To understand Gene Hackman’s death, we need to see it through his eyes | Opinion
Like many Americans, I was saddened to learn about the death of legendary actor Gene Hackman. In the fullness of his life Hackman brought superb depth to his roles, such as coach Norman Dale in “Hoosiers.”
But I have a different perspective than some Americans on the details of Hackman’s final days spent alone, his wife likely preceding him in death by several days, her body in one room and Hackman’s in another by the time authorities found them. Sad and shocking? Yes, but we shouldn’t forget that Hackman cherished his secluded New Mexico home, his private domain. I believe it is exactly how Hackman wanted to leave this world.
That may seem cold, but I base my assumption on my own experience with my elderly father, who died in December. He too lived on a secluded ranch.
Hackman’s exact date of death is unknown. Authorities in Sante Fe, where the 95-year-old Hackman lived with his wife, Betsy Arakawa, 65, believe the actor passed away around Feb. 18, when his pacemaker posted his last heart activity. His cause of death was heart disease, with Alzheimer’s disease as a contributing factor. Arakawa died several days before him of hantavirus pulmonary syndrome, the medical examiner said.
The pair were found in their home on Feb. 26 after a maintenance worker in their gated community went to their residence and they did not answer the door. A security guard then called 911.
No one can say with certainty whether Hackman was aware of his wife’s dying in a bathroom at their home. His body was discovered in their mud room. His Alzheimer’s disease may have limited his awareness, authorities said.
My bet is that Hackman’s Alzheimer’s prevented him from grasping his wife’s passing. If so, his condition would have been a form of grace for him. Otherwise, he might have become upset and called for help upon seeing his wife on the floor.
Remote living
Watching my father decline in his later years was tough. But what I had to learn was to see his life through his eyes, not mine. I would ask how things were going. “We’re good; everything’s great!” he would reply.
He and my stepmother lived in Central Oregon, on the east side of the Cascade Mountains. They chose a ranch house literally at the edge of civilization, far from anybody. Their ownership included about 20 acres of juniper-covered brush.
In the early years of their retirement, their living situation was glorious. They enjoyed unparalleled views of the Cascades to the west. Rabbits, hawks, squirrels, coyotes and golden eagles were visitors. The quiet was otherworldly.
They deflected my questions about what would happen once they got too old to live in such isolation. My dad made it clear he wanted to simply die at the ranch.
And that is basically what happened. He suffered a massive stroke one night, was taken to the hospital, and four days later passed away.
I had steeled myself for this eventuality, so when it occurred, I was not surprised. My father got his wish. He finished his life at the ranch he loved, his wife and dog by his side.
Honoring my father
I want to say I was a paradigm of understanding and empathy over the years as my father aged and became less able to handle remote living. I was not.
My dad and stepmom persisted in what I considered to be dangerous conditions. For example, their steep dirt driveway would fill with snow in the winter, which they had to plow out. “An elderly man riding a small tractor to plow the driveway?” I thought they were the most stubborn people around.
Angry at this situation, I researched online how to deal with elderly parents refusing to leave a precarious housing arrangement. I learned there was little I could do. Laws grant seniors broad rights to determine their own lives. I could force a court hearing to become their conservator, but my dad would have strongly fought that attempt, and hard feelings would have resulted.
I had to accept that my father and stepmother were making their own choices.
News accounts say Hackman and Arakawa were private people who prioritized seclusion. They had their dogs, their custom home and the beautiful desert landscape of Santa Fe. For them, it was enough.
Like my father, Hackman died right where he wanted.
This story was originally published March 12, 2025 at 9:52 AM.
