Sam Haskell: ‘Promises I Made My Mother’

“What would my mother say?” Former worldwide head of television for the William Morris Agency Sam Haskell asked himself that same question more than once in his long career. Haskell has handled the hottest stars and packaged the highest-rated shows. But he didn’t land those opportunities by acting like the agents we see on "Entourage." In his book "Promises I Made My Mother," Haskell reveals how the pledge he made to his mother to live a decent life allowed him to thrive — not only as a husband and father, but in the cutthroat, shark-infested waters of Hollywood. An excerpt.

Chapter one
Everybody needs their mother. Mothers do more than give us life. They embrace, nour­ish, and comfort us. They are our first teachers, protectors, and guides. Our mothers are our conscience and our safe harbor. The mother/son relationship is not often written about, but my mother believed it is one of the strongest bonds that exists. As the poet Robert Browning put it, “Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” My mother, Mary Kirkpatrick Haskell, was all of this and more to me. Her life was an inspiration. She graduated from high school in 1942, when she was only sixteen, as class valedictorian. She was also editor in chief of the school newspaper, class sec­retary, a Hall of Fame member, and the Daughters of the Ameri­can Revolution Good Citizenship Girl of the Year. Her high school yearbook says it all: “She has a smile for every joy, a tear for every sorrow, an excuse for every fault, and an encourage­ment for every hope.”

After high school my mother planned on going to college. A child of the Depression, she had big dreams about a bright and successful future, but because there was no money, she put aside that dream for a while and became a teller at the Bank Of Amory. Even there, her dedication attracted attention. Her looks did, too. My mother had big brown eyes, the most beautiful smile, rosy cheeks, auburn hair, and was thin with a real pretty figure. She reminded some of a young Jane Wyman. A neighbor, Mr. Guy Pickle, remembered how my mother used to walk home from the bank at lunchtime: “Every day all the businessmen on Main Street gathered just to watch your mother walk by. She was so beautiful she could stop running water.”

My mother dreamed of leaving Amory, earning a nursing de­gree, and traveling the world. Without faith in herself, and trust­ing that her dreams could become a reality, she might have settled for less. But she persevered through good times and bad, and became both accomplished and respected in her profession as a school nurse practitioner and as a homemaker raising three boys. My mother had more friends than anyone else I’ve ever known. She was decent and kind to a fault, and she set me on the path to a positive life. Plus, she told me every day that I was special, and encouraged my dreams.

It might sound as if I’ve put her on a pedestal, but, of course, no one is perfect. Momma was sometimes too sensitive and a bit shy. But I loved her beyond all measure, and have never made a secret of it.

More than once I’ve been asked, “How could you love your mother that much?” I always answer, “How could I not?” Simply put, my mother’s life set an example for me, and the lessons I learned from her are a part of everything I’ve done. After high school, I attended Ole Miss, where I met Mary Donnelly, the woman I’d soon marry. After graduation, I followed my show business dreams and in 1978 moved to Los Angeles, where I got my start in the mailroom of the prestigious William Morris Agency. Eighteen months later, I became a full-fledged talent agent and eventually represented a wide range of artists includ­ing Kathie Lee Gifford, Debbie Allen, Dolly Parton, Ray Romano, Bill Cosby, George Clooney, Whoopi Goldberg, Lily Tomlin, and His Royal Highness the Prince Edward. I became the agent for many talented writers, producers, and directors as well. I worked hard and eventually rose to become Worldwide Head of Televi­sion at William Morris — one of the most powerful jobs in Holly­wood. When I resigned from the agency in December of 2004, after twenty-six years, Mary and I continued our journey focus­ing on philanthropic causes, several of which you will read about in this book.

None of this could have happened had I not taken to heart the many lessons my mother taught me daily, and worked to keep the many promises I made to her about how I’d live my life, promises large and small, spoken and silent, promises that brought me success and kept me grounded.

Because of my mother, I promised to share my blessings, have faith in myself, be kind, find something to believe in, treat everyone — high or low — the same, be a strong and fair parent, never stop dreaming, be a good friend, keep God at the center of my life, maintain my character and integrity, be trustworthy, live every day to the fullest, always pick up a penny for good luck, have a wonderful life, and never forget how much she loved me.

This book is about those promises.

Mary Nell Kirkpatrick was born in Amory, Mississippi, on July 17, 1925, the third child of Mary Katherine and Hezkiah Kirk­patrick. She had two brothers, James and Eugene, who were twelve and ten years older, respectively. They took her every­where, not only to show off their beautiful little sister, but to teach her about the world. Grandmother Kirkpatrick (Nanny) welcomed the help, especially four years later when my aunt Betty was born — and the stock market crashed.

During those dark days in rural Mississippi, life was as bleak as we’ve all heard, but my mother’s parents smothered their chil­dren with love, and they didn’t really know just how poor they were. Still, they would have been much worse off had my grand­father not been one of the last Main Street blacksmiths in Mis­sissippi. People had to shoe their plow and transportation horses even though they couldn’t afford shoes for themselves.

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My mother quickly learned that what little income her par­ents had was always shared. “Your grandmother was a wonderful cook, and known as one of the kindest women in Amory,” she told me more than once. “During the Great Depression, she would always prepare three times as much food as was needed — for every meal — because the railroad ran right through town and hoboes would show up looking for work and something to eat. Because of her generosity, word spread and they found their way to your grandparents’ house, where your aunt Betty and I would serve Momma’s soup. There were never less than a dozen of them in our yard almost every day.”

The lesson stuck, and my mother passed it on to me. “A blessing is not a blessing unless it is shared,” she said again and again, making me and my brothers promise to do the same by en­couraging us to tithe at church and spend several hours a week doing community service.

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