By Dana Miller

It was the early '90s, and we were in the second decade of AIDS with absolutely no hope in sight. This was an all-out war, no doubt about it. Whether you dodged the bullet and escaped the virus or you swallowed 20 pills a day hoping to see another summer, you likely became a soldier in this war. Here in L.A. you walked in the AIDS Walk, attended a summer party, or a gala. Maybe you sent a donation after receiving a letter from Barbra Streisand, delivered meals, became a buddy to someone stuck at home, or went to the premiere of the film Philadelphia. For the first time in history, the gay and lesbian community and all the factions that make up the tribe came together to attempt to comprehend something that was completely incomprehensible. In that seriously sad moment of recent history, AIDS was the leading cause of death in America. People were dropping like flies. Trips to Midway Hospital, Cedars Sinai, and church memorials were the norm, not the exception. Eighty people a day were dying. In 1989 I lost my lover to the plague. Matthew did not go peacefully -- he suffered the most miserable death a human being could.

It was then I discovered the warriors, and it was amazing. Gay and straight, they were the ones who for almost a decade came together in living rooms and storefronts to provide what our government didn't. My list of warriors is long, yet this is the tale of four particular individuals who for years I closely watched working behind the scenes to make a difference in the quality of life of men, women, and children they would never know. I'll let others celebrate the lovely progress made in this war; on this anniversary of historic dread, I think it's proper to offer a slice of a not so distant past from an almost intolerable moment in time.

As I glanced around the conference table, it hit me that I was watching history being made. I'd been at this table many times before, and frankly, had taken it for granted. For whatever reason today was different. It was early 1994 and once again we had accomplished a scheduling miracle: We managed to get these four particular warriors together in one room. I was the volunteer chair of the board of AIDS Project Los Angeles and executive producer of the annual Commitment to Life show. CTL was the largest single benefit for people living with AIDS in Los Angeles history. Elizabeth Taylor created it in late '87 after Rock Hudson passed away, raising an astonishing $1.3 million that first year. When these four warriors took over the event, it simply exploded. Every year it took in between three and five million dollars. In '93 it was $3.9 million. For 1994 we were hoping and praying for $5 million for the night, and that was quite simply due to these unusually powerful men's influence and resources. This year the table was at AIDS Project Los Angeles' new headquarters at 1313 North Vine Street. It was the old ABC Television Network Studios where the Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, Barney Miller, Queen for A Day, The New Johnny Carson Show (pre Tonight Show), and the Gong Show were once taped. Entertainment titans Barry Diller, Sandy Gallin, David Geffen, and Jeffrey Katzenberg had all shown up to talk cash and how to get it. The meeting's format was the same each year: Go over a list of donors, determine who liked which donor at the moment, who in the room was doing a deal with whom, and how much we all thought we could get out of said donor. List compiled, for the next 90 days these powerful men would all make calls and beg, plead, cajole and, yes, bully friends and foes into giving money. It worked. It was a moment in time during which, frankly, you almost couldn't say no to these warriors. Quietly and without much fanfare these guys went about raising critically needed money -- quite simply, these gentlemen saved the agency. The cash supported and grew many essential countywide direct client services like the food bank, housing, mental health, dental clinic, education, counseling, and public policy.

Seven new clients were walking through the doors every single day -- overwhelming doesn't come close to explaining the time. Their fund raising led APLA to build an infrastructure that propelled the agency trajectory into national leadership. People were dying, and for that reason alone these guys stepped up and saved lives. It was remarkable to watch -- astonishing actually. None of them ever phoned it in -- they were passionate, involved, and in charge. They were warriors -- $5 million was easy that evening.

Jeffrey Katzenberg can point to one man that led to his commitment to the cause: Howard Ashman. He was a composer, librettist, lyricist, playwright, and director. Jeffrey brought Howard, along with Alan Menken, to Disney to create The Little Mermaid. At a party at Jeffrey's Malibu house on Carbon Beach one Sunday, he told me he asked Howard and Alan to come in and save the studio's Beauty and the Beast feature which was on a sad path heading nowhere. Alan said yes and Howard said no. Howard had just been diagnosed with AIDS, and he knew the clock was ticking. Howard's total focus was on his plan to create an animated musical version of Aladdin, but Jeffrey has never taken no for an answer. Jeffrey and Marilyn Katzenberg loved Howard. While still running Disney, Jeffrey spent virtually every night in the winter of 1991 at the hospital or at home with Howard -- he watched a horrendous death up close, and he was a changed man. Howard finished both Beauty and Aladdin before his passing. Jeffrey joined the board of APLA immediately. In fact, I will confess for the first time in this missive why Jeffrey is the longest-serving board member in APLA's history. The agency has a six-year term limit, and in the late '90s Jeffrey rotated off the board, but never really knew it -- he continued his incredible involvement. A year goes by, and I called to ask if he would be up for re-election. He of course said yes, and became the only two-term boardmember in APLA's history. Jeffrey hated picking up the trades. Every day there was someone he knew who had died of AIDS. Jeffrey went after talent, honorees, and big bucks for APLA every single year after Howard's death. Even today, he and Marilyn remain totally involved today with APLA's AIDS Walk as its “Grand Sponsor.” His assistant Cynthia Park is the Walk's all-time biggest individual fund-raiser. One year I surprised Cynthia by asking Jeffrey and Marilyn to appear at the Walk to present her with an award. They're all compassionate, caring people. APLA was blessed to discover Jeffrey Katzenberg. Howard, as it turned out, really was an angel.

