What irony that Gregory Peck’s greatest onscreen success was as a character who experienced failure. Alabama lawyer Atticus Finch, defending an innocent black man in “To Kill a Mockingbird” (1962), loses his case. Still, Peck’s defeat becomes a victory, not only because he profits from a winning novel and screenplay, but also because he’s the one playing Finch.
When audiences stumbled out of darkened cinema halls in 1962, Finch to them was no longer just a lawyer from Harper Lee’s novel. He’d become a voice of fairness, a face of truth, a voice they heard too rarely, and a face they longed to see more of. The character was just a father teaching his children about the evils of racism and falsehood. But Peck had made Finch bigger.
Over four years, novice Peck secured as many Best Actor Oscar nominations, playing characters who succeed. As a veteran, playing Finch who fails, Peck succeeds, winning his first, and only, Best Actor Oscar.
Family Man
Lee Remick, Peck’s co-star in “The Omen” (1976), once said of Peck, “He represented everything … strong, reliable, and solid.” For all that, his childhood was anything but stable. Born in 1916 in San Diego, his parents divorced when he was not yet 5. Cared for by his grandmother and later by his father, Peck pined for familial stability all through boarding school and college. It arrived late. When it did, he was ready. His first marriage, to Greta Kukkonen, lasted only 13 years. His second, to Veronique Passani, lasted nearly half a century, from 1955 until his death in 2003.Growing up, Peck slogged, selling newspapers, waiting tables, washing dishes, working as a carhop, a barker, an usher, and a Broadway extra. Instead of hitting out at everyone for being robbed of a loving family, he held it up as indispensable in forging maturity and loyalty. When his 30-year-old son Jonathan allegedly committed suicide, grief-stricken Peck didn’t act for two years. Peck opposed the Vietnam War but backed the convictions of his other son Stephen, who fought there alongside thousands of young Americans. Raised Catholic, Peck had once considered the priesthood, and he long supported the missionary work of friends and family, including an audio-recording of The New Testament with Stephen.
In “The Yearling” (1946), Peck plays a doting father to a runaway pre-teen son. Upon the prodigal’s return, Peck says, “Every man wants life to be a fine thing, and easy. Well, ’tis fine, son. … But ’tain’t easy.”
In “The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit” (1956), Peck is an executive in the corporate rat-race who argues not against a hectic job but only for its submission to values that give the family pride of place. When warned that “Gentleman’s Agreement” (1947) and its interrogation of anti-Semitism, including among privileged Jews, was too provocative, Peck doubled down and backed the film.
Uniquely for that era, Peck’s consciously non-exclusive contracts gifted him freedom to handpick roles. Most of the characters he picked exuded empathy and moral authority.
Staying Good, Staying Dignified
In a room full of grave men, Peck raised the gravitas quotient simply by walking in, emanating a wisdom beyond his years. In his debut year in film, in “The Keys of the Kingdom” (1944), 28-year-old Peck plays a young priest who ages into his 80s. Without formal training in film-acting (he’d been in theater a while) he radiates a meditative onscreen goodness.Six feet, three inches tall, even Peck’s deep, commanding voice didn’t place him in the physically macho mold of a Charlton Heston or John Wayne. His masculinity was cut from different cloth, one that breathed sincerity, gentility.
Sure, impassioned directors would’ve liked Peck to “punch a hole in the wall” sometimes, but he emoted differently, using silence and his physicality. He’d cock his head, expand his massive chest, raise his spine, lower or lift his head, tighten his jaw, clench his fist, purse his lips, open (then close) his mouth, and crease his brow to show tenacity, doubt, stoicism, clarity, and intent. He didn’t believe in heroes who “never know the meaning of fear.” His monologues were never preachy. He’d just talk, sometimes to himself. But even angry, he remained restrained, rarely shouty, and almost never out of control.
He also knew his limitations. Perhaps his dignified earnestness precluded outright action or screwball roles; when he did try them, it’s the drama that shone more than action or comedy.
Priest, doctor, journalist, diplomat, lawyer and lawman, U.S. president, a sea captain; Peck played them all. He played military officers, too (lieutenant, squadron leader, brigadier, captain, colonel, general), men with authority over the fates of others and who, usually, wielded that authority responsibly. Or, they stood up to abuses of authority, even at great personal cost.
As a 66-year-old, playing Lincoln in the CBS miniseries “The Blue and the Gray,” Peck gushed that he felt thrilled if “inadequate” because “Lincoln was the greatest American, … my greatest hero.”
Instead of entertainment chatter about billion-dollar conglomerates, Peck once said that he’d rather hear about elevating the quality of entertainment:
“Entertainment that in the words of T. S. Eliot, enlarges the sympathies, … stimulates the mind and … spirit, … warms the heart, punctures the balloons of hypocrisy, greed and sham, tickles the funny bone, and leaves us with a glow that comes when we have been well entertained; … making millions is not the whole ball game. Pride of workmanship is worth more. Artistry is worth more. The human imagination is a priceless resource. The public is ready for the best you can give them. It just may be that you can’t make a buck and at the same time encourage … quality and originality.”
Peck’s towering remarks ring out louder and truer now than when he uttered them, accepting his AFI Life Achievement Award in 1989.
An individualist, Peck never sank into individualism. He was chairman of the American Cancer Society, president of the Motion Picture Academy, co-founder, and chairman of the AFI, and won the Presidential Medal of Freedom. When he won the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award in 1967, he felt “embarrassed” to be called a humanitarian, merely for living his beliefs.
The halo of Finch shadowed Peck in life, and death.
It was Brock Peters (who played Tom Robinson, and whom Finch defends in “Mockingbird”) who read the eulogy at Peck’s funeral. Celebrities attending were asked to whisper the password “Atticus” so ushers could escort them to reserved seats!
As a despondent Finch leaves court following the verdict against Robinson, blacks packing the segregated balcony above are mourning. They’re also standing. Finch’s daughter, Jean Louise “Scout,” wonders. People stand out of respect, only for a judge. No one stands up for lawyers! The blacks must be saluting Finch as the superior arbiter of the law. As it dawns on her, Reverend Sykes instructs her to show Finch the respect he deserves: “Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.”
Today, if Peck were with us, walking by, one thing’s for certain: Instructed to or not, there’d be a lot of people standing up.
