Bruce Corwin at 80: The Relentless Optimism Tour

The moment my grandfather Bruce Corwin was born on June 11, 1940, he already had defied all odds. He and his twin sister, Bonnie Fuller, arrived eight weeks early and were not predicted to live long past birth, let alone lead the extraordinary lives they have for the past 80 years. None of us imagined celebrating this milestone birthday for Bruce via Zoom, but if any one of us has the power to remain resilient through the most difficult circumstances, it is my grandfather. Amid these challenging times, optimism, kindness, and empathy are drawing people to one another and driving society forward. Bruce has always been a lighthouse, shining his light wherever he can to support and encourage others.

Ten years ago, my mother, aunt and grandmother organized friends and family members for a letter-writing project for Bruce’s 70^th birthday. A decade later, thumbing through the scrapbook, I cannot help but beam at the plethora of wishes and stories sent in from people far and wide. My 9-year-old self wrote an acrostic poem that still rings true: The “E” in Bruce standing for “Excellent person who helps others.” All of the book’s sentiments boil down to the same theme: PEOPLE, Bruce’s iconic license-plate name and life philosophy. More than a mensch, he is everyone’s best friend.

Diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at age 28, my grandfather has made it his mission to befriend and help every person he meets who suffers from MS. Yet the National Multiple Sclerosis Society is only one among countless organizations that Bruce has not only financially supported, but also helped organize and mobilize, throughout his lifelong commitment to philanthropy. The Discovery Cube Children’s Museum; Variety Boys and Girls Club; J Street; the Pico-Union Project; Hebrew Union College; Tree People; Martin Luther King, Jr. Hospital; the Coro Foundation – the list goes on. My siblings, cousins and I constantly are unearthing fascinating anecdotes about our grandfather, especially illuminating his giving spirit.

The real birthplace of Bruce’s activism was his alma mater, Wesleyan University, where he discovered his passion for progressive politics. During his freshman year, he and his friends refused to join the Alpha Chi Rho fraternity unless its Christian and white clauses were removed from the national charter. And so, Esse Quam Videri, a fraternity devoted to individualism and diversity, was born. Soon after, he traveled with one of his religious-studies professors to Baltimore, where he marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and was arrested for his participation in a lunch-counter sit-in.

In 1965, MLK delivered a sermon at Temple Israel of Hollywood, at which my grandfather and great-grandfather were present. Bruce belongs to four synagogues and has served as president of two. I grew up hearing from numerous Jewish adults that they were hired in my grandparents’ living room, and hearing from numerous Jewish teenagers that my grandpa gave them great advice on their b’nai mitzvah speeches (another hobby of his). He certainly has left his mark on Jewish life in Los Angeles.

I have attended more charity events and political fundraisers at my grandparents’ house than I can count. Until recently, however, I had no idea just how involved my grandfather had become in many of these people’s lives, long after their campaigns. He regularly chats with senators, diplomats and local elected officials; a month ago, my dad uncovered handwritten thank-you notes addressed to Bruce from Joe and Beau Biden. But to Bruce, they’re just more of his friends – no different from fellow temple members or fans who sit next to us at Dodger games. That’s the thing about Bruce: He treats everyone he cares about with the same deference and zeal, whether it’s a custodian at one of his theaters or a renowned world leader.

That’s the thing about Bruce: He treats everyone he cares about with the same deference and zeal, whether it’s a custodian at one of his theaters or a renowned world leader.

Everyone who has worked for him at Metropolitan Theatres, the California-based theater chain that has been in our family for four generations, says, “Mr. Corwin is the best boss.” One employee suggested that his name be written in golden letters. Bruce is always, without fail, there for the people he cares about, both when they need him and when they don’t think they do. Countless times, I’ve watched him flip through one of his old rolodexes, or more recently, scroll through the contacts on his iPhone, to connect two people who never explicitly asked for his help, but who he knows will mutually benefit from knowing each other.

This past January, Bruce was hospitalized for several weeks because of a back problem that caused him to contract pneumonia. None of us were sure what lay ahead for him. My sister and I, feeling absolutely helpless, did what we knew would touch Bruce, despite our physical distance. We sang “Mi Shebeirach,” a prayer for healing we often sing as a duet at Temple Emanuel. By mid-February, Bruce was out of rehab and back on his feet. He has always been a pillar of strength, in terms of both “body and spirit,” as the prayer says.

In 2008, he had hip-replacement surgery on a Tuesday and made it to Santa Anita to watch Bruce’s Dream, our colt, win his race on Saturday. My dad donated a kidney to Bruce, and even he knows that such a gesture of kindness in no way comes close to repaying his father for the lifetime of compassion he has shown not only to his sons, but to every community he steps into and every person he meets.

Bruce bites the inside of his lip when he is excited about an idea, and never says “no” to a favor or an adventure, no matter how farfetched. Almost every time he sees a movie, he declares it the “best picture of the year.” Of course he was a cheerleader at LA High and Wesleyan; he’s always been my biggest cheerleader, and I am not alone in that thought.

If I were to line up every person who felt the same way, we would fill the stands of Dodger Stadium. Now, more than ever, I admire my grandpa’s ability to skip the small talk and cut to important conversations. Here’s to an unbelievable nine decades (and counting) of ally-ship, rooting for the underdog and relentless optimism. May his legacy live on longer than the 18-inning World Series game he and I witnessed together in 2018, and may it transcend ages through living “l’dor v’dor”— from generation to generation.