2026 Update: James

[music] Pushkin. Um, hi. Hello, hi. Back in the studio again. Back in the saddle. Today we're going to knock on the door of an old friend of yours, named James. Ah, okay. This is a first season episode. Yeah, way back. To me, it's one of the funniest episodes. Yeah, it's very funny. And it's also one that I would come back to when I was kind of missing my friends when I was missing both James and Howard. I would just put on this episode and it felt like I could spend a little bit of time with them. It is funny that at the time when we, you know, went off on our mission for this episode, uh, full of hope and shenanigans in our heart or whatever, um, we felt like kind of over the hill, you know, we felt like this is like kid stuff, you know, we're like men in our mid forties, you know, and what are we doing? But now listening to it from the vantage point ten years later, I feel like, wow, were we ever so young? Ten years, my goodness. Wow. Yeah, a lot transpires. It turns out in the course of ten years. It certainly does. Yeah, and at the end of the episode, I check back in with James to see what his life has been all these years later. Well, enjoy. Enjoy indeed. Please make sure the volume is set at a, at a temperate number. Oh, but first a word from our sponsors. This is an I heart podcast. Guaranteed human. Welcome, Gladwell here, my new book, The American Way of Killing investigates America's gun violence crisis. Why is the richest country in the world plagued by such lethal violence through a series of stories, interviews, and archival tape? I confront one of today's most urgent moral dilemmas and examine why the US has never quite understood its own problem and why you can't fix what you refuse to see clearly. Prior to the American way of killing at pushkin.fm/audiobooks or wherever audiobooks are sold. Horrible timing. Six kids in my house, two parents, and getting kids ready for Halloween. Jonathan Goldstein calling for Dr. Jackie Cohen. I gotta go. Wait, wait. Hello? Jackie? You know what? Okay, you're a doctor, right? I'm starting to realize in the past year, I'm pretty convinced I'm losing hair. You're bald. Balding. It's a process. So bald. Now, I'm trying to figure out if it's a symptom of something. I gotta go, John. I got to go to the party. Starts in 15 minutes. You're having a party at your house? Why don't you invite me over? Um, do you want to just do the show or. From "Dimlit Media," I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and this is Heavyweight. Today's episode, James. When he was a kid, James loved taking long walks with his dad, Douglas. Douglas was a film buff, and during these walks, he'd recount the plot to every movie he'd ever seen. Hitchcock, Kubrick, James loved it, and when he grew older and finally got to see the actual movies, as good as they were, they often paled beside the versions his dad told. Something of a dreamer and an eccentric, Douglas lived his life as though he himself were a character in a movie. He died that way, too. On his deathbed, he issued an unexpected final request. The request was that we scatter his ashes on the 18th hole of the golf course he loved. Each of Douglas's kids was handed a different task regarding the estate. James was put in charge of the ashes. My dad was probably the most important person to me outside, obviously, of my wife and kids. When he died and when the wheel was recorded, I wasn't there, you were actually there, I think. I was there. Douglas was nearing the end and urgently needed to sign his will. And James, who lived out of town, couldn't make it in time. So he asked me and our other good friend, Howard, to go to his father's bedside and bare legal witness to the signing of the will. To this day, James still carries around a lot of regret about not being able to be there. Although I know it's unlikely, my memory of that day is of Douglas wearing an Ascot tucked into his hospital robe. Regardless of whether he actually was, Douglas was the kind of man who always gave the impression of wearing an Ascot. As always, he was gentlemanly in cordial. Douglas in spite of the fact that he would pass away within the next 48 hours. Douglas was born an illegitimate child in a poor part of England and raised by a single mom. As a young man, he felt judged and carried with him the feeling of always having to prove himself, even going so far as to affect a posh upper-class accent. For Douglas, golf was the domain of the wealthy and sophisticated and having his ashes placed on the 18th hole of his beloved golf course, an event that James says he probably envisioned being accompanied by bagpipes and artillery would mean finally receiving his due. But