My Friend Michael Latt
It’s a harsh reality that news of someone dying often hits us instantly now: a text, an email, a post. It can knock you down — and that is what I’m still feeling a day after learning of Michael’s death. It has only gotten harder with each message or connection among the countless others he touched. There are only a few people I worked with that I can remember in as much detail as I remember him. And talking and writing about him today will I hope cement those memories even more.
The strongest words have already been spoken by his family, and their pain is felt by all. Their urging for people to remember his vibrant and purposeful life in this moment is a profound call to action.
My short story of our friendship is my own, and I cherish that. One of Michael’s great gifts was making so many people in his brief life feel a special connection with him, a kinship, a camaraderie of creativity and purpose.
I met the even-younger Michael in 2014–2015 who emerged from Chapman University looking for a short-term gig, he told me “I love to make things,” and then he rattled off a dozen ideas he had for how he could do just that for the Sundance Film Festival production crew.
We joked about rendering times, argued about whether Tumblr was dead, and then in a flash there he was every day — huddled in his cubby, chasing things down, building the pieces with us, as natural a part of the crew as if he’d been there all along.
As everyone knows, he was a genuine grinder — a crazy hard worker — and we bonded privately one time talking about our challenges with attention management, and having a mind filled with so many things moving fast at once, and how to harness that into something that works for you. We got sammies at the food trucks, and the sometimes shy guy would open up about his aspirations, or cool people he was meeting around town.
It was the beginning of his life and he seemed determined to make the most of it, and I don’t say that now because he is sadly gone. Everyone around him could feel it then.
His confidence was growing, his network was growing, and his dreams were growing too — although few of us knew at that time how quickly he’d start achieving them.
After being wildly impressed working with Michael I started to worry we’d lose him to other jobs. So I was thrilled when he agreed to come back and join the crew again, which was growing and now being managed by someone else. Not on the ground anymore, I started getting reports of some bumps in the workflow and finally Michael’s new manager told me he needed to go.
I was shocked, and fought back (not enough), and then finally had to go have one of the worst meetings of my life. Michael and I sat in a small room together and I had to ask him what was going on? He admitted to some missed deadlines, shared with me he was having trouble sleeping, he was “off right now” and he apologized profusely. We didn’t say anything for a minute or two watching the snow fall outside, and then we got up and hugged and he went back to LA early.
It was a horrible day for me, and one of the regrets I have among many mistakes managing. But this one always stung. Years later I told many people I learned one of the biggest lessons of my life that morning, which was to never again not trust my gut. Michael was someone it was always worth working with, and I knew it that day, and I didn’t overrule someone I should have.
I was deeply worried that would be the end of our relationship, a real friendship in my mind. But of course it wasn’t, and as I kept seeing him he was more gracious than ever, telling me later that all was okay between us, even admitting it helped him a bit (in that way that all lessons one learns in early jobs seem to stick).
We did a few more mini projects together here and there, but we never worked side by side again the way I deeply loved: around a kitchen table in the middle of the night, surrounded by laptops and cords, still marveling at technology together, telling stories as part of a team, and feeling like our tiny huddle on the mountain was the best place to be.
Michael started his deep journey after that — a path he carved brilliantly all by himself, a path of meaning he found in combining his passion for social justice, celebrating diversity, and also the intangible power of Art to help us be our best selves.
Like so many others watching him from afar, that life was more than impressive. It was impactful, and was authentic, and when it was working it so obviously obviously fueled him to do even more. I was always humbled watching it.
***
One night late at the office, his unforgettable smile popped into my office door frame and he was almost giggling. I had asked him if he could put a little photo gallery together of Robert Redford images for a social post. Of course, he had found hundreds in his usual over-achievement of any assignment. Not satisfied he had also messed around with some animated gifs of Bob that now, hours later, were making us both laugh endlessly. “It’s a rabbit hole!” he kept saying.
We looked at every one of them, talking the whole time about what a bad ass he is, how much impact his life has had, how bold and creative he was — two fanboys sharing a moment.
“I want my life to be like that,” he admitted.
And it was. It truly was.
I will not be able to shake Michael right now, and he’s still here in every text, story shared, or remembrance documented.
It’s too little to say how much he will be missed, and too incomplete to say how much love he put back into the world.
This is for you, man …
