Long Live McQueen

The Oscars are around the corner, continuing the latest season of self-congratulation in Hollywood. The Tonys, the Emmys, the Golden Globes, the Grammys … and for those who consider themselves not just great entertainers but who demand to be acknowledged as the greatest human beings to have ever lived, stay tuned for the Trumpies.

I used to live near a lot of celebrities when Fairfield County, Connecticut was my stomping grounds, even though I never saw them. Maybe my loud hobby of stomping the ground was scaring them away. David Letterman, Keith Richards, Martha Stewart, Ron Howard, Kevin Bacon, Glenn Close… Not so much as a glimpse of them in all the time I spent strolling the local streets or peering through the gaps in their drapes.

And then one day I heard that the nearby Ridgefield Playhouse was presenting a screening of the 1968 classic Steve McQueen movie Bullitt, followed by a Q & A with actor Robert Vaughn, who was a local resident and co-starred in the film. I thought it would be fun to go see Vaughn, famous for roles in The Magnificent Seven and The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and hear him dish on the making of one of my favorite movies. Not only is Bullitt terrific because it featured the ultra-cool McQueen and the red-hot Jacqueline Bisset, but it still lays claim to being the best car chase scene in cinematic history.

“What’s this movie about?” asked my girlfriend (now wife) Lisa, as we settled into our seats at the Playhouse.

“I really don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve watched the movie at home maybe half a dozen times and I still can’t figure out the plot, if there is one. But it doesn’t matter. Steve McQueen… car chase... guns blazing. What more do you want?”

“I want a movie with a plot.”

“You’re so demanding.”

Watching the car chase on a big screen was glorious, McQueen roaring through San Francisco in his green Mustang GT 390 Fastback on the tail of the bad guys in their black Dodge Charger 440 Magnum. Testosterone sprayed off the screen and hit you in the face. By the end of the movie Lisa had grown a mustache and a large Adam’s apple.

As the closing credits wrapped, Robert Vaughn, then in his late 70s, got up from a seat in the audience and ambled to the front, where he sat on a stool and took questions from the crowd. I was debating which of two questions to ask him, the first being: “Mr. Vaughn, why are your drapes always closed?” But instead I inquired: “Of all the great film roles, sir, which one do you wish you had landed that you didn’t get?” I was pretty sure he was going to say the role of the giant squid in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea but he surprised me. “I think I would have been perfect as the Corleone family’s lawyer in The Godfather, the character Robert Duvall played so well,” he replied. The crowd let out a collective “Ahhh”, heads nodding in affirmation that Vaughn too would have done the part justice.

I thanked him for taking my question, and complimented him on the exquisite Persian rug one can see from his bedroom skylight.

Afterward, as Lisa and I drove away, I imagined I was Steve McQueen behind the wheel of his Mustang. “You’re imagining you’re Steve McQueen behind the wheel of his Mustang, aren’t you?” she said. I attempted a nonchalant glance at her that would make me look McQueen cool. “You do realize,” she felt a need to add, “that you’re actually driving a Subaru Forester, which has all the sex appeal of a bowl of bran flakes?”

“Speaking of food and movie stars,” I said, “let me tell you a true story. I am not making this up. A friend of mine knows a woman who was in an ice cream shop around here when Paul Newman walked in. He lived in the area and apparently went there often. The woman was at the counter buying a cone when she realized that this Hollywood icon was standing next to her. She got all flustered, completed her transaction and took a last, furtive glance before heading for the door. Just before she reached it, she heard his voice. ‘Excuse me, Miss.’ The woman didn’t turn around, thinking Newman was talking to the female employee behind the counter. Now she’s opening the door, and hears his voice again, this time a little more forceful. ‘Excuse me, Miss!’ So the woman turns around, and sure enough, Paul Newman— Butch Cassidy, Cool Hand Luke— is looking at her! He’s speaking to her! Completely star-struck, the woman manages a barely audible ‘Yes?’ Newman’s famous blue eyes are peering at her over the top of his sunglasses. He smiles and says, ‘You, um, put your ice cream cone in your purse.’”

“No waaay!” laughed Lisa.

“True story!”

“It can’t be easy being a celebrity and trying to do normal, everyday things,” Lisa said. “Just going to a supermarket or a shoe store causes a sensation. Or church! What if a movie star is a Christian and simply wants to worship in community? How do they attend a service without being a distraction?”

“I don’t know if it’s possible,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure none of our local celebrities go to church anyway.”

“And how would you know?”

“I’ve never seen a church bulletin in any of their trash.”

Lisa looked concerned. “You go through celebrities’ garbage?”

“Stomping the ground isn’t my only hobby.”

For some reason, Lisa was quiet for the rest of the ride. This annoyed me. Would it have killed her to once in awhile say, “Nice driving, Steve”?