James is yet to honor his father's request. It's now been 16 years. Is it just procrastination? That's what I told myself. I can vividly remember, you know, a day afterwards thinking, "Oh, yes, the simplest thing." In fact, it seems so simple that we'll get to it. And now, 16 years later, it's very complicated. I think to be honest with you, there's part of me that wants to hold onto them because it's my dad. And so, the urn moved from mantles to closets. For a long time, it even knocked around in the trunk of James's car. It now sits on a shelf in his basement. Do you think it would be a load off your head if you were able to spread the ashes? The amount of times I cried, you know, going on about how what a terrible son I was, to not honor his request, and the guilt I have about the way he died, and, you know, I didn't deal with it well, and it's all a piece. He, as he got sicker and sicker, he wanted to go home, desperately. And myself and my siblings decided he could not go home because he was a hoarder. So it wasn't clear that he ever used them. Douglas had an entire room filled solely with golf clubs. Having lived through the war, he also saved empty TV dinner trays, old microwaves, and broken radios that he'd find on the street. We decided he could not go back there, and he was so upset about that, and he went out, just, really angry. He just wanted to go home. I can't fix the way he died, but this was his one request, and I haven't honored it. And not only would I be putting to bed something that's been just dogging me for years, I think I'd also feel pretty proud of myself that I'm the person I want to be. Since the person I want to be is the person who helps people be the people they want to be, I ask James if he'd like me to help him lay his father's ashes to rest. And James said, "Yes, would you want to do that?" "Yeah, of course I do." The objective, infiltrate Douglas's fancy old golf course and scatter the ashes. The obstacles, set the generic in marks with prying eyes, not to mention the fact that scattering earthly remains is against the law. For this to work, we need the right team. James was the key man, our entry point, into the operation, and I was the bank, bankrolling the green for expenditures. All that was missing was a frontman. We needed a person of quick wit. Someone cool under pressure. We needed Howard. Not only was Howard our oldest friend, but he was there with me the day the will was signed and the directive was given. And to top it off, Howard never met a grift, squintle, or flimflammy didn't think was eggs in the coffee okay. Fill your party. Pockets with extra-after-dinnerments at the local diner? Check. A veil yourself of ill-gained coffee refills through a counterfeit Russian senior's card? Double check. Howard was always on the make, and up for anything. The date had been set. Sunday, which also as it happens, was Father's Day. The team was in place. We just needed to sort out logistics. Thursday, 848 PM. Howard? Hey. Hi. Hi. Hi. Hello. Hey. I'm on the phone with James. Hi. I just wanted to get us all together to strategize a little bit. So, Howard, is there any wisdom or experience that you could bring to bear from, you know, past things that you've done like this? From my previous, highest experience? Yeah. Well, we shouldn't do acid or get too high. Yeah. That's in room one. Some booze maybe might help. Feel still our nerves. So, do you want to try to go there and play golf? No, I've never golfed. I don't know how to golf. So, I've never golfed either. And it's the 18th hole, too. So, I wish it was the first hole, because we could just go and suck and then we do our thing. Yeah. You specifically need the 18th hole, right? 18th hole. It's the last hole. But if there's someone there watching us, how do we, how do we do it? The clubhouse is near the 18th hole. It looks over the 18th hole. So, that's another challenge. What's the clubhouse? Clearly, there was a lot of work to be done. 9.32 PM. A quick look at the golf course website reveals a very specific dress code. Polo shirts, belts, golf shoes, something called a tilly hat. If wearing a polo shirt with some kind of bonnet wasn't embarrassing enough, the rules explicitly stated that all shirts were to be tucked in to your pants. For this to work, we need to honor the dress code to a T. In short, we need the best disguises money could buy. And as the bank, it was my job to secure the greenbacks. After a brief parlay with Gimlett founder and CEO, Alex Bloomberg, I'm told my budget is $50, to which I say, "But I've already promised the crew I take them shopping at JC Penny, and now I'll look like an idiot," to which he says, "What crew?" And I say, "Never mind." Alex