Latest news with #JinjaBar&Bistro
Yahoo
04-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
'Just a regular guy': Gene Hackman enjoyed a quiet, simple life in Santa Fe, until tragedy struck last week
Out of the Hollywood spotlight, actor Gene Hackman painted, did Pilates and rode his bike in the Santa Fe, N.M., community where he and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, were woven into the fabric of the local community. Friends said Hackman came to cherish the simpler life away from paparazzi and hype of the show business machine. In Santa Fe, he made friends, took part in community events and dined at the local eateries. "He was a pretty low-key individual even though he was someone who had amazing stories to tell about Hollywood and other celebrities," longtime friend Stuart Ashman said. "He was just a regular guy." But this peaceful anonymity did not follow the Oscar winner into death. Last week, Hackman, 95, and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, 65, were found dead in their home, along with one of their three dogs. Investigators have ruled out carbon monoxide poisoning, but are awaiting toxicology results. They are working to rebuild a timeline of the couple's final days through phone records, emails and other means. The couple was described as private but neighborly by those who got to know them over the years. Ashman was one of those people — befriending the two-time Oscar winner nearly 30 years ago after the two ended up sitting next to each other at a community arts meeting. Ashman was director of the New Mexico Museum of Arts at the time, while Hackman had a seat on the board of the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, where he served from 1997 to 2004. "He told me his name and I said, 'Of course I know who you are,'" Ashman said. "He just smiled that big smile of his and our friendship went from there." For two years, Ashman was Hackman's part-time egg supplier, gifting him the occasional dozen from the chickens he was raising. One day, Hackman returned the favor with a painted landscape of a tree-lined river. When Ashman initially declined to take it, Hackman politely insisted. "Gene tells me, 'You've been giving me eggs for two years. I think a painting is a fair trade,'" Ashman recalled. The two would also chat it up between Pilates classes, where they shared the same personal instructor. "She would say, 'Gene, are you here to work or do you want to visit with Stuart?'" Ashman said laughing. Ashman said Hackman years ago discussed renting a home in the Florida Keys in the winter and possibly meeting up after their vacations, but then the pandemic happened, and the men drifted apart. Read more: My golden memory of photographing Gene Hackman in 2001, and the memento he left behind Longtime friend Doug Lanham didn't think of Hackman as a movie star, but as one half of Gene and Betsy, the couple that was always helping in the community. Their friendship also started out of happenstance. The couple went into his restaurant, Jinja Bar & Bistro, in the early 2000s, and ended up chatting with Lanham and the other owners, Lanham said. The topic of Arakawa's cooking skills came up. Lanham invited Arakawa to come by the next day, when the kitchen would be tasting some new recipes. Arakawa apparently had some ideas of her own. "The next day, here comes Betsy just looking so wonderful and confident," Lanham said. "And here comes Gene behind Betsy, lugging a cooler with all the food that Betsy was going to prepare for everyone to sample." Eventually, the couple put a financial stake in the restaurant. Over the years, Hackman contributed his artworks that now hang inside, including one large piece that occupies much of a 5-by-13-foot wall. Initially, Hackman was intimidated at the scale of that piece, Lanham said. "You did all these movies that are great and we got this little wall that we want to just put a piece of art on. I never heard you say you can't do anything," Lanham said he teased Hackman over a few beers. But three weeks later, Hackman called the restaurant owners up to his artist studio. There they found a bunch of tropical leaves hanging from wires on the ceiling that he used as models and on the back wall a large triptych painting of a woman looking out on a sunset in a South Pacific setting. While Arakawa marveled at the piece once it was shown, Hackman was much more subdued, Lanham said. The reaction from customers was overall positive, but there were also critics. "You see them crossing their arms and looking at the mural and going, 'It's kind of a [Paul] Gauguin, look at the color. And then I'd go, 'Oh, this is a go-Gene. Look at this color,'" Lanham said. The couple slowed down in the last few years, according to news reports. Arakawa and Hackman's friends Daniel and Barbara Lenihan, along with their son Aaron, told People magazine that Hackman was "essentially kind of home-bound" and had stopped riding his bike around his neighborhood. He had been showing his age in the last few months while his wife was "in perfect health," the family told the magazine. She tried to keep him active and engaged, including doing puzzles and yoga over Zoom. "They seemed like real life partners, really, really close to each other, and they were both incredibly kind," Aaron Lenihan told People. "They were reserved, but they were real, [and] a lot of fun." Sign up for Essential California for news, features and recommendations from the L.A. Times and beyond in your inbox six days a week. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
04-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
‘Just a regular guy': Gene Hackman enjoyed a quiet, simple life in Santa Fe, until tragedy struck last week
