-2-

alone, he was nevertheless encapsuled in the solitude of
eminence.

There was, however, nothing paradoxical about Bill's
relations with his friends. On his friends he bestowed an
extraordinary solicitude; forever enquiring how one was and
what one was doing, with whom, and why. And he always
surprised by some totally unexpected gesture of care and
concern, right through the very end.

What fun Bill Paley was to be with! He conjured up an
air of festivity simply by walking into a room - his face
crinkled into that legendary, mischievous boy's smile; his
entire bearing a challenge that he expected everybody to
enjoy himself as much as he did and that he was proposing to
have a marvelous time.

I had the opportunity to travel with Bill to many
continents, always accompanied by the ubiquitous John Dean,
his valet and friend, who loved him and spoiled him

-3-

outrageously. Dean was in charge of the suitcases bulging
with Hungarian salami and other delicacies intended to
buffer Bill from a sudden food shortage on alien turf. Dean
was also responsible for coming as close as possible to
whipping up the airplane menus which Bill devised in fla-
grant disregard of either customs or, indeed, of the techni-
cal possibilities of the areas through which we might be
travelling.

On these trips, Bill vastly enjoyed meeting the various
national leaders, who in turn were drawn to his courtly
dignity and engaging charm. His assessments afterwards were
always right on the mark; for Bill had a brilliant grasp of
the essence of any problem to which he put his mind.

Still, much as Bill valued meeting political leaders,
foreign or homegrown, he avoided getting close to them
personally. Perhaps this was because Bill suspected politi-
cal leaders of being specialists in the quid pro quo; almost

-4-

certainly because he did not want CBS to be under any
political obligation whatsoever.

As caring as Bill was of his friends, he did not allow
that commitment to infringe on his love affair with CBS.
While I knew him, he was impervious to the many appeals that
came to him to intervene with CBS News. Bill took the
position that the CBS News team was beyond his reach because
it was, simply, the best and the most dedicated group of
journalists ever assembled. I once tried to tempt Bill with
the suggestion that since the days of Kant, philosophers had
held the view that the human mind filters knowledge through
preexisting categories of the mind; why should that axiom
not apply to reporters. Bill pretended not to understand.
His attitude was that Kant wrote long before there was a
CBS, and that a convoluted German philosopher could have no
possible relevance to his baby at Black Rock.

-5-

To hear Bill Paley talk about CBS, you knew it had not
just happened; indeed, that no one but he could have made it
happen that way. He had turned a dream into a reality by his
imagination and courage, his persistence and yes, his
lifelong devotion.

Bill enjoyed life with such exuberance that his friends
never quite faced that someday it had to end. Visiting him
during his last illness, I found him dozing in a chair, his
face wasted, all of him really quite spent. But at the sound
of the visitor, he woke up and that marvelous smile lit up
his features: "Tell me something amusing," he whispered. I
knew what he wanted to hear because we had gone through the
exercise during previous illnesses. So I recounted how on
our trip through the Middle East he had fallen down a flight
of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how
the next day, his bandaged head giving him the appearance of
some exotic sheik, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to

-6-

Marrakesh, ending the day's adventures at 2:00 in the morning with a sumptuous dinner with an old friend of Bill's.

This tale was Bill's reassurance of indestructibility. As he listened, his twinkling eyes and softly creased face exuded such serenity that in a surge of euphoria, I convinced myself the staunch old warrior would confound us all again as he had three years before during another illness when everybody had given up but he himself.

It was not to be.

Bill's long-time friend, Carter Burden, has captured the Bill Paley so many of us treasured in the following extract from a eulogy he wrote:

"At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up to the podium and began by profusely thanking the startled Clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in

-7-

Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that
<u>Robert</u> Dean had worked for him forever, and you <u>knew</u> the
dear old boy had lost it at last. But then Bill, with his
indestructible will and unfailing sense of occasion, began
to talk - straight from his valiant old heart: 'John Dean
was my friend,' he said, 'and I believe that someday,
probably very soon, we will meet again.'

I truly hope Bill was right, because I can see it all
so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his
beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill eating 12 meals a day,
loving Babe, gossiping with friends, watching several TV's
simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twin-
kling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and
always will be for me."

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. Nor can

-8-

the lives of his friends without his phone calls, his subtle
or not so subtle but oh so persistent suggestions, his
all-encompassing life-enhancing presence. A giant among men,
Bill Paley of necessity marched to his own drummer. He
honored his friends by letting them accompany him part of
the way. His death leaves us lonelier and emptier, but none
of us would trade places with those who did not have the
good fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all.

I have a British friend who had known Bill for years and kept saying that I should meet him, Kissinger recalled.

CBS was doing quite a job on the Nixon Administration but he is almost naive in that respect, Kissinger says.

He always insists that his newpeople are totally objective even when I tell him that that is impossible. No one can ever be totally objective.

Kissinger also told another story that may give some hint of Paley's physical resilience. "It was in 1974 when we were shuttling about the Middle East. We were in Oman at the home of a Persian who had a billiard room built into the side of his swimming pool, the sort of home we in the West cannot afford any more. We were going down the stairs and I was in front and when I heard a terrific noixe and turned around to see Paley coming head first through the doorway and down the stairs. It looked like a fatal fall, there was blood everywhere. He was dazed but conscious and his head was cut very badly. The next day we flew 10 hours to Morocco, Bill with stitches in his head and all bandaged up like an Arab sheik. Well the fall did not effect him at all. In fact, his memory seemed even better. Later, I would joke with him that he had pioneered a new school of medicine -- he should get someone to wait behind doors with a baseball bat to keep him alert."