then tells me to take it up with Matt, because he's in the middle of a boardroom meeting, but Matt scares me so I just convert the green to Canadian Travis checks, a safe, responsible move. So, Alex, if you're listening, you should at least cover the service fees, except you probably aren't listening because you're too busy with your precious start-up. So, although it probably wasn't the kind of establishment James' posh dad Douglas would approve of, we'd need to hit the only place we could afford. Friday, 12.36pm. It turns out the sports section of a good will can be a pretty sad place. Unstrung badminton rackets, waterlogged Nerf footballs you only hope are logged with water. And. One box in glove, that's the. As an advanced student of the heist film as genre, I know that when pulling off a big job, the perfect outfit is crucial. Think Michael Cain's Lux White turtleneck in the Italian job, or Elliot Gould's necker chief in Ocean's 11. They have some very nice slacks here, I will say, and the prices are very affordable. You want to try on the polo shirts? Not exactly Frankie Munez's wraparound shades in Agent Cody Banks, but it'll have to do. Look at these two. Ooh, it's like rayon. So soft it is. The good news is that the goodwill has changing rooms. The bad news is that there's only one, and it's about the size of a bus station toilet stall. But since we are A, a team, and B, absolutely fearless, together we cram in, and like any team would, strip, completely naked. That might be the ugly shirt I've ever seen. I kind of like it. It bears mentioning that the shirt Howard is referring to is creamsicle orange, and bears the logo of a plumbing company. And, luckiest of lucky days, he's found the exact same shirts for me and James. This way, he reasons, we can all match, like a crew. It looks good. You're not supposed to look good, it's golfing. Oh, man. Howard, James and I have known each other since we're teenagers. Back then, we used to hang out like this all the time, just doing goofy stuff. But we now live in separate cities, with wives, kids, jobs. And we never get to do this kind of thing anymore. Standing around in the middle of the afternoon, laughing in the buff with old friends feels nice. You don't know who that's attached to. So this is good, we got shirts, and I got a belt. As we exit into the parking lot, our plastic sacks plump with glad rags, something straight up magical happens. Oh, my God. Before getting too excited about what we think we might be seeing, possibly, we wait confirmation from the man who can spot a con a mile off. What is a double rainbow? It's legit. A double rainbow. And even Howard's impressed. Well, mildly. And so James and I give ourselves over fully. Overcome by this fortuitous sign, the crew was moved to song. Song. It was red and purple and crimson and green apple. A rainbow was a good omen. Like James's dad Douglas was looking down on us and smiling a big multi-colored upside-down smile. He can earn Zen blue. Sure, we were dressed to the 18s. But if we each took 45 minutes to sink a ball from two feet away, we might attract suspicion. We needed to train hard. I'm talking rocky, running through waste high Russian snow hard. A montage of steel drum musicians learning to play chariots of fire set to the tune of "I the Tiger" hard. I'm talking, actually learning how to play golf. We find a driving range in the fancier part of town and book a golf pro by the name of Stephen. Saturday, 1 p.m. Are you Stephen? Hey, Stephen, I'm Jonathan. This is Howard. And this is James. This is Stephen. Stephen, a smile with more dimples than the golf balls he lovingly cradles. A tall drink of sports aquavelva Oda toilet if ever there was. Stephen's been golfing professionally for over 20 years and couldn't be nicer or better smelling. And considering the frantic barrage of imbecilic questions we ask, he also couldn't be more patient. Stephen, can I see the bottom of those official golf shoes? Yeah, well, I'm one of the professionals. What would it go off and stay like happy Gilmore? That they find insulting. After a brief lecture on the basic how-tos, hit ball with stick, hold stick with hands, get ball and hole, we're ready. We insist James go first. After all, this is his mission. What we want to do is finish just like this here. We're going to get to the foot. While Stephen tenderly positions James hips and elbows, Howard grabs my microphone and golf commentates. I'd say he looks really, really portable, just ridiculous looking. I'm not encouraging. Somehow, James manages to connect on his very first try. That's good. Everyone's saying very encouraging things, but it's really horrible, just to say. But he got it. It