Tough guy, everyman. Gene Hackman pursued anonymity and a private artist life in Santa Fe

USA Today

03-03-2025

Tough guy, everyman. Gene Hackman pursued anonymity and a private artist life in Santa Fe Gene Hackman's Santa Fe would yield flashes with the genius artist all over town. Then the reluctant movie star would fade into the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
SANTA FE, N.M. ― It's just a wall, Gene.
Doug Lanham, restaurateur and co-owner of the Jinja Bar & Bistro, pointed to a 15-foot-wide empty wall in the back of his Asian-Tropical-themed restaurant. He wanted Gene Hackman – co-investor in the restaurant, amateur painter, Hollywood icon – to paint a mural there.
'Can't do it,' Hackman told Lanham and another partner, Tom Allin, during the 2003 exchange. 'Too big.'
A round of beers at the bar later, Lanham teased Hackman. How was it that he'd been in more than 80 movies yet couldn't fill a single wall with one of his paintings? Hackman stood and jabbed a finger at the two men.
'I knew I shouldn't have sat down with you guys,' he told them. 'I'll see you in three weeks.'
Three weeks later – to the day – Hackman called them to his studio. Inside, tropical flora – red canna, alocasia, birds of paradise – hung from hooks attached to the ceiling. Just beyond, a triptych stretched 15 feet across a wall. In it, brown-skinned women sit languidly on a beach and gaze across a blue-green sea as an ocean liner steams in the distance, an explosion of scarlet, bright orange, sea greens and yellows. Gauguin meets Matisse in the American Southwest.
'It was spectacular,' Lanham remembered.
Gene Hackman's quiet impact: a legacy beyond the screen
In Santa Fe, Gene Hackman's lesser known legacy of humility, artistry and an undeniable fingerprint on his community.
The mural was framed and mounted on the wall at the Jinja, where it hangs today. It took weeks for Lanham to coax Hackman into the eatery to see it.
Hackman also gifted a dozen smaller paintings to the restaurant. None are signed or dated by him. He was as squeamish about his paintings as he was about watching movies he starred in: He evaded the finished products at all costs.
'Once the work was done,' Lanham said, 'it seemed he was satisfied and ready to move on.'
Police on Sunday were still trying to untangle the details and causes behind the deaths of Hackman, 95, and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, 64. The pair were discovered in separate rooms in their Santa Fe estate with signs of advanced decomposition, probably from being dead for over a week. One of their dogs was also found dead in the home.
In some ways, his mysterious but quiet death was the final chapter for a man for whom acting had seemed a distant reality, and shyness part of his demeanor. So did following orders of any kind. (Brawls and an aversion to authority led to Hackman being demoted from corporal three times as a young soldier. He also had run-ins later in life.)
On Sunday, Hackman, a two-time Oscar winner, was rememberd by his friend and co-star Morgan Freeman at the Academy Awards.
'Like everyone who ever shared a scene with him,' Freeman said, 'I learned he was a generous performer whose gifts elevated everyone's work.'
Freeman said that Hackman said: 'I don't think about legacy, I just hope people remembered me as someone who tried to do good work.'
He ended his tribute with: 'Gene, you'll be remembered for that and so much more. Rest in peace my friend.'
For the past four decades, Santa Fe had become the ideal backdrop for a reluctant movie star to melt away into the community. Hackman would delve into art and literature, writing most mornings by longhand and never past two o'clock in the afternoon, by his own admission, or else the writing would keep him up all night. It's fitting the search for Gene Hackman's Santa Fe yields brushes with the Hollywood star all over town ― then his presence vanishes into the rust-colored adobe homes along the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
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But his fingerprints are everywhere. Like the mural at the Jinja Bar & Bistro. Or framed pictures with locals. Or the time Hackman bought a painting from an aspiring artist. Or tricked a friend into dressing up as a cowboy at a country club. Or slipped $100 bill to one homeless resident – and slapped another one for insulting his wife.
Hackman's time in Santa Fe was as varied and unexpected as his movie roles, which ranged from Lex Luthor in "Superman" to the convincing Rev. Frank Scott in 'The Poseidon Adventure.' Or the eccentric patriarch Royal Tenenbaum in 'The Royal Tenenbaums," who wrote his own epitaph prior to suffering a fatal heart attack: "Died tragically rescuing his family from the wreckage of a destroyed sinking battleship."