I take him along at our meetings with world leaders and later, when I'd ask him what he thought his analyses would be spot on. He has the fxxx

gift and the intellect to turn his mind to anything, he would have been terrific if he had chosen to enter politics instead of business.

[hc]

FOR WILLIAM S. PALEY

As the ex-son-in-law, I'm extremely grateful to Bill's tolerant, long-suffering family for permitting me to say a few words this morning. Fortunately, they understand, perhaps better than anyone, just how much Bill really meant to me. I truly loved him and believe he loved me, and his death leaves an immense, unfillable void in my life.

From the moment I first laid eyes on him, 28 years ago, I was hopelessly bedazzled by Bill Paley. He and Babe came up to Boston to visit Tony and Ba at school, (the last time Bill *ever* did anything like that) and, with a few other friends, I was invited out for dinner. I sat there in the Paley's sitting room at the Ritz, not knowing quite what to expect, when in bounded WSP - smile turned up full blast, exuding charm from every pore in his CBS cuff-links and perfectly cut Huntsman suit, unbuttoned at the fly. To me, at that moment, he appeared to *twinkle*, like some radiant, exotic, beckoning, unknowable star. He also ate more at dinner that night than anyone I'd ever seen.

To say that I was star-struck would be a serious understatement. Never before had I encountered such raw animal vitality. Such unselfconscious zest; such pure naked human hunger. Here was a man, I said to myself, so richly favored by life, who loves life with an equal, reciprocal passion. Not a bad way to live, I thought then, and still think 28 years later. Whatever else you may say about William S. Paley, he *lived* his life and he lived it to the max.

The memories come flooding back now, and without exception, they are happy memories. Lying on Bill's bed at Kiluna late at night, yakking about everything under the sun while Bill happily burned the knockwurst. Getting snookered into buying his old shirts at four times their true value. Loosing a fortune to him at Backgammon, wallowing in

-2-

luxury on the Guinness or Agnelli yacht. Shopping and eating with him in Paris; sampling our way through the Farmer's Market in Venice at 5:00 a.m.; witnessing his delight at Michael Tree's disgusting behavior in Baden-Baden; listening to him scream - in pain and ecstasy - while being pummelled by Madame Blondie of Biarritz. Bill not only pursued pleasure and joy in life, I believe he transmitted it to others, certainly he did to me. He always made me feel good - about life and about myself.

The secret of my relationship with Bill, I think, was that he felt free to be a mentor and father figure for me, precisely because he was not my real father; and I was free to be an admiring and disrespectful son to him, precisely because I wasn't his real son. He was never burdened with paternal expectations, and I was always careful not to make any filial demands... except, unfortunately, on one, illuminating occasion.

It was during the nightmarish period when my first marriage was falling apart. The unspeakable lawyers were already dividing up my wine cellar, and I was growing increasingly desperate. It came to me that the one person who could supply the kind of worldly advice, masculine comfort, and blind support I needed so badly; indeed the *only* person who could fix everything and make it alright again was my wise and devoted father-in law. So I went to lunch in his dining room at Black Rock and, after explaining to him how to improve the CBS prime time schedule, I finally told him what I wanted. And he looked at me, and twinkled, and said, in that husky voice of his that so often came close to tenderness, "Barter, you know I love you and would do anything for you, but there are some things in life you just can't do, and this is one of them". He was very kind, very gentle, and very realistic, and I wanted to wring his neck. Perhaps it wasn't always obvious (and he admittedly

-3-

had a peculiar way of expressing it at times) but, at bottom, for Bill, his
family came first. Luckily that day was not a total loss for me either. As
I was leaving Bill's office, feeling utterly dejected, I passed by Goddard
Lieberson's open door, and Goddard yelled at me to come in and meet
someone. And low and behold, there was Groucho Marx, who looked
at me as if I was Margaret Dumont, and sneered "Ah.....so you're the
one with all the money". Little did he know.

There were certain things you could always depend on Bill for. You could always depend on him to forget your name; to put his roving hand on your wife's thigh; to make you laugh and raise your spirits, no matter what kind of shape he was in; to care - always - about how you were and what you were doing and to whom and how often and why. And just when you were sure you had him figured out - he would surprise you, again and again, right up to the end.

At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill decided he
wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up to the podium and
began by profusely thanking the startled Clergyman for composing the
Lord's Prayer especially in Dean's honor. He then announced
somewhat uncertainly that **Robert** Dean had worked for him for over
100 years, and you **knew** the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then
something astonishing happened. Bill pulled himself together, with his
indestructible will and unfailing sense of occasion, and began to talk -
simply, eloquently, straight from his valiant old heart: "John Dean was
my friend", he said, "and I believe that someday, probably very soon, we
will meet again."

I hope - I truly hope - Bill was right, because I can see it all so
clearly. Dean, up there, fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled-
rotten boss. Bill, up there chasing girls, eating 12 meals a day, loving

-4-

Babe, gossiping with Jock and Slim, avoiding Blanche, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, sitting there with his pajama pants unbuttoned, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

Of all my memories of Bill, my favorite is the last one. Susan and I went to see him a few days before he died. He was barely conscious, and we stood for a while at his bedroom door watching him sleep, grieving at the sight of his vital Semitic face, suddenly so frail and depleted, painfully aware that this was inescapably the old Lion's last heroic battle, when one of those tiny, uncalculated, illuminating incidents occurred that say - and mean - so much. One of his nurses - his cherished nurses - placed her hand - tenderly, lovingly, almost sensuously on Bill's sleeping head, and a small, sly, blissful smile crept across his expressive face and I knew then, as well as I've ever known anything in my life, that the rascal was having one, final, fantastic raunchy dream.