Out of the Hollywood spotlight, actor Gene Hackman painted, did Pilates and rode his bike in the Santa Fe, N.M., community where he and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, were woven into the fabric of the local community. Friends said Hackman came to cherish the simpler life away from paparazzi and hype of the show business machine. In Santa Fe, he made friends, took part in community events and dined at the local eateries. 'He was a pretty low-key individual even though he was someone who had amazing stories to tell about Hollywood and other celebrities,' longtime friend Stuart Ashman said. 'He was just a regular guy.' But this peaceful anonymity did not follow the Oscar winner into death. Last week, Hackman, 95, and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, 65, were found dead in their home, along with one of their three dogs. Investigators have ruled out carbon monoxide poisoning, but are awaiting toxicology results. They are working to rebuild a timeline of the couple's final days through phone records, emails and other means. The couple was described as private but neighborly by those who got to know them over the years. Ashman was one of those people — befriending the two-time Oscar winner nearly 30 years ago after the two ended up sitting next to each other at a community arts meeting. Ashman was director of the New Mexico Museum of Arts at the time, while Hackman had a seat on the board of the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, where he . served from 1997 to 2004. 'He told me his name and I said, 'Of course I know who you are,'' Ashman said. 'He just smiled that big smile of his and our friendship went from there.' For two years, Ashman was Hackman's part-time egg supplier, gifting him the occasional dozen from the chickens he was raising. One day, Hackman returned the favor with a painted landscape of a tree-lined river. When Ashman initially declined to take it, Hackman politely insisted. 'Gene tells me, 'You've been giving me eggs for two years. I think a painting is a fair trade,'' Ashman recalled. The two would also chat it up between Pilates classes, where they shared the same personal instructor. 'She would say, 'Gene, are you here to work or do you want to visit with Stuart?'' Ashman said laughing. Ashman said Hackman years ago discussed renting a home in the Florida Keys in the winter and possibly meeting up after their vacations, but then the pandemic happened, and the men drifted apart. Longtime friend Doug Lanham didn't think of Hackman as a movie star, but as one half of Gene and Betsy, the couple that was always helping in the community. Their friendship also started out of happenstance. The couple went into his restaurant, Jinja Bar & Bistro, in the early 2000s, and ended up chatting with Lanham and the other owners, Lanham said. The topic of Arakawa's cooking skills came up. Lanham invited Arakawa to come by the next day, when the kitchen would be tasting some new recipes. Arakawa apparently had some ideas of her own. 'The next day, here comes Betsy just looking so wonderful and confident,' Lanham said. 'And here comes Gene behind Betsy, lugging a cooler with all the food that Betsy was going to prepare for everyone to sample.' Eventually, the couple put a financial stake in the restaurant. Over the years, Hackman contributed his artworks that now hang inside, including one large piece that occupies much of a 5-by-13-foot wall. Initially, Hackman was intimidated at the scale of that piece, Lanham said. 'You did all these movies that are great and we got this little wall that we want to just put a piece of art on. I never heard you say you can't do anything,' Lanham said he teased Hackman over a few beers. But three weeks later, Hackman called the restaurant owners up to his artist studio. There they found a bunch of tropical leaves hanging from wires on the ceiling that he used as models and on the back wall a large triptych painting of a woman looking out on a sunset in a South Pacific setting. While Arakawa marveled at the piece once it was shown, Hackman was much more subdued, Lanham said. The reaction from customers was overall positive, but there were also critics. 'You see them crossing their arms and looking at the mural and going, 'It's kind of a [Paul] Gauguin, look at the color. And then I'd go, 'Oh, this is a go-Gene. Look at this color,'' Lanham said. The couple slowed down in the last few years, according to news reports. Arakawa and Hackman's friends Daniel and Barbara Lenihan, along with their son Aaron, told People magazine that Hackman was 'essentially kind of home-bound' and had stopped riding his bike around his neighborhood. He had been showing his age in the last few months while his wife was 'in perfect health,' the family told the magazine. She tried to keep him active and engaged, including doing puzzles and yoga over Zoom. 'They seemed like real life partners, really, really close to each other, and they were both incredibly kind,' Aaron Lenihan told People. 'They were reserved, but they were real, [and] a lot of fun.'
USA Today
03-03-2025
- Entertainment
- USA Today
Tough guy, everyman. Gene Hackman pursued anonymity and a private artist life in Santa Fe
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. More: Oscars 2025 live updates: Will 'Conclave' or 'Anora' win best picture? More: Gene Hackman death: Sheriff says timeline may be a 'challenge' as investigation continues 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. More: How to watch 12 iconic Gene Hackman movies '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.' More: Gene Hackman dies at 95 alongside his wife: See the Oscar-winning actor's career 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.
