Remembering Robert Pietranton: A PR Legend With a Taste for Springsteen, Scorsese, Soccer and Steelers
Former Variety staffer Stu Levine, now a PR executive at NBCUniversal, was a close friend of publicity and communications exec Robert Pietranton, the Warner Bros. TV Group senior VP who died last week at 56. Here, Levine shares his personal memories of Pietranton.
Thank you, Marianne Romano.
It was circa 2002 and I was covering the TV beat at Variety when my phone rang in the office. It was Marianne, who was a good friend and the head of publicity for Nickelodeon. She was calling to say I should probably meet one of her publicist friends for lunch, a guy named Robert Pietranton. He had read my stories and was a big Bruce Springsteen fan, like myself. She thought we’d have a lot in common and hit it off.
Absolutely, I said. I loved talking Bruce. What did I have to lose?
We met at the long-shuttered Ammo on Highland Avenue in Hollywood and I brought along my best friend, David Shaw, another Bruceaholic for what we figured would be a fun and long lunchtime conversation.
It lasted 23 years.
There hadn’t been a day up until last Wednesday where the three us didn’t text or talk to each other.
My good friends at Variety and Deadline, who all have been great colleagues with Robert for the past few decades, were kind of enough to let me use their space today so I can share my stories about him with all of you. His dear friends and colleagues. And, trust me, there are a lot of you.
If you go to his Facebook page right now, you’ll see he had 850 friends. That’s not an exaggeration or Mark Zuckerberg-invented bots. That’s truly how beloved he was.
As much as Robert was the GOAT of PR and communications, I can tell you he would’ve traded it all in to be a journalist. He loved those ink-stained wretches who get to the truth and uncover dirty deeds, whether it was in politics, sports or entertainment.
He bought and read all 21 books by Bob Woodward, the award-winning Washington Post writer. That’s who he wanted to be.
When he was between jobs at Sony and Warner Bros. and feeling a little disheartened, I hired him to write several freelance stories for Variety. I knew it would cheer him up and help keep him financially afloat for a little while. He loved it. He was at the Beverly Hilton one day on an assignment, interviewing an Israeli diplomat who was in town trying to drum up some business for the Israeli TV community. He called me right after to say what a great day it was and how it got his journalism juices flowing. I told him before he got too excited about switching professions, he should stick to PR because he couldn’t afford the drop in pay. We laughed.
He was never great with money. I would give him financial tips and advice about investing. He would listen, but it wouldn’t stick. He was the kind of guy to put money under the mattress. He was old school, all cash. We would often joke that I would never have more than $10 in my wallet and he would never have less than $1,000 in his.
When current events dictated, we would chat about politics, but not often. His political leanings were to the left of Bernie Sanders and he loathed the ultra rich who flaunted their wealth. I would often tease him about his own finances.
“Robert, you’re a senior vice president at a major Hollywood studio making a very nice salary. About 95% of the country would say you’re rich!” “Well, maybe,” he would retort right back, sharply, “but I don’t act rich!”
No, he didn’t. Much of his family were raised living hardscrabble lives in West Virginia and he grew up with that mindset. He was generous to a fault, always thinking about the working class. When we would go out to dinner, he would never leave less than a 30% tip. Never. If I was treating and filling out the receipt, he would look at me and plead, “Please leave a good tip. I know these people and have to come back here.”
We would chat on the phone all the time and, oh, how he loved to talk when he got on a roll. Admittedly, I’m not the kind of guy who can gab for an extended length of time on the phone, but I never really wanted to hang up on him because I know he’d be so disappointed. When I would start to wrap up a conversation, he’d pause and say, “That’s it? You’re done with me? Nice friend, you are!”
In a strange turn of fate, I would leave Variety after 15 terrific years and become a PR professional myself. We practically had identical jobs – him at Warner Bros. and me at NBC, writing press releases, internal/external communications, dealing with the entertainment press and trying to soothe nervous execs about upcoming stories in the trades. We would often talk at the end of a busy day and trade war stories (“Did Nellie call you about this today? No? Well, she will. Get ready.”) We worked side-by-side on many WB-NBC shows together (“Manifest,” “Night Court,” “Found” and “Brilliant Minds,” just to name a few) and were even lucky enough to share the same boss, the wonderful Rebecca Marks. I can’t tell you how happy Robert was when he found out Rebecca would be leading the PR team at WB after her long run at NBC.
He wasn’t a saint. He certainly had his faults. He could be grumpy, he spent too much money on Door Dash, ran his car into the ground until I convinced him to buy a new one and never watched “Friday Night Lights,” a sin for which I will never forgive him.
Without a doubt, our shared obsessions were movies, television and Bruce. He loved no director more than Martin Scorsese. Whenever the opening night of a Scorsese film was announced, often months or even years in advance, Robert, David and I would circle it on our calendars and then immediately make a reservation at Rao’s, our favorite Italian restaurant in Hollywood, so after the movie we could discuss it in endless detail over meatballs and gravy.