Hoved and treasured Bill Paley; not so much for his achievements or money or power or charm (not that any of that hurt) but for himself. He was, truly, larger than life; immersed in the moment; so passionate, so loveable, so bad; so fundamentally caring - so supremely and triumphantly life enhancing. God bless and keep you, Willy boy, and thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Carter Burden

October 29, 1990

-1-

Final

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY 11/12/90

By the time our paths crossed, Bill Paley had already made an enduring contribution to American life and culture. He was in his seventies, at an age when deep new human relationships are rarely forged. Yet almost miraculously, Bill and I became close friends.

Bill was larger than life; a man of many paradoxes. Until the end, he was always a pioneer with an uncanny sense for the future based on intuition. Without being able to explain how, he recognized the crest of the many waves he rode. He hugely enjoyed his wealth, but he was not particularly interested in the process of amassing it, nor did he participate in the speculative frenzy of the Eighties. Infinitely gregarious, deeply reluctant to be

M

-2-

[y]

-3-

[4]

-4-

[y]

-5-

-6-

It was not to be.

[y]

-7-

-8-

-1-

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY 11/9/90

Until the end, Bill Paley remained a pioneer — quintessentially American in his faith in an ever better future, Bill was larger than life; a man of many paradoxes.

He prided himself — quite correctly — on understanding what the typical American wanted, though in fact he did not know all that many typical Americans. He had an uncanny fifth sense for the future and rode the crest of many a new wave without being able to explain how or why he knew what was to come. He hugely enjoyed his wealth, but he was not

[y]

-2-

particularly interested in the process of amassing it, nor
did he participate in the speculative frenzy of the Eight-
ies. Infinitely gregarious, deeply reluctant to be ever
alone, he was nevertheless encapsuled in the solitude of
eminence.

There was, however, nothing paradoxical about Bill's
relations with his friends. Like other geniuses, Bill
marched to his own drummer but when it came to his friends
~~on whom~~ he bestowed an extraordinary solicitude; forever enquiring
how one was and what one was doing, with whom, and why. Bill
considered friendship an act of grace not a contract of
reciprocal obligations. And therefore he ~~generally~~ often surprised you
by doing more than you ever expected, right through the very
end of his life.

[y]

-5-

held the view that the human mind filters knowledge through preexisting categories; to the extent that reporters are human, the axiom had to apply to them as well. Bill's attitude was that Kant wrote long before there was a CBS, and that a convoluted German philosopher could have no possible relevance to his baby at Black Rock.

Bill enjoyed life with such exuberance that his friends never quite faced that someday it had to end. Visiting him during his last illness, I found him dozing in a chair, his face wasted, all of him really quite spent. But at the sound of the visitor, he woke up and that marvelous smile lit up his features: "Tell me something amusing," he said. I knew whispered:

-6-

what he wanted to hear because we had gone through the
exercise during previous illnesses. So I recounted how on
our trip through the Middle East he had fallen down a flight
of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how
the next day, his bandaged head giving him the appearance of
some exotic sheik, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to
Marrakesh, ending the day's adventures at 2:00 in the
morning with a sumptuous dinner, orchestrated by an old
friend of Bill's who collected us at the airport.

This tale was Bill's reassurance of indestructibility.
As he listened, his twinking eyes and softly creased face
exuded such serenity that in a surge of euphoria, I con-
vinced myself the staunch old warrior would confound us all
again as he had three years before during another illness
when everybody had given up but he himself.

It was not to be.

-7-

A vignette from a eulogy written by Bill's long-time
friend, Carter Burden, captures the Bill Paley so many of us
treasured:

"At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up to the podium and began by profusely thanking the startled Clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that **Robert** Dean had worked for him for over 100 years, and you **knew** the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then Bill, with his indestructible will and unfailing sense of occasion, began to talk - simply, eloquently, straight from his valiant old heart: 'John Dean was my friend,' he said, 'and I believe that someday, probably very soon, we will meet again.'

-8-

beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill eating 12 meals a day,
loving Babe, gossiping away with friends, [plotting to avoid
bores], watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling
notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright,
shining star he always was, and always will be for me."

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. Nor can
the lives of his friends without his phone calls, his subtle
or not so subtle but oh so persistent advice, his
all-encompassing, indestructible presence. A giant among men,
neCESSITY marked him on his own dimension.
Bill Paley of needs walked alone. He honored his friends by
letting them accompany him part of the way. His death leaves
us lonelier and emptier, but none of us would trade places
with those who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill
Paley at all.

-1-

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY 11/9/90

Until the end, Bill Paley remained a pioneer - quintessentially American in his faith in an ever better future. Bill was larger than life; a man of many paradoxes. He prided himself - quite correctly - on understanding what the typical American wanted, though in fact he did not know all that many typical Americans. He had an uncanny fifth sense for the future and rode the crest of many a new wave without being able to explain how or why he knew what was to come. He hugely enjoyed his wealth, but he was not

[y]

-2-

There was, however, nothing paradoxical about Bill's
relations with his friends. Like other geniuses, Bill
marched to his own drummer but when it came to his friends
he bestowed an extraordinary solicitude; forever enquiring
how one was and what one was doing, with whom, and why. Bill
considered friendship an act of grace not a contract of
reciprocal obligations. And therefore he often surprised you
by doing more than you ever expected, right through the very
end of his life.