But in Santa Fe, Hackman was exactly who he'd always wanted to be: a regular guy.
'He's a global superstar and a part of Santa Fe's local community. He's a horrible villain and a really decent human being,' Santa Fe Mayor Alan Webber said. 'I think that's why … the response to his death is so strong, because he connects across these different boundaries, and not everybody can do that."
From doorman to film actor
Hackman was born in early 1931 in San Bernardino, California, just east of the star-studded town where he would much later make his name. His father, who worked the presses for newspapers, uprooted the family not long after, taking them to Illinois before abandoning his wife and children altogether when Hackman was 13.
After a few years with the Marines, Hackman used the GI Bill to enroll in the journalism program at the University of Illinois, but a few months later abruptly decamped for New York to study radio announcing.
Barely into his 20s, Hackman found odd jobs as a doorman and truck driver while pursuing his fledgling career in the arts, which included taking classes in painting, a passion he would pursue much later in retirement.
Small roles in plays on both coasts eventually led to minor roles in films. Success seemed elusive. In fact, he and a young Dustin Hoffman, who both worked for the Pasadena Playhouse, were once voted "least likely to succeed.'
Hackman reflected on that dishonor during a 1988 conversation with Film Comment.
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'Neither Dustin nor myself looked like the leading men of that era, especially Dusty because he wasn't tall,' he said. 'We were constantly told by acting teachers and casting directors that we were 'character' actors. The world 'character' denotes something less than attractive. This was drummed into us. I accepted the limitation, of always being the third or fourth guy down, and my goals were tiny. But I still wanted to be an actor.'
His persistence paid off. In 1967, he appeared in the revolutionary movie 'Bonnie and Clyde' as the outgoing brother of bank robber Clyde Barrow (Warren Beatty), and earned an Academy Award nomination for best supporting actor in the process.
The rest is movie history, with Hackman eventually amassing an endless stream of fabled movies to his credit, from 'The French Connection' to 'Unforgiven' ― the two movies that won him Best Actor Academy Awards.
Returning to the essence of art
But Hackman never had much taste for the Hollywood life.
He began spending time in Santa Fe years before moving there full-time in the 1980s, as his acting roles deliberately took a back seat around the turn of the millennium. Other passions competed for his time, including stock-car racing, stunt flying, deep-sea diving and painting.
In Santa Fe, which for generations has drawn artists and art enthusiasts, Hackman's art flourished. He took art classes in local workshops and painted prolifically, cranking out human model drawings, nudes and paintings. He gifted many of his paintings or gave them away to charity. Only his charitable contributions were signed and dated, said Lanham, his business partner.
He served as a board member of the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum in the 1990s and gave remarks when the museum opened its doors in 1997, according to The New Mexican.
He also began writing. A love of scuba diving led to a friendship with underwater archaeologist Daniel Lenihan. That bond would lead to a jointly written high-seas adventure novel, 'Wake of the Perdido Star,' the first of five Hackman would pen.
In a 2008 interview, Hackman told Reuters he missed acting but was happy without the stress of the business and returning to the essence of art.
"The compromises that you have to make in films are just part of the beast," he said at the time, "and it had gotten to a point where I just didn't feel like I wanted to do it anymore.'
On writing, he added: 'I like the loneliness of it, actually. It's similar in some ways to acting, but it's more private and I feel like I have more control over what I'm trying to say and do.'
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A movie star embraces anonymity
On Saturday morning, a group of locals clutched lattes and, despite the morning's biting chill, sat in the sun-drenched patio of the Downtown Subscription coffee shop in Santa Fe, which Hackman and Arakawa frequented.
One of the coffee-goers, Paula Hutchison, joined a group playing doubles tennis at El Gancho Fitness, Swim & Racquet Club in the late 1990s. Hackman was among the players. Nobody bothered him, she said.
'It was just a group and he was part of the group,' Hutchison, 83, said. 'That was all there was to it.'
Sitting next to her in the café patio, Elizabeth Pettus said a number of celebrities have called Santa Fe home – from Robert Redford to Shirley MacLaine to author George R. R. Martin – and they're rarely acknowledged, much less accosted.
'They can walk down the street and people don't crowd them,' said Pettis, who was friends with Arakawa. 'There are people who are celebrities who have moved here and then moved away because they didn't have enough nightlife and enough attention. But if you don't want that kind of attention, this is a great place to be.'
