A tribute by Ruth Neuwald Falcon

We tried to correct some societal wrongs, with Me Too and whatnot, and it sometimes appears that one of the consequences is a generation comprising many huffy young people, bristling with entitlement and self-righteousness. 

To be fair, when I was in my early twenties, working in my first job in television, I too was often huffy and self-righteous. I was almost fired more than once for what was then called insubordination, aka being rude to the head of my department (it pissed me off that my new peach shoes were ruined because I was caught in the rain doing a personal errand for him, so I snapped at him when I got back to the office). It was only the intervention of my immediate boss that saved my job. 

I visited him last year, that first boss. We’ve stayed in touch over the decades but being in the same time zone has reactivated our friendship. It’s a bit irrational (my friendships with my West Coast friends are continuing unabated) but there’s something about reinhabiting the general milieu of the northeast that gives us the context in which our friendship is flourishing again. 

We’ve always joked (as we do about most things) about how he, in his words, “saved your ass from being fired.” I have always appreciated it. But, last year, visiting him in his condo in Jersey, there was a moment when, in the middle of our usual kidding around, I looked into his 90-year-old eyes and tears started into mine. This man’s protection of my formless, gormless, lost young self had allowed me to have a television career. I literally do not know what would have become of me if John Adams hadn’t told our mutual boss not to fire me, if he hadn’t seen something in me worth standing up for.

John’s been writing tributes to friends of his who have passed away in recent years. I didn’t want to wait until after he’s gone to acknowledge him publicly. I wish all young people stumbling stupidly (because we’re all at least a little stupid when we’re young, no matter how smart we think we are) toward adulthood, the blessing and the gift of such a mentor. 

Thank you, John.