[Y]

-3-

entire bearing an affirmation that nobody was going to have
a better time than he, and that he was planning to have a
marvelous time.

I had the opportunity to travel with Bill to many
continents, always accompanied by the ubiquitous John Dean,
his valet and friend, who loved and spoiled him outrageous-
ly. Dean was in charge of the suitcases bulging with Hungar-
ian salami and other delicacies intended to buffer Bill from
a sudden food shortage on alien turf. Dean was also respon-
sible for whipping up the airplane menus which Bill devised
in flagrant disregard of either customs or, indeed, of the
technical parameters of the areas through which we might be
travelling.

On these trips, Bill vastly enjoyed meeting the various
national leaders, who in turn were drawn to his courtly
dignity and engaging charm. Though he could be quite reti-
cent in their company, afterwards, he invariably turned to

[y]

-4-

me with, "Let me tell you what I think he was really saying." He was usually right on the mark; Bill had an uncanny grasp of the essence of any problem to which he put his mind.

Much as Bill valued meeting political leaders, he never made any attempt to get close to them personally. Perhaps this was because Bill suspected political leaders of being specialists in the quid pro quo; probably because he did not want CBS to be under any political obligation whatsoever.

As caring as Bill was of his friends, he did not allow that commitment to infringe on his love affair with CBS, especially CBS News. While I knew him, appeals by friends to intervene with CBS News were doomed to disappointment. Bill took the position that the CBS News team was beyond his reach because it was, simply, the best and the most dedicated ever assembled. I once tried to tempt Bill with the suggestion that since the days of Kant, philosophers had

[Y]

-5-

[y]

-6-

what he wanted to hear because we had gone through the
exercise during previous illnesses. So I recounted how on
our trip through the Middle East he had fallen down a flight
of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how
the next day, his bandaged head giving him the appearance of
some exotic sheik, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to
Marrakesh, ending the day's adventures at 2:00 in the
morning with a sumptuous dinner orchestrated by an old
friend of Bill's who collected us at the airport.

This tale was Bill's reassurance of indestructibility.
As he listened, his twinkling eyes and softly creased face
exuded such serenity that in a surge of euphoria, I con-
vinced myself the staunch old warrior would confound us all
again as he had three years before during another illness
when everybody had given up but he himself.

It was not to be.

LY

-7-

[4]

-8-

beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill eating 12 meals a day,
loving Babe, gossiping away with friends, plotting to avoid
bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling
notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright,
shining star he always was, and always will be for me."

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. Nor can
the lives of his friends without his phone calls, his subtle
or not so subtle but oh so persistent advice, his
all-encompassing indestructible presence. A giant among men,
Bill Paley of needs walked alone. He honored his friends by
letting them accompany him part of the way. His death leaves
us lonelier and emptier, but none of us would trade places
with those who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill
Paley at all.

-1-

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY THURSDAY PM DRAFT

[y]

-2-

particularly interested in the process of amassing it.

did a participate in the speculative pensies of the lighters
Infinitely gregarious, reluctant to be alone, he was never-
deepl ever

What fun Bill Paley was to be with! He conjured up an
air of festivity simply by walking into a room - his face
crinkled into that legendary, mischievous boy's smile; his
entire bearing an affirmation that nobody was going to have

[Y]

-3-

On these trips, Bill vastly enjoyed meeting the various
national leaders, who in turn were drawn to his courtly
dignity and engaging charm. Though he could be quite reti-
cent in their company, afterwards, he invariably turned to
me with, "Let me tell you what I think he was really

-4-

As caring as Bill was of his friends, he did not allow
that commitment to infringe on his love affair with CBS,
especially CBS News. While I knew him, appeals by friends to
intervene with CBS News were doomed to disappointment. Bill
took the position that the CBS News team was beyond his
reach because it was, simply, the best and the most dedicat-
ed ever assembled. Since in Bill's eyes CBS correspondents
were incapable of bias, the question of fairness could not
arise. I once tried to tempt Bill with the suggestion that

-5-

since the days of Kant, philosophers had held the view that
the human mind filters knowledge through preexisting catego-
ries; to the extent that reporters are human, the axiom had
to apply to them as well. Bill's attitude was that Kant
wrote long before there was a CBS, and that a convoluted
German philosopher could have no possible relevance to his
baby at Black Rock.

To hear Bill Paley talk about CBS, you knew it had not
just happened; indeed, that no one but he could have made it
happen that way. He had turned a dream into a reality by his
imagination and courage, his persistence and yes, his
undying devotion.

[y]

-6-

his features: "Tell me something amusing," he said. I knew
what he wanted to hear because we had gone through the
exercise during previous illnesses. So I recounted how on
our trip through the Middle East he had fallen down a flight
of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how
the next day, his bandaged head giving him the appearance of
some exotic sheik, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to
Marrakesh, ending the day's adventures at 2:00 in the
morning with a sumptuous dinner orchestrated by an old
friend of Bill's who collected us at the airport.

It was not to be.

