Slain Hollywood heavyweight Rob Reiner was already wielding real political power even before becoming an outspoken critic of President Donald Trump — running a behind-the-scenes operation that reshaped California policy, took on Big Tobacco and steered billions in taxpayer dollars.
Trump lit the fuse again Monday — unloading on the slain actor-director on Truth Social as a figure who had “driven people CRAZY” with his relentless opposition to the Republican president.
But Reiner’s political firepower didn’t start with Trump. It goes back to 1998, when he bulldozed Proposition 10 through California in a bare-knuckle ballot war — jacking up cigarette taxes by 50 cents a pack and rerouting billions into early-childhood programs for kids ages 0 to 5.
It wasn’t a vanity project. It didn’t make him a dime.
“Castle Rock didn’t profit from this,” said Michael Trujillo, Reiner’s former political aide, who worked for him from 2002 to 2006 and on different projects for years after. “Rob lost time with his family. Lost time making movies — where he actually made money. He did this because he believed it was the right thing to do. This was his passion.”
Reiner’s pitch was blunt: hit cigarette companies where it hurt, reduce smoking, and invest in the years brain scientists say determine everything that comes next.
“He used to say, ‘If you know something to be true, have the means to do something about it, and don’t — you should go to jail,’” Trujillo told The Post.
Voters bought it.
Prop. 10 passed — and cracked open a massive, permanent funding stream. Out of it came First 5 California, formally known as the California Children and Families Commission, along with 58 county commissions charged with spending tobacco tax dollars on early childhood development.
Then-Gov. Gray Davis made it clear who was in charge. “You got this thing passed — you’re going to be the chairman,” Trujillo recalled Davis telling Reiner.
Suddenly, the guy behind “Seinfeld” and “When Harry Met Sally” was running a taxpayer-funded policy empire.
Operating out of Castle Rock Entertainment’s Beverly Hills headquarters — the same offices where sitcoms were made — Reiner oversaw statewide policy, press strategy, messaging, and funding priorities. Trujillo, barely in his early 20s, had his own office just steps from Reiner’s.
“I was 22 or 23 years old, with my own office at Castle Rock,” Trujillo said. “That alone was insane.”
Once a month, Reiner and his staff flew by private plane from Santa Monica to Sacramento for commission meetings. The rest of the time was relentless: press conferences up and down the state, conferences, media handling, and constant defense of the cigarette tax.
“He didn’t dabble,” Trujillo said. “He ran it.”
The access was staggering.
“I saw every political stripe come through those offices,” Trujillo said. “From my desk, I could look down the hallway and see Senator Joe Lieberman, Senator Chris Dodd, former Vice President Al Gore — every imaginable congressmember, state rep, and L.A. politician. It was an incredible front-row seat. An incredible classroom in politics.”
Reiner used that access aggressively — hosting fundraisers, including the first fundraiser for then-Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa’s re-election, and fielding calls from senators and presidential campaigns looking for his ear.
“Over the years, senators and presidential candidates would call me asking how to reach Rob,” Trujillo said. “I always made the connections.”
While other celebrities gravitated to splashier causes, Reiner stayed locked on early childhood development — a niche policy space few voters understood and fewer politicians touched.
One of First 5’s first headline-grabbing moves was the state-issued “Kit for New Parents” — a free package mailed to new moms and dads across California, translated into eight languages, packed with books and materials explaining everything from six-week milestones to why babies cry.
“At press conferences, he’d say, ‘Your parents said you didn’t come with an instruction manual — but now you do,” Trujillo recalled.
The line stuck. So did the program.
Big Tobacco didn’t back off. Companies launched repeated ballot-box counterattacks, trying to repeal or weaken the tax. Each time, Reiner went back on offense — barnstorming the state, warning voters, daring them to undo what they’d passed.
They didn’t. Every repeal effort failed.
Reiner pushed the fight beyond California through his nonprofit, the I Am Your Child Foundation, which translated brain science into practical guidance for parents nationwide. The foundation landed a $1 million grant from the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation to fuel a national public-awareness campaign.
“Research shows that the early years are exceptionally important ones in laying a firm foundation for long-term success,” Reiner said at the time. “Parents are hungry for quality information related to children’s healthy development.”
For those who worked with him, the politics never felt performative.
“I saw the access Rob Reiner had — and how he used his voice, his money, and his power,” Trujillo said.
After Reiner’s death, Trujillo posted a raw tribute on X, calling him “the best mentor” and “an amazing boss,” and describing his wife, Michele, as “his rock.”
“But the lessons he taught me are lifelong,” Trujillo said. “I love the man.”
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