Stu Levine, a former Variety magazine staffer who is now a PR executive at NBCUniversal, was a close friend of Warner Bros. TV Group public relations and communications executive Robert Pete Langton, who died last week at age 56. Mr. Levine here shared his personal memories with Mr. Pete Langton.
Thank you, Marianne Romano.
It was around 2002, and I was covering the TV beat for Variety when my phone rang in my office. It was Marianne, my best friend and Nickelodeon’s head of publicity. She called and said we should meet for lunch with one of her publicist friends, a guy named Robert Pietranton. He had read my novels and, like me, was a big Bruce Springsteen fan. She thought we had a lot in common and would hit it off.
Absolutely, I said. I loved talking to Bruce. What did I have to lose?
We met at the long-shuttered Ammo on Highland Avenue in Hollywood. I thought it would be a fun and long lunchtime conversation, so I brought along my good friend David Shaw, who is also a blues junkie.
It lasted 23 years.
Until last Wednesday, there wasn’t a day that the three of us didn’t text or talk to each other.
My good friends at Variety and Deadline have all been great colleagues with Robert over the past few decades, and they have given me their space today to allow me to share my story about him with you. his dear friends and colleagues; And believe me, there are many of you.
If you go to his Facebook page now, you’ll see that he had 850 friends. That’s not an exaggeration or a bot invented by Mark Zuckerberg. That’s how much he was loved.
Robert was a master of PR and communications, but I can tell you he would have traded all that to become a journalist. He loved ink-stained scumbags who got to the truth and exposed dirty deeds, whether in politics, sports, or entertainment.
He bought and read all 21 books by award-winning Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward. That’s who he wanted to be.
When he was feeling a bit discouraged between his jobs at Sony and Warner Bros., I hired him to write some freelance articles for Variety magazine. I thought it would cheer him up and keep him afloat financially for a little while. he loved it. One day he was on a mission at the Beverly Hilton, interviewing an Israeli diplomat who was in town trying to drum up business for Israeli television. Shortly after, he called me to tell me what a great day it had been and how it had fueled his journalism. Before he gets too excited about changing jobs, I tell him that we can’t afford to lower his salary and that he should focus on PR. we laughed.
He was never good with money. I give him financial tips and investment advice. He listened, but it didn’t stick. He was the kind of guy who would put money under the mattress. He was old school and all cash. We often joked that I would never have more than $10 in my wallet and I would never have less than $1,000 in his wallet.
Sometimes we would chat about politics when current events affected us, but not very often. His political leanings were to the left of Bernie Sanders and he disliked the super-rich who flaunted their wealth. I often teased him about my financial situation.
“Robert, you’re a senior vice president at a major Hollywood studio, and you make a very good salary. About 95 percent of the people would say you’re rich!” “Maybe,” he quickly retorted sharply, “but I don’t pretend to be rich!”
No, it wasn’t. Many of his family members grew up living hard lives in West Virginia, and he grew up with that mindset, too. Despite his flaws, he was generous and always had the working class in mind. When we went out to dinner, he never left a tip of less than 30%. Never. As I was treating and filling out the receipt, he looked at me and begged, “Please leave a tip. I know these people and I have to come here again.”
We used to chat on the phone all the time and oh, he loved to talk when he was in a good mood. Admittedly, I’m not one to talk on the phone for too long, but I didn’t want to hang up because I knew he would be very disappointed. As I began to wrap up the conversation, he stopped and said, “Is that all? Are you done yet? What a wonderful friend!”
In a strange twist of fate, I left Variety after 15 wonderful years to become a PR professional myself. We were essentially doing the same job. He was at Warner Bros. and I was at NBC, writing press releases, communicating internally and externally, dealing with the entertainment press, and trying to appease nervous executives about upcoming industry stories. We often spoke at the end of a busy day and swapped war stories (“Did Nellie call you about this today? No? Well, I’ll call you. Get ready.”) We worked together on many WB-NBC shows (“Manifest,” “Night Court,” “Found,” “Brilliant Minds” to name a few) and were even lucky enough to share the same boss, the wonderful Rebecca Marks. Words cannot describe how happy Robert was when he learned that Rebecca would be leading the public relations team at The WB after a long career at NBC.
He was no saint. Certainly he had his flaws too. He may be a grump, he spent too much money on DoorDash, he drove his car into the ground until I convinced him to buy a new one, and he never watched “Friday Night Lights,” a crime I will never forgive.
Without a doubt, our common obsessions were movies, television, and the blues. There was no director he liked more than Martin Scorsese. Whenever a premiere date for a Scorsese movie was announced, often months or even years in advance, Robert, David, and I would circle that day on our calendars and immediately make reservations at Rao’s, Hollywood’s favorite Italian restaurant. That way, we could discuss the details endlessly over meatballs and gravy after the movie.
His love of Scorsese and films like “Goodfellas” and Francis Ford Coppola’s “The Godfather” is a reminder that he wore his Italian heritage like a badge of honor. It was his holiday to watch Italy play in the World Cup. I’m really sad that he couldn’t go to his hometown and eat pasta near the Trevi Fountain in Rome or gelato on the streets of Florence.
When it came to television, Robert had a discerning eye. We bowed to the Three Holy Davids of Milch, Simon and Chase, rewatching the season every year and reciting lines from “Deadwood” (“Open the peach, Johnny!”), “The Wire” (“Omar is coming!”) and “The Sopranos” (“What? No fucking git?”). Oh, and how could he speak straight out of “The West Wing” and “Murder: Life on the Street.”
It was the success of “The Pit” that put a big smile on Robert’s face this past year. Not only was this a huge hit in his home studio, it also represented a return to old-school television. Episode fifteen. In the hands of the ultimate professional, John Wells. It is released at the same time every year.
Just as he enjoyed his favorite shows year after year, he loved the repetition of life and all the traditions he performed. He watches European soccer every weekend, goes to the movies with David on Friday nights, and spends Sundays in the fall watching and mourning his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers, whether at home or at a sports bar.
(True story: One year I went to his house to watch a Steelers playoff game and offered to bring him some food. He was expecting a bucket of chicken wings or maybe pizza. When I showed up with a fruit salad, it was probably the saddest thing he’d ever seen.)
The last time I saw Robert was about 10 days ago when I took him to Rao’s house for dinner for his 56th birthday. As we all know, he hates the spotlight and would rather hide under a rock than be in the spotlight. So, for that reason alone, I asked the waiter to sing Happy Birthday because I loved making him squirm. They didn’t, but David and his best friend TJ Johnson and I certainly did. Out loud. Make sure the applause is heard throughout the restaurant.
On the day of his death, as I was quietly grieving, I received the following email from my wife:
“As I pulled into my garage, a beautiful white owl flew onto the telephone line in my backyard. I had never seen one before, so I researched its spiritual meaning, and this is what I found: ‘Owls are important as messengers between the worlds. In many traditions, owls symbolize wisdom, intuition, and the intangible. Seeing an owl after a bereavement may feel like a sign that your friend is at peace or trying to convey reassurance.
To return to Springsteen’s own words, and I’m sure Robert would appreciate it, let me share exactly what Bruce said when he lost his longtime saxman and musical companion, Clarence Clemons.
“See you in the next life, big man.”
If you would like to share your story about Robert with Levine, please contact stuart.levine@nbcuni.com.