Other New Mexican Hackman sightings, all dating back a decade or more, included reports of the actor and his wife enjoying breakfast at Tesuque Village Market or lunching at Harry's Roadhouse.
Hackman relished the anonymity Santa Fe offered, Lanham said. He would play golf with him and Allin at The Club at Las Campanas. Or, if they weren't available, he would play a round with the club's workers.
Once, as they drove away from the club after a round of golf, Hackman ordered Lanham to stop the car. He jumped out, peeled off a $100 bill and handed it to a homeless man walking nearby. Then, jumped back in the car.
In 2012, however, another homeless man approached him and his wife aggressively asking for money and called his wife a derogatory name on the street when they refused. Hackman slapped the man, according to an account in the Associated Press.
'Reach for the stars!'
Hackman also had a prankster side.
Lanham said he'd be shopping at Whole Foods and suddenly feel a stiff poke in the back.
'Reach for the stars!' a voice boomed behind him. 'Give me all your money!'
Lanham, startled, raised his hands and slowly turned to see Hackman hurrying away, smirking.
Once, Hackman invited Lanham to a Fourth of July event at the country club and convinced him that everyone would be dressed in Western-themed costumes. Lanham showed up in an elaborate cowboy outfit. Everyone else was in shorts and T-shirts. Hackman couldn't stop laughing.
'He thought that was funny as hell,' Lanham said.
Hackman enjoyed his relative anonymity in Santa Fe to the point of amusement. In an interview with Time magazine, he related the time he drove up on a film crew on the side of a road and asked the young assistant director if they were hiring extras.
"No," she answered, "I'm very sorry, sir."
Lanham hadn't seen or heard from Hackman in more than five years. Last week, he received a text message from Allin with news of their friends' deaths.
'Brought me to my knees,' Lanham said, his eyes glistening. 'None of it made sense … Still doesn't make sense.'
Shy, sweetheart of a guy
Maurice Burns was a Santa Fe artist who, in 2004, still struggled to make ends meet. So, he readily agreed when a friend offered him a week-long job at a home in the foothills just outside Santa Fe, staining the home's beams and making them look vintage.
He quickly realized the client was Gene Hackman. They got to work.
The next morning, Burns arrived early. He and Hackman began chatting. Burns told him he was an artist and Hackman asked to see his work. Burns ran to the car and retrieved a sleeve of slides of his paintings he kept there.
One of them caught the eye of both Hackman and Arakawa: A large acrylic painting of a Black man in a dark pinstripe suit and tie sitting in front of a barber shop, right leg hooked over left knee. He named it 'Jack's Place.'
A few hours later, Burns called his gallery to alert them that Gene Hackman may be coming over to look at the painting. 'He's already been here,' the gallery owner informed him. 'He bought it.'
Later that week, Burns showed up to work at the Hackman home. The movie icon called him over and pointed to a wall: 'Jack's Place' was hanging among his other paintings and next to an Isamu Noguchi sculpture. Burns thanked him and gave him a hug.
'At first, it was intimidating,' Burns said. 'You see that face and you remember all those heavy roles. But he was nothing like that. He was a shy, sweetheart of a guy.'
Stephen Jules Rubin first met Hackman and Arakawa while working at the Lensic Performing Arts Center in Santa Fe. Arakawa would come early in the day and buy tickets to a jazz show or other performance then ask Rubin if he would escort them into the show after it started, so that Hackman's presence wouldn't draw attention away from the performance.
Rubin did this repeatedly for the couple and got to know them, selling them tickets and quietly escorting them into shows ranging from Branford Marsalis to other known jazz groups. Once, he made them a jazz CD, which Hackman gratefully accepted.
'Gene was really into jazz, and they're both into music,' he said. 'They trusted me and would come to me to get tickets.'
Later, when Rubin became program director at the Santa Fe Film Festival, he approached Hackman to ask him if he would consider getting involved in the event.
Hackman politely declined, explaining that attaching his name to the film festival would only shine a light on his Hollywood credentials – and detract from his ability to be a genuine part of the community.
Fame pursued him.
But his ethos was always to return to basics, to "separate the wheat from the chaff," as Hackman described it, to know what's important and what wasn't. That's what he channeled into his writings, paintings and acting roles.
"You cannot play a lie," he said once. "You must play some kind of truth, and if you make the right choice, the audience will read it right."
Ever the tough guy. Ever the everyman.
Follow Jervis on X: @MrRJervis.