-7-

A vignette from a eulogy written by Bill's long-time
friend, Carter Burden, capture what so many of us felt about
~~Bill Paley~~

"At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill
decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up
to the podium and began by profusely thanking the startled
Clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in
Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that
**Robert** Dean had worked for him for over 100 years, and you
**knew** the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then Bill,
with his indestructible will and unfailing sense of occa-
sion, began to talk - simply, eloquently, straight from his
valiant old heart: 'John Dean was my friend,' he said, 'and
I believe that someday, probably very soon, we will meet
again.'

[4]

-8-

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. Nor can
the lives of his friends without his phone calls, his subtle
or not so subtle but oh so persistent advice, his
all-encompassing indestructible presence. A giant among men,
Bill Paley of needs walked alone. ~~But~~ he honored his friends
by letting them accompany him part of the way. ~~He left~~ us
lonelier and emptier, but none of us would trade places with
those who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill
Paley at all.

-1-

11/8/90

[Y]

-2-

Infinitely gregarious, reluctant to be alone, he was nevertheless encapsuled in the solitude of eminence.

-3-

[Y]

-4-

-5-

[y]

-6-

It was not to be.

-7-

A vignette from a eulogy written by Bill's long-time friend, Carter Burden, capture what so many of us felt about Bill Paley:

-8-

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. A giant
among men, Bill Paley of needs walked alone. But he made a
huge difference as well to the lives and happiness of his
friends. We miss the phone calls, the subtle or not so
subtle but oh so persistent advice, the all-encompassing
indestructible presence. But in our void and sadness, we
would not trade places with anyone who did not have the good
fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all. His memory will
accompany and console us for as long as we shall live.

-3-

I had the opportunity to travel with Bill to many
continents, always accompanied by the ubiquitous John Dean,
his valet and friend, who loved and spoiled him outrageous-
ly. Dean was in charge of the suitcases ~~full~~ of Hungarian
salami and other delicacies intended to buffer Bill from a
sudden food shortage on alien turf. Dean was also responsi-
ble for whipping up the airplane menus which Bill devised in
flagrant disregard of either customs or, indeed, of the
technical parameters of the areas through which we might be
travelling.

On these trips, Bill vastly enjoyed meeting the various
national leaders, who in turn were drawn to his courtly
dignity and engaging charm. Though he ~~was~~ could be
generally quite
reticent in their company, afterwards, he ~~would~~ invariably
turn ~~to~~ with, "Let me tell you what I think he was ~~really~~

[y]

-7-

It was not to be.

vignette

A few words from a eulogy written by Bill's long-time
friend, Carter Burden, capture what so many of us felt about
Bill Paley:

"At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill
decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up
to the podium and began by profusely thanking the startled
Clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in
Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that
**Robert** Dean had worked for him for over 100 years, and you
**knew** the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then Bill,
with his indestructible will and unfailing sense of occa-
sion, began to talk - simply, eloquently, straight from his
valiant old heart: 'John Dean was my friend,' he said, 'and

-8-

I truly hope Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with friends, plotting to avoid bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

He was, truly, larger than life; immersed in the moment; so passionate, so loveable, so devilish; so fundamentally caring, so supremely and triumphantly life enhancing."

That was the Bill Paley his friends knew and treasured.

[4]

-9-

men, Bill Paley of needs walked alone. But he made a large
difference as well to the lives and happiness of his
friends. We will miss the phone calls, the subtle or not so
subtle but oh so persistent advice, the amusing anecdotes,
the all-encompassing indestructible presence. But in our
void and sadness, his friends would not trade places with
anyone who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill
Paley at all. His memory will accompany and console us for
as long as we shall live.

-8-

In the end, a man's life is measured by the difference
he made. And about Bill it is enough to say that America
today cannot be imagined without his life's work. Nor can
the lives of his friends without his phone calls, his subtle
or not so subtle but oh so peristent advice, his
all-encompassing indestructible presence. A giant among men,
Bill Paley of needs walked alone. He left us lonelier and
emptier, but none of us would trade places with those who
did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all.

His memory will strengthen us for as long as we shall live.

DEC. 11 '80 19:53 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.002

-1-

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY WEDNESDAY DRAFT

By the time our paths crossed, Bill Paley had already made an enduring contribution to American life and culture, by building CBS and by his commitment to the Museum of Modern Art. He was in his seventies, at a stage in people's lives when deep human relationships are rarely forged. Yet almost miraculously, Bill and I became close friends.

Through his life, At least Bill Paley always remained a pioneer; larger than life; a man of many paradoxes. Bill prided himself - quite correctly - on understanding what the average American wanted, though in fact he did not know all that many average Americans. He had an uncanny intuition for the future and rode the crest of many a new wave without being able to explain how he knew what was to come. He hugely enjoyed his wealth, but he was not particularly interested in the

DEC. 11 '80 19:55 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.008

[y]

-7-

would confound us again as he had three years before during
another illness when everybody but he had given up on him.

It was not to be.

Let me read a few words from a eulogy written by Bill's
ex son-in-law and long-time friend, Carter Burden, whom he
it captures what many of us felt about Bill Paley:

"At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill
decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up
to the podium and began by profusely thanking the startled
Clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in
Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that
Robert Dean had worked for him for over 100 years, and you
knew the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then Bill,
with his indestructible will and unfailing sense of occa-
sion, began to talk - simply, eloquently, straight from his
valiant old heart: 'John Dean was my friend,' he said, 'and

DEC.11 '80 19:55 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.009

I hope I truly hope Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled, rotten boss. Bill, up there eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with Jock Whitney and Slim Keith, plotting to avoid bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twin kling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

He was, truly, larger than life; immersed in the moment; so passionate, so loveable, so devilish; so funda mentally caring, so supremely and triumphantly life enhancing."

