I remembered Dad expressing to me several times over the years that his greatest fear was not measuring up to his own father as a parent. I shared this memory with Reed while filming and, surprised, he replied, “He said that? That’s my biggest worry—not living up to Dad.” And so, the tradition continues . . .