A Cinematic Life:
A Tribute to John V. Bitts, Jr.
August 16, 1933 – January 18, 2010
A Tribute to John V. Bitts, Jr.
August 16, 1933 – January 18, 2010
John didn't brag about his incredible --and, we've been told, inspirational-- life story. So we, his children, decided it's time we did it for him. My brother and Iread this tribute to him on Jan. 23, 2010.
From his Dickensian childhood to his fateful call to the Pentagon, to his work with refugees, to his show-business career to the simple acts of kindness that ultimately defined him, my father, John V. Bitts, Jr., certainly led a colorful --and, ultimately, triumphant--life.
He threw himself into it. If there was work to do, he stayed up all night – night after night, if need be!—until it was perfect and complete. If there was a party somewhere, he met everyone in the room, and he stayed until Mom dragged him home. If he liked a book or movie, a piece of music or a dessert, he beamed. If he hated something, you surely knew it. And if he loved something -- or someone-- he loved with every inch of his heart.
He simply relished life, and he loved people. Which is something of a miracle, given the circumstances of his upbringing.
Finding Purpose
As a foster child who worked on strangers’ farms, who didn’t always have enough to eat, who ran away many times to try to find his mother, and who was sometimes placed in dangerous situations, Dad knew what it was like to feel abandoned, and to see hard times. Help had not arrived for him when he needed it. And so he reached out and helped others as best he could.
He'd cultivated this philosophy, consciously, in early life.
Finding Purpose
As a foster child who worked on strangers’ farms, who didn’t always have enough to eat, who ran away many times to try to find his mother, and who was sometimes placed in dangerous situations, Dad knew what it was like to feel abandoned, and to see hard times. Help had not arrived for him when he needed it. And so he reached out and helped others as best he could.
He'd cultivated this philosophy, consciously, in early life.
Dad’s father had run off when he was a preschooler, and he and his siblings had been taken away from their mother when Dad was just five years old. Over the next five years, Dad worked on a series of foster farms, occasionally running away and enjoying brief stays with his mother before being picked up by the Children’s Bureau and taken back into foster care.
When he was 10, Dad’s mother died in a state institution and Dad’s hope of reuniting with her was gone. Dad moved from farm to farm, eventually settling with a family in Maytown, where he lived and worked, in deplorable conditions, with 21 other foster children. He endured abuse. There was little food, and he had no possessions except his schoolbooks, his clothes, and a stray dog that followed him around.
But he dreamed of something better. And, against the odds, he thrived, with idealism intact.
Dad formed his view of the world at age 17. That year, his foster parents forbade him to finish high school, because they wanted him to work full-time on their farm. School offered Dad not only a much-needed sense of safety and intellectual stimulation, but also the companionship and love of his classmates—comforts that were lacking at home. Rather than quit school and continue working for people who'd prevented him from graduating, Dad skipped off and joined the Air Force.
He was stationed at a base in California, waiting to be shipped off to the Philippines, when he read an inspirational quote in the newspaper that voiced one of his most deeply held beliefs. The quote read:
He was stationed at a base in California, waiting to be shipped off to the Philippines, when he read an inspirational quote in the newspaper that voiced one of his most deeply held beliefs. The quote read:
I shall pass through this world but once.
Any good, therefore, that I can show to any human being,
Let me not defer nor neglect it,
for I shall not pass this way again.
Stranger on a Back-Country Road
At 17, Dad clipped that quote out of the newspaper and put it in his wallet. He carried it with him until just a few years ago. And by then, of course, he had lived that philosophy for more than 60 years.
You’d see it manifest in small ways. He always took a moment to tell someone—a waiter, a janitor, a bus driver, a medical technician, his oncologist—that they were doing a great job, and he appreciated them. And he meant it. He stacked his dishes so his waitress wouldn’t have to. Wherever he went on vacation, he made a new friend or two. He sent birthday cards and congratulations cards. He went to funerals. He prayed for the people he worried about. He took food and other necessities to friends of the family who needed it.