His love of Scorsese and films such as “GoodFellas” and Francis Ford Coppola’s “The Godfather” remind me of how he wore his Italian heritage like a badge of honor. Watching Italy playing in the World Cup was his national holiday. It makes me truly sad that he never got to travel to his homeland and eat pasta near the Trevi Fountain in Rome or gelato on the streets of Florence.
When it came to TV, Robert was a connoisseur. We bowed to the Three Holy Davids – Milch, Simon and Chase – and would rewatch seasons and recite lines from “Deadwood” (“Open the peaches, Johnny!”), “The Wire” (“Omar comin’!”) and “The Sopranos” (“What? No fuckin’ ziti?”) every year. Oh, and how he could speak verbatim from “The West Wing” and “Homicide: Life on the Street.”
What put a huge smile on Robert’s face this past year was the success of “The Pitt.” Not only was it a huge hit for his home studio, but it represented a return to old school television. Fifteen episodes. In the hands of the ultimate professional, John Wells. Coming out at the same time every year.
Like enjoying his favorite shows year after year, he loved the repetitions of life, the traditions in everything he did. Watching European soccer every weekend, going to the movies on Friday nights with David and planting himself each and every fall Sunday – whether at his home or in a sports bar – to watch and lament over his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers.
(True story: I went over to his house to watch a Steelers playoff game one year and said I would bring food. He was fully expecting a bucket of wings and/or maybe a pizza. When I showed up with a fruit salad, it might’ve been the saddest I’ve ever seen him.)
The last time I saw Robert was about 10 days ago, when we took him to Rao’s for his 56th birthday dinner. As you all know, he hated the spotlight and would rather crawl under a rock than get any sort of attention. So, just for that reason, as I loved to make him squirm, I asked the waiters to sing happy birthday. They didn’t, but David, his good friend TJ Johnson and I sure did. Loudly. Making sure the whole restaurant could hear and applaud.
On the day of his passing as I was silently grieving, my wife texted me this:
“When I pulled into the garage at home, a beautiful white owl flew onto the telephone wires in the backyard. Have never seen this before, so I looked up the spiritual meaning and this came up: ‘Owls are often seen as messengers between worlds. In many traditions, they symbolize wisdom, intuition and the unseen. Encountering an owl after a loss might feel like a sign that your friend’s spirit is at peace or trying to communicate reassurance.’”
To bring it back to Springsteen’s own words, which I think Robert would appreciate, I’ll share exactly what Bruce said when he lost Clarence Clemons, who was his longtime sax man and musical appendage.
“I’ll see you in the next life, Big Man.”
If you’d like to share your stories about Robert with Levine, please reach him at stuart.levine@nbcuni.com.
Thank you, Marianne Romano.
It was circa 2002 and I was covering the TV beat at Variety when my phone rang in the office. It was Marianne, who was a good friend and the head of publicity for Nickelodeon. She was calling to say I should probably meet one of her publicist friends for lunch, a guy named Robert Pietranton. He had read my stories and was a big Bruce Springsteen fan, like myself. She thought we’d have a lot in common and hit it off.
Absolutely, I said. I loved talking Bruce. What did I have to lose?
We met at the long-shuttered Ammo on Highland Avenue in Hollywood and I brought along my best friend, David Shaw, another Bruceaholic for what we figured would be a fun and long lunchtime conversation.
It lasted 23 years.
There hadn’t been a day up until last Wednesday where the three us didn’t text or talk to each other.
My good friends at Variety and Deadline, who all have been great colleagues with Robert for the past few decades, were kind of enough to let me use their space today so I can share my stories about him with all of you. His dear friends and colleagues. And, trust me, there are a lot of you.
If you go to his Facebook page right now, you’ll see he had 850 friends. That’s not an exaggeration or Mark Zuckerberg-invented bots. That’s truly how beloved he was.
As much as Robert was the GOAT of PR and communications, I can tell you he would’ve traded it all in to be a journalist. He loved those ink-stained wretches who get to the truth and uncover dirty deeds, whether it was in politics, sports or entertainment.
He bought and read all 21 books by Bob Woodward, the award-winning Washington Post writer. That’s who he wanted to be.
When he was between jobs at Sony and Warner Bros. and feeling a little disheartened, I hired him to write several freelance stories for Variety. I knew it would cheer him up and help keep him financially afloat for a little while. He loved it. He was at the Beverly Hilton one day on an assignment, interviewing an Israeli diplomat who was in town trying to drum up some business for the Israeli TV community. He called me right after to say what a great day it was and how it got his journalism juices flowing. I told him before he got too excited about switching professions, he should stick to PR because he couldn’t afford the drop in pay. We laughed.
He was never great with money. I would give him financial tips and advice about investing. He would listen, but it wouldn’t stick. He was the kind of guy to put money under the mattress. He was old school, all cash. We would often joke that I would never have more than $10 in my wallet and he would never have less than $1,000 in his.