went in the air and he hit it. It's easy to a child. Good, you hit it. Stephen looks over at Howard, who now squats in the grass, untying and retying is too left-footed goodwill-issued golf shoes. And then, he looks over at me. A grown man and a too large tilly hat, strings cinched tight enough beneath the chin to ensure the clenched jawed vocal affect of a young Catherine Hepburn. He waves us to come hither, offering up something in the way of inspiration. I'm going to try to make you go from right to left. It must feel really good when you get it up in the air like that. It's great because that's the goal, right, is to get it up. The golf ball flies straight up into the air. And then, as though eerily achieving human consciousness in mid-flight, suddenly takes a sharp left. Howard, baptized in the backsplash of Stephen's pheromones, is born again. He's seen the pinnacle of male perfection, and James, it is not. See James, that's what it looks like. That's what a man hits a golf ball. A male of the species is a golf ball. Next up is Howard. He steps to the tee, grips the club, and just the way Stephen instructed. Does this adorable waddle back and forth to get his footing just so? And then, did you hear that? Let me play it again. Thrice. A swing and a miss, a swing and a miss, a swing and a miss. That's too much. If you're losing your balance, it's too fast. The first 25 years are tough. Oh, Stephen, all this and funny too. My attempts were just. us as fruitless. As it turns out, golf is hard. We wonder if Douglas knew just how difficult a mission he'd sent us on. 1.39 am. It's the night before the job, and the reality of our situation begins to set in. How can any sting be stung when the would-be stingers absolutely stink at golf? Clearly, this plan wasn't going to work. And so, at a quarter to two in the morning, panic set in. It's impossible. It's impossible for us to play golf. We would suck so hard. We would never make it off the first fucking hole. And if we knocked the balls anywhere. Yeah, I'm with you. It's like learning how to fucking juggle. It's like it's an incredibly impossible thing to do. It's going to be so obvious that there's somethings out because we've never fucking golfed. Yeah, that's the issue. If we're doing any sort of subterfuge, we're going to be the most obvious, conspicuous people in the world. And then we'll have to get all the way to the 18th hole that takes hours. I mean, literally hours, even if you're good. Literally, yeah. And then try to get the ashes out. Forget it. 215 AM. Do you guys know what stomped rockets are? Growing desperate, we chuck the old plan and begin to free associate new plans. Teacher, when you teach your cannon, well, you know actually that could work. 305 AM. What if we dump them into a, like, a balloon, and then fill them with water, and then whip them? So they explode all on the 18th green, and that's it. This was going nowhere, so I raised the possibility of our pulling off a night job. For those of you squares who need to be hept to it, that's a job one performs at night. They might have dogs. What if they think we're like terrorists or something? Super, super posh, exclusive club going late at night with someone's human remains, which is fucking totally illegal. Yeah, I mean, there must have some sort of security there. Well, 100%. The sun was coming up soon, so I suggest that, like in dog day afternoon or reservoir dogs, or really any other movies about dogs that I've also not seen that can only assume have happy heartwarming endings, maybe we just show up during the day and hope for the best. This idea, they liked. After the break, the A-team of golf sets off on its mission. I want to be golf long-wind, and you can be Mr. T. I want one of mine, and you just know it's wedge. No. You're, you're, you're wedgin' all that in cleave. Malcolm Gladwell here, my new book, The American Way of Killing, investigates America's gun violence crisis. Why is the richest country in the world plagued by such lethal violence? Through a series of stories, interviews, and archival tape, I confront one of today's most urgent moral dilemmas, and examine why the U.S. has never quite understood its own problem, and why you can't fix what you refuse to see clearly. Prior to the American Way of Killing, at pushkin.fm/audiobooks, or wherever audiobooks are sold. Sunday, 8-10am. Father's Day arrives, a beautiful one in Montreal. James says it's a lot like the day Douglas died. We all rendezvous at the safe house, which also happens to be Howard's rec room. James has held on to his dad's urn for 16 years, but he's always kept it in the velvet bag it came with, so he's never actually handled it. Earlier in the day