A giant among men, Bill Paley of needs walked alone who made a huge difference as well to the lives of his friends. But it was his gift to uplift the lives of his friends. We will miss the sly phone calls, the subtle suggestions, the

DEC. 11 '80 19:56 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.010

-9-

amusing anecdotes, the all-encompassing indestructible presence. But in their void and sadness, they nevertheless would not trade places with anyone who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all. The memory of his imimitation, a company of complacent friends, will be our badge of honor for as long as we shall live.

-1-

11/7/90

By the time our paths crossed, Bill Paley had already made an enduring contribution to American life and culture by building CBS, and by his commitment to the Museum of Modern Art. He was in his seventies, a stage in people's lives when deep human relationships are rarely forged. Almost miraculously, Bill and I became close friends.

[y]

-2-

process of amassing it. His private investments were charac-
teristically at the cutting edge of technology where returns
were not likely to come in his own lifetime.

There was nothing paradoxical about Bill's relations
with his friends. He bestowed on them an extraordinary care
and sensitivity. He was forever inquiring how they were and
what they were doing and why. Like other geniuses, Bill
could be quite self-centered. But his definition of self
embraced friends and, in time, his family. That circle could
count on Bill's counsel and devotion, all the more moving
because it was offered spontaneously and matter-of-factly.
Bill tended to resist demands placed on him as the implicit
right of others because he considered friendship an act of
grace not a contract defining reciprocal obligations. And he
always surprised by doing more than you could possibly
expect right through to the end of his life.

-3-

What fun Bill Paley was to be with! He conveyed an air
of festivity simply by walking into a room, his face crin-
kled into that legendary, mischievous boy's smile; his
entire bearing an affirmation that nobody was going to have
a better time than he, and that he was planning to have a
marvelous time. And this is why nowhere could one have a
more civilized time than at Bill Paley's home.

I had the opportunity to travel with Bill to many
continents, always accompanied by the ubiquitous John Dean,
his valet and friend, who loved and spoiled him outrageous-
ly. Dean was in charge of the suitcases full of Hungarian
salami and other delicacies meant to buffer Bill from a
sudden food shortage on alien soil. Dean was also responsi-
ble for whipping up the airplane menus which Bill devised in
flagrant disregard of either customs or indeed of the
technical parameters of the areas through which we might be
travelling.

[Y]

-4-

On these trips, Bill greatly enjoyed meeting the various national leaders, who in turn appreciated his courtly dignity and engaging charm. Afterwards, he would invariably turn to me with, "Let me tell you what I think he was really saying." And then it would turn out that his intuition and intelligence were just as uncanny at foreign policy as in his own work. Bill always grasped the essence of any issue he addressed.

But much as Bill valued meeting political leaders, he never made any attempt to get close to them. Perhaps this was because Bill suspected political leaders of being specialists in the quid pro quo; perhaps he did not want CBS to be under any political obligation whatsoever.

I have said that Bill was infinitely supportive and caring about his friends. But that commitment was never allowed to clash with his ultimate commitment to CBS. Several years ago I was involved in a petrotracted, painful,

[Y]

-5-

dispute with 60 Minutes. Bill simply acted as if he was not
aware of it and I never raised it with him because I knew
Bill's passionate conviction that the CBS News team was the
fairest, the most dedicated, simply the best ever assem-
bled. In Bill's eyes, CBS correspondents were incapable of
bias, so the question of fairness could not even arise. I
once suggested to Bill that since the days of Kant, philoso-
phers have held the view that the human mind filters knowl-
edge through preexisting categories. Bill's attitude con-
veyed quite clearly that Kant had written before there was a
CBS, and that an antiquated German philosopher could have no
possible relevance to his baby at Black Rock.

To hear Bill Paley talk about CBS, you knew that it did
not just happen and that no one else could have made it
happen. He turned a dream into a reality by imagination,
courage, persistence and yes, undying devotion.

-6-

Bill enjoyed life so exhuberantly that his friends never quite faced that someday it must end. Visiting him during his last illness, I found him dozing in a chair, his face wasted, all of him really quaite spent. But at the sound of the visitor, he woke up and that marvelous smile lit up the face: "Tell me something amusing," he said. I knew what he wanted to hear so I recounted how during a trip through the Middle East he had fallen down a flight of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how the next day, his bandaged head making him look like an Arab sheik, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to Marrakesh, culminating the day at 2:00 in the morning with a sumptuous dinner with an old friend of Bill's who collected him at the airport. The tale was his guarantee of indestructibility.

And the twinkling eyes and softly creased face exuded such serenity in an access of euphoria, I thought the old boy

-7-

It was not to be.

Let me read a few words from a eulogy written by Bill's
ex son-in-law and long-time friend, Carter Burden, because
it captures what many of us felt about Bill Paley:

[Y]

-8-

I hope - I truly hope - Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill, up there eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with Jock Whitney and Slim Keith, plotting to avoid bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

A giant among men, Bill Paley of needs walked alone. But it was his gift to uplift the lives of his friends. They will miss the sly phone calls, the subtle suggestions, the

-9-

amusing anecdotes, the all-encompassing indestructible
presence. But in their void and sadness, they nevertheless
would not trade places with anyone who did not have the good
fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all. The memory of his
friendship will be our badge of honor for as long as we
live.

