Entertainment heavyweight Jerry Weintraub, who passed away earlier this month, was a collector of people, especially those with extraordinary talent or power. He seemed to worship access, which is always a dicey quality to possess. In 1982, when the agent was at the height of his career, a 44-year-old Hollywood megawatt whose light shone everywhere from the White House to Graceland, Weintraub was profiled by Kathy Mackay for People. The opening:
“I love going to the White House,” Jerry Weintraub says. “I get tears in my eyes every time I walk into the Oval Office. It’s awesome. You think, ‘How many people in the world get a chance to shake hands with the President and Vice-President and talk to them?’ Listen, I cry when I hear Hail to the Chief.”
No one who knows the showbiz superagent could doubt for a millisecond the sincerity of those tears welling in Jerry Weintraub’s eyes. Some 20 years ago Weintraub was a kid sorting mail at the William Morris Agency in Manhattan. He overheard two MCA executives discussing an opening for a talent agent. He applied for the job and got it. Today Weintraub, 44, is one of the most powerful figures in the entertainment industry. An elegantly dressed impresario of the glittery and the glamorous, he is also Hollywood’s Washington connection in the Reagan Administration.
Weintraub knows everyone. As a personal manager he runs an incredible musical stable: John Denver, Bob Dylan, Neil Diamond, John Davidson, Wayne Newton, the Beach Boys, the Moody Blues and the Carpenters. He has produced more than 50 concerts for Frank Sinatra. His credits as a movie producer include Nashville and Oh, God! As a political kingmaker, he has raised millions for candidates ranging from JFK to George Bush. “Every door in this business is open to me,” Weintraub says without exaggeration, “because people know I get things done.”
Weintraub in motion—and he is always in motion—is a wonder. His 10-hour days begin on the phone in his chauffeur-driven Rolls en route from his Malibu home to his office in Beverly Hills. His newest projects are a Broadway musical—Weintraub’s first—about the life of Jimmy Durante and a sequel to his latest movie, Diner, about a place where college kids hang out. Diner will be released early this year.
Weintraub’s determination is legendary. His wife, retired 1950s torch singer Jane Morgan, recalls that in the mid-’60s he called Col. Tom Parker nearly every day for a year, begging to promote Elvis. Finally Parker agreed—but only if Weintraub hand-delivered a $1 million check to the colonel’s Las Vegas office the next day. Weintraub did, and Presley became one of his biggest clients. Since then the stars have come to Weintraub. Six years ago Dylan called Jerry up on a Sunday morning and asked him to be his manager. The Carpenters chose him because, Richard Carpenter recalls, “we heard Jerry was somebody who actually molded careers—like Brian Epstein did with the Beatles.”
Weintraub’s detractors credit his rise to sheer chutzpah, plus the ability to make financial offers no one can refuse. “People like me invest time and money in an unknown act,” fumes promoter Jim Rissmiller. “Weintraub comes along and steals them away. I worked with the Bee Gees for seven years, until they did Saturday Night Fever. Then Weintraub offered them the moon to do a national tour.”•