though, in anticipation of the job, he withdrew it, and if there was any question about just how much Douglas loved golf, it was immediately answered by what was revealed. Etched into the side of the urn, was a golfer, in mid-swing. "Here's to you, Dad." "Don't you think it's some of Bruce's poop bags? They're actually unscented, which is kind of nice. And we're going to use these to transfer some of James's beloved father's ashes into here." Howard had the idea of using his pugs' poop bags to separate the ashes into portions for each of us. His reasoning? Should one of us get pinched by some golf clubhouse Johnny Law, the two surviving members of the crew could still carry out the job. "Oh my God, this is so strange." "Oh, I want to business." "I know what business. I definitely want to business." "Well, I'm glad you got—I'm glad I'm—I've had a couple of drinks, so I'm getting all sentimental. But I'm really glad you guys are doing this for me." "You're part of this thing for 16 years, there was this sort of fear that I wouldn't be able to handle dealing with it, the physicality of it. But if there's something I'm now grateful for, and I wonder if there was some wisdom in it, is that he has compelled me to deal with this." "I've never cursed him for it, but I've been angry—I've never been angry, but I've been—I don't know what the word is, sort of like, "Fuck, you know, you couldn't just go without—you couldn't just die. You had to make this somewhat absurd, ridiculous request that was impractical and almost impossible to achieve. But I'm right seeing right now, kind of, almost grateful for it. So let's hope—let's hope we're successful today." 8/25 AM As we set off on the job, Howard shows doubts about his outfit. "I look like a fat failure of a dentist. I look like I lost my practice because I put dentures in a child's mouth." As we near the golf course, James grows silent. "Am I parked in a space?" "All right." "Good show." "How are you feeling?" "I'm nervous." "I'm going to park near here just for a quick getaway." From the parking lot, we wind our way towards the green. Maybe it's testament to a tilly-hat cock that just the right angle, but nobody seems to be stopping us. We have infiltrated. The golf course is what you'd expect. Green grass as far as the eye can see. Trees, ponds, it's beautiful. And under normal circumstances, it'd make us feel peaceful-like. But just now, it's making us feel out of place, reminding us of who we are. Three frightened middle-aged men dressed in discarded plumbing company uniforms, struggling under the weight of our bulky knapsacks, and a mission that just now feels too big for us. "I don't know. Should we just try to go to the 18th hole or should we go again?" "I believe that's it." As it turns out, the 18th hole is the whole nearest the parking lot. That red flag right there is our destination. "The green of the 18th hole, and that is it. It is the most conspicuous hole, so thanks a lot, Dad." "Right now we have to be honest. Right now we're being lost." "Even now." We decide to play it cool, case to the joint. We make our way to the 9th hole, which is out of view, and it's here that fear sets in, and with it, bargaining. "The 9th hole, Dad, right here, be perfect. I could go with the whole earned dumpster." "Maybe he liked the screen. He liked the whole golf course." "It wasn't his, but I know it. This is the back nine. I know he liked the back nine." Next, denial. "My question. Why would your dad, who was an avid golfer, who was really, really serious about his game, why would he want to put his action on the green, which would interfere with the other golfers?" I suggest we cool our heels in the clubhouse, and the boys agree. It turns out that that evening is a father's day banquet, so the staff is rushing to prepare, which allows us to wander around, relatively unnoticed. The club goes back about a hundred years, and on the walls are hung old brown and white photos and plaques, commemorating the members who've died fighting in both world wars. Since almost the start of our mission, James had expressed a fear that maybe no one at the club would even remember his dad. Douglas was just such a loner that over the years, James had never met any of his friends. As far as he knew, he didn't really have any. There was a lot about his dad, he didn't know, like whether he was even any good at golf. So he was hoping he might find some small trace of him here, a photo, or even his name on a list somewhere. We find a large, old-looking book that lists every champion in the course's history. Wow, it goes back to 1903. I mean, I'm sure he's probably documented in some books somewhere, it's just a question of fine-hit. Did