Nice Guys Finish First.(Column)

The scariest words in the English language are, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Well, maybe not the scariest. The actual scariest words are probably, "The chef doesn't believe in printed menus, so I'll just describe what we're offering tonight." But "You don't remember me, do you?" is right up there.

I heard those words recently at a meeting with the president of one of the biggest studios in Hollywood. And no, I didn't remember him. At all. But we're roughly the same age, so our paths could have crossed lots of times: school, college, film school--when you think of it, the past is filled with moments in which one is, to say the least, not at one's best. And those moments are preserved in someone's memory, like buried stink bombs, ready to be exploded with a simple, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Think of the terrible possibilities: I'm the guy you threw up on in college. I'm the guy who was up for the job you eventually got. I was your waiter. Or, worst of all for someone who has worked in Hollywood for 14 years, I was your assistant.

This story, though, has a happy ending.

About a dozen years ago, when I was a just-hired young television writer and he was a just-arrived aspiring studio executive, his mom and my mom somehow met. Mothers being mothers, a couple of hours of my time was pledged to help the new kid figure out the town. Which I did, apparently. We had breakfast together, apparently. Advice was given and I, according to him, was nice and encouraging.

Lucky for me, because now the guy is a pretty powerful studio executive, the maker of the very crucial funds-disbursement decisions that I, as a writer and producer, like to be on the receiving end of. Which just goes to reinforce the only rule in Hollywood worth remembering: be nice to everybody. Because you never know.