When current events dictated, we would chat about politics, but not often. His political leanings were to the left of Bernie Sanders and he loathed the ultra rich who flaunted their wealth. I would often tease him about his own finances.
“Robert, you’re a senior vice president at a major Hollywood studio making a very nice salary. About 95% of the country would say you’re rich!” “Well, maybe,” he would retort right back, sharply, “but I don’t act rich!”
No, he didn’t. Much of his family were raised living hardscrabble lives in West Virginia and he grew up with that mindset. He was generous to a fault, always thinking about the working class. When we would go out to dinner, he would never leave less than a 30% tip. Never. If I was treating and filling out the receipt, he would look at me and plead, “Please leave a good tip. I know these people and have to come back here.”
We would chat on the phone all the time and, oh, how he loved to talk when he got on a roll. Admittedly, I’m not the kind of guy who can gab for an extended length of time on the phone, but I never really wanted to hang up on him because I know he’d be so disappointed. When I would start to wrap up a conversation, he’d pause and say, “That’s it? You’re done with me? Nice friend, you are!”
In a strange turn of fate, I would leave Variety after 15 terrific years and become a PR professional myself. We practically had identical jobs – him at Warner Bros. and me at NBC, writing press releases, internal/external communications, dealing with the entertainment press and trying to soothe nervous execs about upcoming stories in the trades. We would often talk at the end of a busy day and trade war stories (“Did Nellie call you about this today? No? Well, she will. Get ready.”) We worked side-by-side on many WB-NBC shows together (“Manifest,” “Night Court,” “Found” and “Brilliant Minds,” just to name a few) and were even lucky enough to share the same boss, the wonderful Rebecca Marks. I can’t tell you how happy Robert was when he found out Rebecca would be leading the PR team at WB after her long run at NBC.
He wasn’t a saint. He certainly had his faults. He could be grumpy, he spent too much money on Door Dash, ran his car into the ground until I convinced him to buy a new one and never watched “Friday Night Lights,” a sin for which I will never forgive him.
Without a doubt, our shared obsessions were movies, television and Bruce. He loved no director more than Martin Scorsese. Whenever the opening night of a Scorsese film was announced, often months or even years in advance, Robert, David and I would circle it on our calendars and then immediately make a reservation at Rao’s, our favorite Italian restaurant in Hollywood, so after the movie we could discuss it in endless detail over meatballs and gravy.
His love of Scorsese and films such as “GoodFellas” and Francis Ford Coppola’s “The Godfather” remind me of how he wore his Italian heritage like a badge of honor. Watching Italy playing in the World Cup was his national holiday. It makes me truly sad that he never got to travel to his homeland and eat pasta near the Trevi Fountain in Rome or gelato on the streets of Florence.
When it came to TV, Robert was a connoisseur. We bowed to the Three Holy Davids – Milch, Simon and Chase – and would rewatch seasons and recite lines from “Deadwood” (“Open the peaches, Johnny!”), “The Wire” (“Omar comin’!”) and “The Sopranos” (“What? No fuckin’ ziti?”) every year. Oh, and how he could speak verbatim from “The West Wing” and “Homicide: Life on the Street.”
What put a huge smile on Robert’s face this past year was the success of “The Pitt.” Not only was it a huge hit for his home studio, but it represented a return to old school television. Fifteen episodes. In the hands of the ultimate professional, John Wells. Coming out at the same time every year.
Like enjoying his favorite shows year after year, he loved the repetitions of life, the traditions in everything he did. Watching European soccer every weekend, going to the movies on Friday nights with David and planting himself each and every fall Sunday – whether at his home or in a sports bar – to watch and lament over his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers.
(True story: I went over to his house to watch a Steelers playoff game one year and said I would bring food. He was fully expecting a bucket of wings and/or maybe a pizza. When I showed up with a fruit salad, it might’ve been the saddest I’ve ever seen him.)
The last time I saw Robert was about 10 days ago, when we took him to Rao’s for his 56th birthday dinner. As you all know, he hated the spotlight and would rather crawl under a rock than get any sort of attention. So, just for that reason, as I loved to make him squirm, I asked the waiters to sing happy birthday. They didn’t, but David, his good friend TJ Johnson and I sure did. Loudly. Making sure the whole restaurant could hear and applaud.
On the day of his passing as I was silently grieving, my wife texted me this:
“When I pulled into the garage at home, a beautiful white owl flew onto the telephone wires in the backyard. Have never seen this before, so I looked up the spiritual meaning and this came up: ‘Owls are often seen as messengers between worlds. In many traditions, they symbolize wisdom, intuition and the unseen. Encountering an owl after a loss might feel like a sign that your friend’s spirit is at peace or trying to communicate reassurance.’”
To bring it back to Springsteen’s own words, which I think Robert would appreciate, I’ll share exactly what Bruce said when he lost Clarence Clemons, who was his longtime sax man and musical appendage.
“I’ll see you in the next life, Big Man.”
If you’d like to share your stories about Robert with Levine, please reach him at stuart.levine@nbcuni.com.