I think everyone of a certain age is reeling from the news that Robert Redford died this morning. As my sister-in-law said, it's weird to be "shocked" that an 89-year-old is no longer with us, but I guess it's hard to accept when someone who has been around your entire life -- and your mother's -- is gone.
I have a little story about the Hollywood legend I was going to share, but since it happened to several of us at an old job and my friend/former colleague Jesse beat me to the punch, and rather nicely, I will let him do the heavy lifting. I don't really have anything new to add -- I'm the Pervez Musharraf connection in the tale! -- so here you go:
When I was working at the New York Times, one afternoon word spread in excited whispers and interdepartmental phone calls that ROBERT REDFORD WAS IN THE BUILDING. Having famous people in the New York Times building was not unusual, although they tended more toward political figures than movie stars. One of my coworkers once got on an elevator to find himself sharing it with Pakistani dictator Pervez Musharraf and his security detail. I once nearly bumped into then-gubernatorial-candidate Eliot Spitzer while making a coffee run to the main newsroom. As ostensibly jaded New Yorkers, we were all officially blasé about celebrities. But this was different. ROBERT REDFORD was different. What we heard was that he was in for an interview with Frank Rich, and the two of them were at that moment up in the cafeteria having coffee. The NYT cafeteria (this was in the old building, on 43rd Street) was generally a quiet place in the afternoon, which is probably why Rich figured it would be safe to take his guest there. Funnily enough, though, a whole lot of people from throughout the building suddenly realized they needed a snack. By the time I got up there, there was already a long line at the food counter. And as promised, over against the windows, chatting quietly at a table, were Frank Rich and Robert Redford. Like everyone in line, I allowed myself only quick glances, no gawking. And of course nobody approached the table. We were professionals. How did he look? He would have been close to 70 at this point. His hair was a sandy mixture of gray and reddish-brown (who knows or cares how much was "natural"). He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, leaning back easily in his chair. He looked like Robert Redford. He looked amazing.
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RIP, Bob. There'll never be a
more beautiful man -- or a more perfect picture than the one he so richly deserved winning an Oscar for directing.
Send me your favorite
HERE.