you want to check that book? Did you look through all this? Yeah, I didn't see anything in here. Since the book won't talk, we look for someone who will. We stop every staff member in golf or who looks old enough and ask if they remember Douglas. I'm gonna try to find people who remember the cameras and look I played six in the morning so the only guys I know are the grass-fingers. No dice. Until… That first you guys knew him? Sure. That's his stuff right here. You're sitting. Yeah! In a basement room squeezed into an armchair, watching golf on TV, is Serge. Malcolm Gladwell here, my new book, The American Way of Killing, investigates a America's gun violence crisis. Through a series of stories, interviews, and archival tape, I confront one of today's most urgent moral dilemmas and examine why the US has never quite understood its own problem and why you can't fix what you refuse to see clearly. Preorder the American Way of Killing at pushkin.fm/audiobooks or wherever audiobooks are sold. Serge. A French-Canadian bulldog of a man, he pours fistfuls of mixed nuts into his mouth, which he washes down with generous slugs from his beer. Crazy dog, that's you, that's his son. Through the half-jar fancy cocktail nuts crammed into his grizzled maw, you might not be able to understand the word Serge is desperately trying to choke out. He's saying, "Crazy Doug." Crazy Doug is his nickname for James' dad. It was a good callfer. He was like, I was like, 809 handicap. Oh, that's very good, the top 5% of all the golfers in the world. And he was dedicated. The room full of golf clubs that James had thought was garbage, Serge spoke of it with respect. He called it the largest, most complete collection of golf clubs in all of Canada. You never want to hear someone refer to a person you love by a pet name prefixed by the word "crazy." But the benefit is that when they tell you stuff about your dad, you know they're being honest. And when Serge says what he says next, James knows he can believe him. I don't think I have ever met somebody as brilliant as your dad. The level and the knowledge about everything. But on the other side, he was also very, I would not say "shod." Nicely like a- Exactly. You could be alone. We saw him very rarely on the clubhouse. I think he was because he was a bit of a loner. But he did love people and he loved the people here and he did love all his friends here. But he really loved to come at 6 in the morning when you can just do his thing. That was very my father. That's what my mother used to say to me. It's very my father. And it's not that he didn't like people. He just liked to do things at his speed, his way, and be done. Because he was sort of a loner. He was a loner. He was my father. You were the son of your father? And with that, it's time for James to become the son his father had asked him to be. And do the job we came for. We head back outside and walk with purpose to the 18th hole. As fate would have it, the coast is clear. With Howard on his left and me on his right, we walk James out to the green, doing our best to protect him from view. So you have something in my head. While we're actually doing this, this is incredible because we're actually doing it right now. This is actually happening. He's actually putting his dad's ashes right on the 18th hole. Just like he wanted. We didn't think this would be possible actually. It's just how he put, you just got to reign to the 18th hole, pretty discretely. I got to reign the hole. That's all really good. I'm really glad. Right in the hole. Exactly. I feel great. I feel awesome. Howard and I are feeling pretty good too. This is the last time James would ever get to do something his dad had asked him to do. And we're proud to be a small part of it. We put our arms around our friend's neck and pat his back. Okay. What? You got back home. That's too pretty. I did it on you. Happy Father's Day. Happy Father's Day. Happy Father's Day. That's it, you know. I worked out perfectly. And James is right. It has kind of worked out perfectly. Sure, unlike the end of heist films like Reservoir Dogs, we weren't sipping drinks from a coconut on a beautiful beach. But James had become the person he wanted to be. And I had become the person who helped him become the person he wanted to be. And Howard, well, he'd become the person who fills up a dog poop bag with free golf clubhouse dinner mints. So all in all, he was a happy ending. Thank you guys for doing this. James had a fistful of his father's ashes in his hand and he walked onto that green like a dawn bend onto when he tipped his hat and just dumped it rain through the hole, a clean rain in the hole. That was a hole in one, that's what