I ran into Sandy Gallin the other night at O-Bar. He was cruising and cavorting with super agent Ed Limato of ICM, and this article is a product of that encounter. Talking with Sandy got me thinking about those incredible days of action, attention, and philanthropy. Sandy has always been in the smart set -- he wears his touch of gentility in a cute and charming manner. Never makes you feel like a plebeian, and is a truly wonderful character. I love him, yet he is truly a perfect piece of work. Over the years Sandy has managed Dolly Parton, Michael Jackson, Neil Diamond, and Cher. For the past decade or so he has made a fortune in real estate from the Hollywood Hills to Malibu and the Hamptons. Sandy was always up for raising money. One day while I was at his office on Maple Drive in Beverly Hills, Sandy was multi-tasking in a very rarified manner. As he was having his nails done and hair trimmed he was eating ice cream and making calls for money -- just classic Sandy, like Geffen, never hesitated to make calls directly to talent to perform. Sandy asked Neil Diamond to perform one year and Neil brought his whole band and performed a 40-minute set for a sold-out crowd -- it had to cost Neil thousands. A little-known fact was that Neil and his former wife Marcia are among the most generous donors to APLA from the entire entertainment industry. I once sat in Geffen's office on Sunset when he picked up the phone and in 15 minutes convinced Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, and Tom Cruise all to appear. Sandy begged Barbra Streisand to come out of retirement to accept a Commitment to Life award and perform. She did, singing a duet with Johnny Mathis and closing with “Somewhere” from West Side Story. She was honored along with Geffen. He hated the idea of being honored, and fought me like hell for weeks, but ultimately knew it would break financial records in a dark desperate time.

David kept Rolodex cards bound together by a rubber band of friends’ names that had passed away. On Nov. 18, 1992, as he accepted his award, he told the crowd that there were now over 300 names being held by that rubber band. When David proclaimed from that stage that evening that he was a gay man, the crowd at the Universal Amphitheater simply went crazy -- I know he was stunned by the reaction.

One year we were honoring Jeffrey Katzenberg prior to DreamWorks' creation. Jeffrey was at the time still the number two guy at Disney. David called Michael Eisner to see how much money he would be donating to pay tribute to Jeffrey. When Eisner said $10,000, I thought David would blow a blood vessel. He basically bullied him over the next few weeks and eventually guilted Eisner into a $25,000 donation, though he was honestly pissed at that amount being donated from the highest paid guy in Hollywood. David's personal philanthropy to AIDS organizations is legendary. In APLA's early days David and Barry Diller quietly made sure the payroll was paid a few times when cash was short. David financed APLA's 127,000-square-foot headquarters on Vine. David is a tough, smart, kind, sweet, and caring man. A couple of years ago, he gave UCLA a $200 million dollar unrestricted gift to fund a variety of efforts including the UCLA AIDS Institute. Twenty-five years into this, and he is still writing checks. What a god damned blessing he is.

Like a lot of people, Barry Diller constantly bullied me. I would dread the trips to Coldwater Canyon or Pacific Coast Highway to meet with Barry. Everyone else trusted me when it came to the actual Commitment to Life show, but not Barry. Barry wanted to approve virtually every detail and he did because he knew how much cash it would raise in one night for essentially needed services. One year I booked a kid named David Drake who wrote and was performing a red hot one-man show in New York City called The Night Larry Kramer Kissed Me. I loved it and asked David to perform a song. Sitting in Barry's yard overlooking the Pacific he asked me, “Why?” I said, “The show is great.” “But why?” he responded. “People will like it Barry” "But Dana, why?” The kid never forgave me when I called to cancel his appearance. That very same hour of bashing, Barry was minding the phones, attempting to close his purchase of Paramount Pictures. He had Time-Warner head Gerry Levin cooling his heels in the foyer, but he wanted me to go over every element of the show with him -- time and time again over the years we did just that. As time went by my palatable and intense fear of Diller morphed to complete and total respect -- he was giving 100 percent, making incredible donations and asking his friends to do the same. He loved pushing buttons because he wanted it perfect, and still does today. Diller has no fear -- he would call anybody. He went after Princess Diana, (who sent regrets) and first lady Hilary Clinton (he got her). Barry always personally raised the most money and took pride in announcing the total to the crowd every year.

On this 25th year of AIDS I simply wanted to take a moment to remember four gentlemen who truly made a difference. These guys led the effort to make APLA the hip charity at a time when frightened, truly sick people were breaking down its doors. These four gents quietly and sometimes not so quietly improved the quality of life for thousands of men, women, and children living with HIV and AIDS. Yet beyond that they used all that they are individually and collectively to truly save lives. This was my story of this little group who gallantly rose to the occasion. But there are thousands of people who on one scale or another have blessed and glorified this fight. God bless all of these Warriors -- in heaven and on earth.