My brother and I never knew who would be at the breakfast table in the morning, because he was always offering a spare bedroom to someone in need. (And he accepted no rent.)
If you were sick, he arrived with an extra pillow or drink of water before you knew you wanted it. In my grandmother’s last year of life, he not only did all of the housework, laundry and home maintenance, but he also made her breakfast and lunch and set her up in her favorite chair with her paper each morning, without ever being asked.
At 17, Dad clipped that quote out of the newspaper and put it in his wallet. He carried it with him until just a few years ago. And by then, of course, he had lived that philosophy for more than 60 years.
You’d see it manifest in small ways. He always took a moment to tell someone—a waiter, a janitor, a bus driver, a medical technician, his oncologist—that they were doing a great job, and he appreciated them. And he meant it. He stacked his dishes so his waitress wouldn’t have to. Wherever he went on vacation, he made a new friend or two. He sent birthday cards and congratulations cards. He went to funerals. He prayed for the people he worried about. He took food and other necessities to friends of the family who needed it.
My brother and I never knew who would be at the breakfast table in the morning, because he was always offering a spare bedroom to someone in need. (And he accepted no rent.)
If you were sick, he arrived with an extra pillow or drink of water before you knew you wanted it. In my grandmother’s last year of life, he not only did all of the housework, laundry and home maintenance, but he also made her breakfast and lunch and set her up in her favorite chair with her paper each morning, without ever being asked.
He didn’t just help people. He actively looked for ways to help. And he just hated to see anyone alone.
One Thanksgiving Day, he picked up a hitch-hiker on a country road. Dad took him to a restaurant and bought him dinner before dropping him off at the train station, because the man only had enough money for a train ticket home. The fellow had become estranged from his family, and Dad encouraged him to get back in touch. The two men exchanged phone numbers. A couple of months later, in typical John-Bitts fashion, Dad gave him a call to follow up.
One Thanksgiving Day, he picked up a hitch-hiker on a country road. Dad took him to a restaurant and bought him dinner before dropping him off at the train station, because the man only had enough money for a train ticket home. The fellow had become estranged from his family, and Dad encouraged him to get back in touch. The two men exchanged phone numbers. A couple of months later, in typical John-Bitts fashion, Dad gave him a call to follow up.
Years later, the man called to say that he had indeed reunited with his family. He told Dad that no one had ever helped him in that way, and that Dad had made a huge difference in his life. And, as many of you know, he was just one of many people over the years who have felt the same.
Dad’s Call to the Pentagon
Dad also worked on behalf of Vietnamese refugee families. He was the only media professional permitted access in Indiantown Gap, where waves of Vietnamese refugees had been placed on their entry to America. All of the big networks and news outlets had come to the refugee camp to get a glimpse of the people inside– NBC, CBS, ABC, the newspapers and so on – but Dad, an independent, small-city documentarian, was the only person permitted to enter the camp.
Dad’s Call to the Pentagon
Dad also worked on behalf of Vietnamese refugee families. He was the only media professional permitted access in Indiantown Gap, where waves of Vietnamese refugees had been placed on their entry to America. All of the big networks and news outlets had come to the refugee camp to get a glimpse of the people inside– NBC, CBS, ABC, the newspapers and so on – but Dad, an independent, small-city documentarian, was the only person permitted to enter the camp.
Why? As he had explained to officials at the Pentagon, those refugee families would soon be seeking jobs, and their children would soon enter the public schools. And the American public—still raw in the wake of the Vietnam War, and possibly ill disposed to welcome them kindly--needed to be educated about just who these refugees were, as fellow humans. And so Dad walked past the federal security points and took Mom and us children inside with his own camera crew.
That project would influence our family’s everyday life for several years. Dad, already a busy television producer who not only ran his own fledgling production company and also actively supported my Mom's singing career, worked hard to find sponsor families for refugees and helped teach English through the American Red Cross. He also became personally involved in several of the new Americans' lives.