I would say. Now that the furniture is returning to its goodwill home, now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit, take this moment to decide, if we meant it, if we meant it. Hello, my friend. How are you? Very nice to see you. And yeah, and I was just listening to the episode this morning. So oh, hold on, hold on. Okay. And I'm not giving me one sec. I'm not hearing anything. Give me one sec. Okay. See what's happening here. Hey. Sorry about that. So sorry. That's okay. I mean, we're going to a lot of trouble for the sound, which I really appreciate. Does it sound good, though? Does it sound okay? Yeah, it sounds good. I mean, it might not match when we initially got on, so let's just back up. I will say hello. Hello, Jonathan. How are you? I'm good. How are you? I'm very good. We're such a couple of showbiz phonies. That's right. Yes, we are. So you were saying that you were just listening to the episode this morning. Yeah. I hadn't listened to it probably since it came out. And as it happened, I was driving my son to school as I do. And I drive him to school because he won't make it if I don't. And also, it is a nice little father and son time. It's usually passed in silence. But I said, hey, today we've got to, we got to listen to this podcast. Has he ever listened to the episode before? No. Did he? He was impressed in that, okay, well, those are not the words he used, but I could. My Gabe Ameter's pretty good. My Gabe Dar is pretty good. And I did see that he was impressed. I guess for me, it was really great to listen to the podcast again because what I got out of it, what was interesting for me, one is that just being with you and Howard, my two best friends, that was the big thing was, was wow, I just love these guys. So that's the main thing I took away from it. The other thing is that hearing it again 10 years later with my son, I'm such a different person then. Hmm. How do you mean? Because I, you know, my parents have been both been dead for, for a very long time now. My mother died, I think within about a year of that recording. And that was 10 years ago. So I'm not a son anymore. I'm a father. That's who I am. So to listen to it with my son, it was completely different, just a completely different experience. I think when we were recording that, it was still very much my father's son. Yeah. You've not, you've not been back to the golf course to visit, have you? No, I have not. Have you kept in touch with Sarah? No, not at all. It would be, that would be an interesting, that would be an interesting conversation. I mean, it was his own friend to have. He's a bold guy, right? Because he's that, you know, here I am saying, oh, you know, we're doing this podcast about my dad and, you know, how much I feel so much regret that I wasn't able to really be there from when he was dead. And I just love my dad. And he was like, oh, crazy. - He's a doug. (laughing) - It was so bold that I was like, "Wow, good for you, Sarah." - Old is a nice word for it. - Yeah, right. - Well, this was nice, James, thank you. - Thank you, it was great to speak to you again, and it really did help me get closer. My dad used to always say, "No bullshit." You know, he'd say, "No bullshit." As my dad would say, "No bullshit." It really was very meaningful because I don't have that regret. I have other regrets, but that one was put to bed. (upbeat music) - Thanks to everyone who helped put this episode together, and if you want a little more James in your life, and who wouldn't, why not check out his YouTube channel, Screen Write with James A. Hearst, that spelled H-U-R-S-T. James breaks down movies and teaches you how to write screenplays of your own, just as he does, he's a successful screenwriter, and he can help you become one as well. (upbeat music) This is our last update episode of the summer. We will be back with a brand new season of heavyweight, God willing. This fall, and in the meantime, as always, check out our free newsletter. Kaleela, what do you have in the newsletter this week? - We've been including photos of our subjects, and this week, we'll have some photos of Jonathan and James together. - Yes, and while I am an audio purist, and my mantra is sort of keep your eyes closed in life, don't let's not get into the visuals, I do appreciate a good photograph now and again. - Yeah, I agree. - And you can find this newsletter of which we speak at patreon.com/heavyweight. - See you this fall. - Welcome, Gladwell here. My new book, The American Way of Killing, investigates America's gun violence crisis. Pre-order the American Way of Killing at pushkin.fm/audiobooks or wherever audio books are sold. - This is an iHeart podcast, guaranteed human.