NOV 7-9 WED 8:18,

P. 01

P.002

DEC. 10 '80 19:24 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

-1-

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY TUESDAY DRAFT

When I met Bill Paley, he was in his seventies, a stage
in people's lives when deep human relationships are rarely
forged. Almost miraculously, Bill and I became close
friends. I will carry the memory of that friendship with me,
for the rest of my life.

By the time our paths crossed, Bill Paley had already
made an enduring contribution to American life through
commitment to the Museum of Modern Art. He remained always
a pioneer; out of scale, a man of paradoxes. Bill prided
himself - quite correctly - on understanding what the
average American wanted, even though he did not know too-
many average Americans. He had an uncanny intuition for the
and the need for many new ways
future without being able to explain its origin. He hugely

many average Americans. He had an uncanny intuition for the
and an deep understanding of how new ways of life
future without being able to explain its origin. He hugely
loved the new world
was a welcome

NOV- 7-98 WED 8:23

P. 86

DEC.10 '80 19:28 KISSINGER ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.010

EJ

-9-

something astonishing happened. Bill pulled himself together, with his indestructible will and unfailing sense of occasion, and began to talk - simply, eloquently, straight from his valiant old heart: 'John Dean was my friend,' he said, 'and I believe that someday, probably very soon, we will meet again.'

I hope - I truly hope - Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled, rotten boss. Bill, up there eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with Jack and Slim Keith, plotting to avoid hores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

-1-

11/6/90

WILLIAM PALEY EULOGY, TUESDAY DRAFT

When I met Bill Paley, he was in his seventies, a time
in people's lives when deep human relationships are rarely
forged. Almost miraculously, Bill and I became close
friends. I will carry the memory of that friendship with me
for the rest of my life.

By the time our paths crossed, Bill Paley had already
made an enduring contribution by building CBS and by his
commitment to the Museum of Modern Art. He remained a
pioneer; out of scale; a man of paradoxes. Bill prided
himself - quite correctly - on understanding what the
average American wanted, even though he did not know too
many average Americans. He had an uncanny intuition for the
future without being able to explain its origin. He hugely

-2-

enjoyed his wealth, but he was not particularly interested
in amassing it, and only marginally participated in the
speculative frenzy of the '80's. His private investments
were characteristically at the fringes of technology where
returns in his lifetime were unlikely.

Bill Paley was out of scale, a giant who walked alone.
Amidst all the attention he drew and craved, one was struck
by Bill's essential solitude. But his friends were lucky
enough to encounter another Bill Paley. They were, above
all, conscious of the extraordinary care and sensitivity
with which he fitted their lives. Like many geniuses, Bill
was quite self-centered. But his definition of self embraced
his friends and, in time, his family. That circle would
count on his counsel, attention, and devotion. These were
gifts Bill offered spontaneously and matter-of-factly; he
resisted demands as an implicit right.

[Y]

-3-

For Bill, friendship was an act of grace people be-
stowed on each other, not a contract defining reciprocal
obligation. And he always surprised by doing more than
anyone would expect right through to the end of his life.

What fun Bill Paley was to be with! He conveyed an air
of festivity simply by entering a room, his face crinkled
into that legendary, mischievous boy's smile; his entire
bearing an affirmation that nobody was going to have a
better time than he, and that he was planning to have a
marvelous time.

There was no other place where one could meet a greater
variety of talented and interesting people than at Bill
Paley's home. He would preside quite unobtrusively over
authors and artists, scientists and captains of industry.
Only politicians were under-represented. Bill suspected them
of being specialists in the quid pro quo; he wanted CBS to
be under no political obligation and he was - strange as it

[Y]

-4-

may seem - extremely humble in fields he had chosen to
avoid.

Bill and I had occasion to travel together through the
Middle East and Southern Africa, through Europe and to
Mexico, always accompanied by the ubiquitous John Dean, his
valet and friend, who loved and spoiled him outrageously.
Dean was in charge of the suitcases full of Hungarian salami
and other delicacies meant to buffer Bill from a sudden food
shortage on alien territory. Dean was also responsible for
whipping up the airplane menus which Bill devised in fla-
grant disregard of either customs or indeed the technical
parameters of the areas through which we might be travel-
ling.

On these trips, Bill participated in all the meetings
with political leaders. His courtly dignity and charm made a
deep impression, though in fact he said relatively little.
But afterwards, he would turn to me enthusiastically with,

[y]

-5-

"Let me tell you what I think he was really saying." And it turned out that his marvelous intuition and intelligence worked as well in the field of foreign policy as it did in his own work. Bill always grasped the essence of any problem he addressed.

I have said that Bill was infinitely supportive and caring about his friends. But that commitment could never clash with his ultimate love, which was CBS. When I was involved in a painful ptrotracted dispute with 60 Minutes, Bill pretended to be unaware of it and I, knowing his commitment to CBS News, never brought it up to him.

Bill passionately believed that the CBS News team was the best, the fairest, the most dedicated ever assembled. In Bill's eyes, CBS correspondents were incapable of any bias, so the question of fairness could not even arise. I once suggested to Bill that ever since Kant's day, philosophers had held the view that the human mind filters knowledge

[Y]

-6-

through preexisting categories. Why should CBS News be
immune to that tendency? Bill pretended not to understand.
The German philosopher had written before there was a CBS,
and what relevance could an ancient philosopher have to his
baby?