Dad, the Human Encyclopedia
One refugee lived in our attic for two years, while she got a job and saved money for a down payment on a house. Dad bought one family coats and boots for their first winter with personal funds and taught a family member to drive. In fact, he gave the family his own car, so they could all get to work. He loved that car. But since he lived within walking distance of work, he figured that the refugee family needed it more than he did.
“We turned to him for everything in the beginning. He was our encyclopedia about American life,” one good family friend recently told us. “He is the reason for our making it in America.” Dad, for his part, was deeply grateful for their friendship, and for the opportunity to help.
A Brief Word About His Career:
The Emmy in the Basement & His Encounter with Johnny Cash
Dad was also an exceptional mentor. Last year, as I was going through some of his belongings, I found a statue that looked like an Emmy. And it was. His former employee at WGAL-TV had given it to Dad, because he said that Dad had made it possible.
And this is one thing that most of you probably don’t know much about. Although you'd never know it from talking with him, My Dad was nationally recognized, repeatedly, for his work in television.
Many of you know what a gifted editor and director he was, and how creative he was. As producer of PM Magazine, as well as documentaries, other shows and a long string of commercials – some of which starred his family members, even the dog! -- he won too many national awards to mention here.
A Brief Word About His Career:
The Emmy in the Basement & His Encounter with Johnny Cash
Dad was also an exceptional mentor. Last year, as I was going through some of his belongings, I found a statue that looked like an Emmy. And it was. His former employee at WGAL-TV had given it to Dad, because he said that Dad had made it possible.
And this is one thing that most of you probably don’t know much about. Although you'd never know it from talking with him, My Dad was nationally recognized, repeatedly, for his work in television.
Many of you know what a gifted editor and director he was, and how creative he was. As producer of PM Magazine, as well as documentaries, other shows and a long string of commercials – some of which starred his family members, even the dog! -- he won too many national awards to mention here.
Although Dad only completed a year or two of high school, he was a good script-writer. And he was truly gifted producer, editor and music editor, with a finely tuned eye and ear and a zealot's precision. And a seemingly bottomless sack of ideas.
Dad once wrote, shot, directed and edited a public-service piece for the state of Pennsylvania about the prison parole system that starred Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard. Johnny Cash's reps had told Dad that he only had fifteen minutes to give to the project, but after seeing Dad at work, Mr. Cash said that he would give my Dad all the time he needed, because anyone who worked that hard deserved it!
People of all stripes and backgrounds had similar opinions of Dad. Muhammad Ali liked Dad so much that he invited Dad home for dinner and introduced him to his mom. (My brother and I never knew about this until a few days ago – Dad never boasted about these accomplishments –and that’s why I’m telling you about some of them, today. He just went in, did his job and made friends along the way.)
(A footnote: Dad worked –and shared some rigged-up techie tricks -- with Don Bellisario, who invited Dad to join him in his pre-NCIS/Magnum, P.I./Battlestar Gallactica, etc. etc. days. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes wish he'd jumped on that gravy train! But Dad, a small-town boy, was skittish entering that reportedly cutthroat world, and he worried about what that would do to the rest of the family. After much thought, he declined.).
Fashioning Life, On- and Off-Screen
Dad was good at what he did because he worked like a dog, but also because he had vision. He recognized that both his life and his art could always be better than they were: He thought big. Very big! And he never stopped trying to improve his life, both onscreen and off.
It was this vision that likely saved him from the great struggles of his early life.
Dad tells the story of wanting to go to the movies when he was a boy, but not having any money for a ticket. So he snuck in the back door after the lights went down. He paid close attention to the ways that the men and women acted, spoke and dressed on the silver screen. In essence, he was a romantic who gleaned what he could about life, love good grooming and mannerliness from the likes of Gregory Peck. He saw a kinder, gentler way of life on the screen and he worked to build that kind of life for himself.
A Personal Note
He immersed himself this kinder, gentler, refashioned life in much the same way that he threw himself into love.
