During the eight months I spent with Philip and Dolores while assisting with Dolores's autobiography, I came to know and love them both. Tremendously. Never once was I made to feel unwelcome in their home. More than once, I was referred to by both as "family". I cannot express how much that meant to me.
One morning while I was writing in the office, Philip came in and began, quite unexpectedly, to talk about the son whom he had lost. He spoke openly for quite a while, and then said something that totally floored me. He said that I had become like a son to him. Having lost my own dad when I was 14, I could not have been more pleased at hearing this - I confess, emotionally so. Because I had by that point come to admire Philip so much. His incredible warmth and intelligence. His generosity . . . and the fact that we shared many of the same interests. Particularly films and film history. His stories always captivated me. His accomplishments, and the people he knew. In the most natural way, he had become just like a father to me. And on many occasions while I was still in Vegas, and later in telephone conversations after I moved back to Canada, I was never embarrassed to call him "dad" -- or he to call me "son". A beautiful, simple sincerity.
But that was precisely what Philip Chamberlin was about. And talk about a man blessed with patience. I don't think I ever really saw him angry or heard him raise his voice once.
I treasure every moment that we spent together. Be it enjoying a classic movie or news program on television . . . or going to dinner . . . or just driving and talking. Never was there an awkward silence between us. We seemed to click.
Truth be told, I was going through a difficult personal time in my life during my months in Vegas. Fortunately, those problems successfully resolved themselves. But Philip was always there ready to listen when I felt I had to get something off my chest. Always providing kindly, quiet advice (his wisdom was amazing), never pushy. Yes, just like a father.
Even though with the miles between us our contact became limited, he was always with me, as I learned so much from him.
I'll miss him and will NEVER forget him.
God bless you, Dad. I was proud to call you that . . . and will always be proud and grateful to have known you.
Love,
Son Stone