When you remember Bill Paley talking about CBS, you
knew that it did not just happen. He caused it to happen by
his imagination, his courage, his persistence and yes, his
devotion.

Bill so enjoyed life that his friends could never quite
imagine that it might end. During his last illness, I once
found him dozing in a chair, his face wasted, quite spent.
But at the sound of the visitor, he woke up and that marvel-
ous smile lit up the face: "Tell me something amusing," he
said. I knew what he wanted to hear so I recounted our trip
through the Middle East and how he had fallen down a flight
of stairs in Oman, hitting his head on every step. And how

[Y]

-7-

the next day, bandaged, we flew for 16 hours via Malta to Marrakesh, culminating the day with a dinner in Marrakesh. The tale was his guarantee of indestructibility. And the twinkling eyes and softly creased face exuded such serenity that I thought the old boy would confound us again as he had three years earlier when everybody but he gave up during another illness.

It was not to be.

Bill Paley towered above his environment. Around him the elements raged as they do around every mountain-top. It behooves us that it is not the mountain-top that causes storms but the instability of its environment. Bill's friends know how he lifted their sights. They miss the phone calls, the helpful suggestions, the amusing anecdotes, the all-encompassing indestructible presence. But in their void, they nevertheless would not trade places with anyone who did not have the good fortune of knowing Bill Paley at all.

[Y]

-8-

Let me conclude by reading a few words from a eulogy written by Bill's ex son-in-law and permanent friend, Carter Burden. It captures what many of us thought about him and what I myself might have said were I less inhibited and more graceful:

"There were certain things you could always depend on Bill for. You could always depend on him to forget your name; to make you laugh and raise your spirits, no matter what kind of shape he was in; to care - always - about how you were and what you were doing and to whom and why.

[Y]

-9-

I hope - I truly hope - Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there fussing maternally over his beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill, up there eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with Jock and Slim, plotting to avoid bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

He was, truly, larger than life; immersed in the moment; so passionate, so loveable, so devilish; so fundamentally caring - so supremely and triumphantly life

NOV 06 '90 09:12 WINDSOR COURT HOTEL UNLTD.

P.004

Over it all presided Bill, quite anonymously enjoying the interaction of what he had wrought, participating primarily as a catalyst - unless of course some attractive woman called forth a special mobilization of thealey charm.

Bill + 3 ad occasion
What fun he was to be with... we travel together
through the Middle East and Southern Africa, through Europe
and to Mexico. We were accompanied by the ubiquitous John
Dean, his valent and friend, who loved him and spoiled him
outrageously. Dean was in charge of the suitcases full of
Hungarian salami and other delicacies to protect Bill

from
against the danger of a sudden food shortage in the host
Tunisia,
country. Dean also was responsible for whipping up the
for the airplanes which Bill devised in flagrant disregard of
customs and indeed the technical parameters
of the
areas through which we were travelling. And as with us always
in his life, Bill's visions became a reality. Dean was

NOV 06 '90 09:13 WINDSOR COURT HOTEL UNLTD.

P.006

participated in the speculative financing of the '80's. His private investments were characteristically at the edges of technology where returns in his lifetime were unlikely. He had one overpowering commitment, and that was to CBS.

CBS, like all great achievements, was an idea before it was a reality. He thought it had a duty to the common man; and he believed it had an obligation to quality. And he would never accept the snobbish view that these objectives might be incompatible. He spent infinite care on programming - to me, an arcane act.

But he showed his commitment to CBS News by leaving it alone. He had a passionate belief that the CUU team was the best, the fairest, the most dedicated over assembled. /z

Bill's eyes actually understated his commitment. He seemed convinced that CBS correspondents were incapable of any bias, so that the question of fairness could not even arise.

suggested even today that Kant's philosophy had I once complained to Bill that since Kant

DNOV 06 '90 09:14 WINDSOR COURT HOTEL UNLTD.
ASSOCIATES N.Y.

P.009

-8-

I want to conclude by reading a few words from a eulogy written by Bill's ex son-in-law and constant friend, Carter Burden. It reflects what Bill's friends thought of him and what I might have said were I less inhibited and more graceful.

At John Dean's funeral, only a few weeks ago, Bill decided he wanted to speak extemporaneously. He staggered up to the podium and began by profusely thanking the starved clergyman for composing the Lord's Prayer especially in Dean's honor. He then announced somewhat uncertainly that **Robert Dean** had worked for him for over 100 years, and you knew the dear old boy had lost it at last. But then

NOV 06 '90 09:15 WINDSOR COURT HOTEL UNLTD.

P.10

P.010

M

-9-

I hope - I truly hope - Bill was right, because I can see it all so clearly. Dean up there funning maternally over his beloved, spoiled-rotten boss. Bill, up there oogGLYPH<223>tins the girls, eating 12 meals a day, loving Babe, gossiping with Jock and Slim, plotting to avoid bores, watching several TV's simultaneously, scribbling notes, sitting there with his pajamas unbuttoned, pleased as punch, twinkling away like that bright, shining star he always was, and always will be for me.

He was, truly, larger than life; immersed in the moment; so passionate, so lovable, so devilish; so

NOV 06 '90 09:15 WINDSOR COURT HÔTEL UNLTD.

P.011

-10-

fundamentally caring - so supremely and triumphantly life
enhancing. God bless you and keep you, Willy boy, and thank
you from the bottom of my heart."