Yahoo
02-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Tough guy, every man. Gene Hackman pursued anonymity and a private artist life in Santa Fe
SANTA FE, N.M. ― It's just a wall, Gene. Doug Lanham, restauranteur 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. 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. Their German shepherd, Bear, 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.) 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 would yield 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. More: Oscars 2025 live updates: Will 'Conclave' or 'Anora' win best picture? More: Gene Hackman death: Sheriff says timeline may be a 'challenge' as investigation continues 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." 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. More: How to watch 12 iconic Gene Hackman movies '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. 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.' More: Gene Hackman dies at 95 alongside his wife: See the Oscar-winning actor's career 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 Pettis 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. 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.' 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. This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Oscar winner Gene Hackman spent later years as artist and writer
Yahoo
02-03-2025
- Yahoo
Gene Hackman's business partner remembers actor as a prankster
SANTA FE, New Mexico — Gene Hackman was many things, most notably an award-winning actor, but what many don't know is that Hackman loved a good prank. His friend and former business partner, Doug Lanham, 76, said he played golf with Hackman, and while on the course, they'd make bets — something he said Hackman never thought was a good idea. Lanham told NBC News that after a couple of years, he asked Hackman to pony up the $22 he owed. Sure enough, Hackman repaid his friend, in $22 worth of pennies, wheeled into the restaurant they owned together in a big tool chest, Lanham recalled, along with a note that read: 'I paid this debt under protest as I deem it to be taking advantage of old people.' Hackman signed the letter 'Captain Hollywood,' a nickname his friends called him. Lanham and Hackman met years ago, when Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, came into the restaurant Lanham owns, Jinja Bar & Bistro in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with a mutual friend. Lanham said he invited the couple back the next day to cook at his restaurant, and the couple obliged. 'We cooked and we had so much fun and at some point Gene and Betsy ... they said 'we want to invest,' and coming off losing a quarter of a million dollars [in the first year] we said 'that's a great idea,'' Lanham recalled. They were business partners for almost 10 years, Lanham said. Hackman and Arakawa were found dead in separate rooms of their Santa Fe, New Mexico, home on Wednesday. Officials have called their deaths 'suspicious.' One of the couple's dogs — a female German Shepherd named Bear, according to Lanham — was found dead in a kennel, while two others were found alive on the property. The cause and manner of death have not been determined, the Santa Fe County Sheriff's Office said Friday. An initial autopsy showed no sign of external trauma to either Hackman or Arakawa, and the couple tested negative for carbon monoxide poisoning, Sheriff Adan Mendoza said Friday. Results from toxicology tests and the full autopsy are pending. Hackman likely died on Feb. 17 — the last date his pacemaker recorded an 'event,' Mendoza said. He earlier said the couple had been dead 'quite a while' by the time they were found. Hackman and Arakawa were very private people, something Mendoza said Friday has complicated efforts to put together a timeline of their final days, and which Lanham reiterated. Lanham discussed how the couple helped a lot of local businesses financially, 'but always under the radar,' he said, because they didn't want or need the credit. The same goes for the 14 original artworks Hackman painted that line the walls of Jinja — none of them are signed; another attempt by the Hollywood icon to steer focus away from himself. 'It's heartbreaking, it's perplexing,' Lanham said of their deaths and the mystery surrounding them. 'They were so dignified and to read about it, to hear about it, there's no way to connect the dots when you know them as people.' Lanham expected that his friend would die one day — Hackman was 95 at the time of his death — 'But not like this,' he said. 'It's totally out of the realm of anything that you would associate with the two of them and that's what just brings you to your knees,' he said. Lanham said 'it was just a privilege' to be friends with Hackman, whom he called 'the best.' 'When there was trust and that door opened, it was amazing,' Lanham said. He said Hackman had a 'heart of gold' and said he was 'very lucky' for their years of friendship. Stuart Ashman, a friend of Hackman's through pilates classes and work at the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, said one of the most impressive things about Hackman is how when he spoke to you, he really wanted to know you. Lanham said the same. 'He was the common man,' Ashman said of Hackman. 'He was very easy going, really enjoyed life, I think. And really was interested in everything, in everything and everybody.' Ashman said Hackman 'really added to the texture of Santa Fe in a big way.' In a statement, Jesse Kesler, the couple's personal contractor, thanked them 'for the 16 plus years of opportunity, friendship and trust.' He specifically thanked Hackman for lending a hand on projects and for treating his son and employees as equals. He said when Hackman was on the job, he was just another one of the guys. 'I could not believe at the time I was actually working side by side with a legend,' Kesler said. Dana Griffin reported from Santa Fe and Rebecca Cohen from New York City. This article was originally published on