As his children, we felt that intense love all through the years. I can’t tell you how many times Dad told us how very much he loved us. Sometimes, I’d come home from work to find a little vase of flowers from the garden, or a hand-written note, reminding me to schedule my car for an inspection and have a good evening. And he signed it with love.
He loved his grandchildren, too. He beamed with pride whenever they had a school play or concert or sports match and he said many times that he couldn’t imagine having a better family.
And how he loved our mother. Forty-two years after they were first married, they still held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes. As recently as last summer, one of my parents' neighbors commented that she assumed they were newlyweds, based on the loving way that they looked at each other-- and this is something that they heard quite a bit. Dad told my brother and me recently that he never thought anyone could love another person more than he loved Mom. But after he got sick and my grandmother, with whom they lived, passed away, he learned he was wrong. They had never before lived alone together, and now that they were alone, their love was even stronger than before.
I can’t imagine a more loving father, husband, brother, uncle, grandfather, mentor and friend.
He loved us all dearly. We, his children, will carry that love with us all of our lives. I hope that all of you will, too.
See John Bitts’ online obituary.
Dad once wrote, shot, directed and edited a public-service piece for the state of Pennsylvania about the prison parole system that starred Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard. Johnny Cash's reps had told Dad that he only had fifteen minutes to give to the project, but after seeing Dad at work, Mr. Cash said that he would give my Dad all the time he needed, because anyone who worked that hard deserved it!
People of all stripes and backgrounds had similar opinions of Dad. Muhammad Ali liked Dad so much that he invited Dad home for dinner and introduced him to his mom. (My brother and I never knew about this until a few days ago – Dad never boasted about these accomplishments –and that’s why I’m telling you about some of them, today. He just went in, did his job and made friends along the way.)
(A footnote: Dad worked –and shared some rigged-up techie tricks -- with Don Bellisario, who invited Dad to join him in his pre-NCIS/Magnum, P.I./Battlestar Gallactica, etc. etc. days. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes wish he'd jumped on that gravy train! But Dad, a small-town boy, was skittish entering that reportedly cutthroat world, and he worried about what that would do to the rest of the family. After much thought, he declined.).
Fashioning Life, On- and Off-Screen
Dad was good at what he did because he worked like a dog, but also because he had vision. He recognized that both his life and his art could always be better than they were: He thought big. Very big! And he never stopped trying to improve his life, both onscreen and off.
It was this vision that likely saved him from the great struggles of his early life.
Dad tells the story of wanting to go to the movies when he was a boy, but not having any money for a ticket. So he snuck in the back door after the lights went down. He paid close attention to the ways that the men and women acted, spoke and dressed on the silver screen. In essence, he was a romantic who gleaned what he could about life, love good grooming and mannerliness from the likes of Gregory Peck. He saw a kinder, gentler way of life on the screen and he worked to build that kind of life for himself.
A Personal Note
He immersed himself this kinder, gentler, refashioned life in much the same way that he threw himself into love.
As his children, we felt that intense love all through the years. I can’t tell you how many times Dad told us how very much he loved us. Sometimes, I’d come home from work to find a little vase of flowers from the garden, or a hand-written note, reminding me to schedule my car for an inspection and have a good evening. And he signed it with love.
He loved his grandchildren, too. He beamed with pride whenever they had a school play or concert or sports match and he said many times that he couldn’t imagine having a better family.
And how he loved our mother. Forty-two years after they were first married, they still held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes. As recently as last summer, one of my parents' neighbors commented that she assumed they were newlyweds, based on the loving way that they looked at each other-- and this is something that they heard quite a bit. Dad told my brother and me recently that he never thought anyone could love another person more than he loved Mom. But after he got sick and my grandmother, with whom they lived, passed away, he learned he was wrong. They had never before lived alone together, and now that they were alone, their love was even stronger than before.
I can’t imagine a more loving father, husband, brother, uncle, grandfather, mentor and friend.
He loved us all dearly. We, his children, will carry that love with us all of our lives. I hope that all of you will, too.
See John Bitts’ online obituary.
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