Back to His Regularly Scheduled Program

“My mother was a tough cookie,” says Savannah native and Hollywood film producer Stratton Leopold, owner of the city’s famous Leopold’s Ice Cream shop on East Broughton Street. 

Over an authentic Greek dinner at Savannah’s Olympia Cafe, Leopold recalls his mother’s (Marika) grandchildren dedicating a book they’d written to her with the ancient saying from his parents’ native Sparta, Greece: “Come back with your shield, or on it.” Spartan mothers commanded their sons going to war that they must return victorious, carrying their shield, or be carried back dead upon it—dying an honorable death instead of retreating and losing their shield, seen as cowardice and abandonment of comrades in the Spartan army. 

Leopold learned a strong work ethic from his father, Peter (Panagiotis)—cofounder of Leopold’s Ice Cream in 1919 with his brother George (Giorgios). “I was always amazed by how hard he worked,” he says. From his dad, Leopold says he learned about putting his shoulder to the grindstone. “He worked his tail off.” As with the father, so the son.

You would be correct, then, if you expect a hard-working man of Spartan descent—whose name in Greek (Efstratios) translates to “army,” and whose father hailed from a military family (one nephew was a general in the Greek army)—would bring his own one-man force to beat whatever challenge might try to stop him from moving, always, forward—even at 82.

That Spartan drive and a powerful determination to prevail against a lethal foe has most assuredly fueled Leopold’s approach to living with cancer—just as it has fueled his long career in the film industry and general passion for life. As he puts it, “When people hear ‘cancer,’ their first thought is ‘I’m going to die.’ Yeah, you might. It’s possible. But I’m not like that.”

It started with an unexplainable lump in his chest he thought might somehow be connected to his lifelong workout and fitness habit. When a physician friend in Savannah did a CT scan, it indicated “possible lymphoma.”

Leopold knew right away he wanted to follow up and pursue treatment at one of the very best cancer centers in the country. He could go anywhere. For him, it came down to either M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston or Winship Cancer Institute of Emory University in Atlanta. He was already being treated at Emory for “an eye thing,” glaucoma. He chose Winship because he knew people there and had a supportive network of friends and colleagues in Atlanta from his years there as a regional location manager and casting director. He didn’t have that in Texas. Besides, Atlanta is much closer to his home in Savannah.

When Leopold’s first scan “lit up like a Christmas tree” and he was diagnosed with cancer, he says his doctor at Winship told him he needed to begin treatment immediately or “you’ll be dead in three months.” His response: “Fix it. That’s your job.” He added, “I’ll do my part.”

Leopold’s doctor, medical oncologist Mary Jo Lechowicz is the Margaret H. Rollins Chair in Cancer for Winship and professor and vice chair for education in the Department of Hematology and Medical Oncology at Emory University School of Medicine. “I was impressed by him because not everybody could do what he did,” she says. “He does sort of bring life along in his own direction.”

In July 2024, Leopold was diagnosed with what Lechowicz describes as a double-hit, high-grade large B-cell lymphoma—an aggressive form of the cancer not as responsive to standard therapies. Instead, she says he got “an aggressive regimen, even more so for a man his age.” 

Leopold recalls, “I would check into the hospital for five days, and I had chemo constantly 24/7. Then they’d send me back to the hotel for two, three weeks.” He repeated this six times. This went on for five months or so but its impact stretched into what he calls “the lost year.” Leopold’s wife Mary was there the entire time, offering support and encouragement from her own experience as a cancer survivor.

Even in the hospital, Leopold continued to exercise—and work. He and co-producer Lori Berlanga hashed out a pitch for a TV series and a script as they clocked mile-long walks in the corridors, rolling his chemotherapy IV pole with them. “I kept asking for weights and they had some little eight-pound things,” he says. “I said that’s not going to do it. So I started bringing weights into the hospital. Finally they said don’t do more than 15 pounds on dumbbells.”

Lechowicz says Leopold’s “performance status” is outstanding—not surprising given his commitment to fitness. She explains that an individual’s ability to care for themselves and perform their activities of daily living (such as showering and toileting) is considered a prognostic determinant for treatment choices and overall outcomes for people with cancer. “He is an incredibly healthy guy. Lots of other people, by the time they’re his age, have multiple other comorbidities, other diseases. He doesn’t have any. That in itself is rare.”

More than a year after finishing treatment, Lechowicz says Leopold is doing “extraordinarily well.” He continues to have regular bloodwork and scans to monitor his already-impressive progress. The journey from receiving a diagnosis to heading out on a weeklong road trip as this was being written in September 2025 is the kind of story movies are made of. And Leopold knows a lot about making movies.

Lechowicz sees the irony for Leopold as a behind-the-scenes producer, bringing others’ stories to the big screen—“now being the one who has his own story to tell.” Referencing his acting credits, in addition to producing, she says, “This has given him a chance to come back in front of the camera, so to speak.” This time he had to choose how to tell his own story.

Leopold’s starting point is to be “a champion for his own health,” Lechowicz says. She explains that it was because he knows himself as well as he does—his need for exercise, for example, or his desire to understand the scientific reasons for doing something—that he was able to shape his experience of cancer treatment to suit his needs. She describes him as “respectfully inquisitive,” asking questions—should I do this? Should I not do this? “It doesn’t mean he said yes to everything I said, either. But he took it under advisement and then, at the end of the day, it is his life.”

This ongoing inquisitiveness and clarification are a healthy part of the cancer experience, Lechowicz says. “The magnitude of the life change from a life-altering diagnosis is not understood unless you have gone through it. In each journey, there’s a deeper level of understanding as the journey goes by. We have to recognize that part of the healing process is to empower our patients with information about their treatment and health. It’s an ongoing process rather than a one-time deal. As people continue on their journey, and there’s more experience, there’s naturally new questions, or a new lens, to ask questions.”

Another important part of a healing journey, even if there is no cure per se, is trusting the treatment process and not trying to control it. Lechowicz says, “There are so many people that are used to being in such control that they try to control the situation at the risk of their own emotional and spiritual health.” But Leopold “didn’t lose himself in the process. He knew himself well enough and what brought him joy and health and the like, and that he was going to rely on his own good habits without going to an extreme. Some people go to an extreme in an effort to control what’s uncontrollable.”

Instead of trying to control uncontrollable outcomes, Lechowicz advises focusing on things that stimulate motivation and offer a sense of accomplishment. “Whether it’s exercise, working, spirituality—whatever fuels people, whatever their passions are—it’s incredibly helpful to their therapeutic journey to continue these during treatment.”

For his part, Leopold says, “Truth be known, I was concerned. I knew this could not go down well. But I also knew that I’m putting total faith in Mary Jo because I was told she’s the best. I said, ‘Okay, go for it. Fix it, whatever you’ve got to do. I mean, I was saying prayers every night. It’s not like I was cavalier about it—not at all. But I wouldn’t let it define me.”