In the serene embrace of Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Gene Hackman chose to retire amidst the enchanting western vistas dotted with juniper and pinyon pines, the local populace had grown accustomed to glimpsing the veteran movie star on the golf course, behind the wheel of his truck, or wandering with his cherished dogs. Often, his devoted wife, Betsy Arakawa, accompanied him, meticulously orchestrating the facets of his life. She meticulously arranged his golf outings with friends, meticulously monitored his diet due to his decades-long battle with heart troubles, diluted his wine with soda water, and painstakingly typed and edited his handwritten novels. Moreover, as Hackman's Alzheimer's progressed, she undoubtedly assumed the role of his sole caregiver, committed to nurturing him till the end in their nestled home.
Yet, it came as a stark shock on Friday when New Mexico authorities unveiled darker layers to the mystery surrounding the couple's demise last month in their luxurious, tree-shielded four-bedroom abode, tucked away at the end of a tranquil cul-de-sac on the city's eastern fringes.
Authorities attributed their deaths to natural causes: Hackman succumbed to heart disease, while Arakawa passed away from a rare viral infection. Ironically, it was Arakawa, the nurturer, the beloved, the shield, who breathed her last, possibly on February 11th, leaving Hackman, a frail 95-year-old grappling with advanced Alzheimer's, solitary in their home for several days. He is presumed to have followed suit a week later, on February 18th.
Their decomposing bodies remained undiscovered for another eight days, until a maintenance worker, concerned by their absence at the door, summoned a security guard. Emergency responders found Arakawa, aged 65, sprawled on a bathroom floor beside a medicine bottle and scattered pills. Zinna, one of their trio of dogs, lay lifeless in a crate within a closet. Hackman's body was located in a mud room, accompanied by his slippers and cane.
The New Mexico chief medical examiner revealed on Friday that Alzheimer's disease played a part in Hackman's demise, while Arakawa succumbed to hantavirus, a disease contracted through contact with rodent excrement, particularly the deer mouse prevalent in New Mexico.
The precise sequence of events within those fateful days may forever remain a mystery. Friends and neighbors recounted that the couple increasingly retreated into the privacy of their hilltop home following the Covid-19 pandemic.
Yet, the timeline unveiled on Friday paints a harrowing picture: Hackman, a former Marine and an actor renowned for his precision and control, might have spent days beside his deceased wife, too disoriented or weak to seek assistance—effectively entrapped in the exquisite, secluded sanctuary that once rewarded him for a lifetime spent in the public eye.
Hackman found solace in Santa Fe in the late 1980s, shortly after his divorce from his first wife. An Oscar for his leading role in the 1971 thriller "The French Connection" was already in his kitty, with another Academy Award, this time as a supporting actor in the 1992 western "Unforgiven," soon to follow. His father, who deserted the family when Hackman was 13, was a pressman at the local newspaper, while his mother worked as a waitress. Yet, Hackman harbored a bohemian spirit, drawn to Santa Fe's breathtaking landscapes and the artists they inspired. He ultimately became one with them, dedicating much of his latter years to painting, sculpting, and penning fiction in Santa Fe, a world away from the glitzy mansions of Beverly Hills where his peers often resided.
Ms. Arakawa, a classical pianist hailed from the serene islands of Hawaii, crossed paths with Mr. Hackman in the bustling metropolis of Los Angeles, specifically at a fitness center where she moonlighted. On one fateful occasion, as recounted by their mutual friend, Rodney Hatfield, Mr. Hackman had inadvertently left his entry card behind, only to be met with Ms. Arakawa's unwavering adherence to rules—she politely declined his entry. Undeterred by the initial hiccup, their bond blossomed, culminating in a wedding ceremony in 1991. Despite the notable age disparity, their relationship struck friends as harmonious and effortless. "The age gap never factored into our perception; they seemed perfectly aligned in every other aspect," shared Susan Contreras, a cherished acquaintance. "Ms. Arakawa possessed a unique charisma all her own."
Their life in the enchanting city of Santa Fe was a blend of the extraordinary and the reassuringly mundane. Their former hilltop abode, gracefully showcased in Architectural Digest, stood as a testament to their refined tastes, an elegant Southwestern haven tailored to their specifications and nestled beyond the town's borders. Mr. Hackman lent his distinguished presence to the board of the esteemed Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, a cultural beacon in the city. Furthermore, they ventured into the culinary world by investing in Jinja, a restaurant that not only exhibited Mr. Hackman's artistic endeavors through his paintings but also honored him with a house mai tai cocktail named in his tribute.
Yet, to some, Mr. Hackman retained the essence of the Everyman he so masterfully portrayed on screen. Helen Dufreche, a former neighbor, fondly recounted her first encounter with him a decade prior. Donning a baseball cap and driving a truck, he rolled up beside her solely to compliment her darling dachshunds, a gesture that encapsulated his down-to-earth charm.
"Oh, what adorable puppies!" he exclaimed with genuine delight. Tom Allin, a lifelong companion of Mr. Hackman's, revealed that Ms. Arakawa had always played the role of a vigilant gatekeeper for her renowned spouse. During their two-decade-long friendship, Mr. Allin couldn't recall a single instance of speaking to Mr. Hackman over the phone or exchanging emails with him. Instead, all their golf outings and visits were meticulously arranged through Ms. Arakawa. Mr. Hackman, who was indifferent to technology, didn't even possess a cellphone that Mr. Allin was aware of.
"She was incredibly protective of him," Mr. Allin shared, adding that Mr. Hackman seemed perfectly content letting his wife handle the reins. He reminisced about Mr. Hackman's heartfelt statement that he would have passed away "much sooner" without his wife's tender care and vigilant monitoring of his healthy diet.
Flashing back to January 2020, just before the pandemic took hold, Mr. Allin recounted celebrating his friend's 90th birthday in Islamorada, Florida. He vividly remembered Ms. Arakawa diligently mixing soda water into his wine, ensuring he enjoyed it in moderation. "She was truly his guardian angel," he emphasized with warmth.
He further elaborated, conveying a poignant sense that Mr. Hackman's vitality was waning. A cherished tradition between the duo saw Mr. Hackman donning his chef's hat annually to prepare a birthday feast for Ms. Arakawa. However, in 2023, when she eagerly anticipated her customary meal upon returning home, Mr. Allin recounted, Mr. Hackman had uncharacteristically forgotten their long-standing ritual.
As with many elderly Americans, Mr. Hackman sought the sanctuary of their home amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, prioritizing safety over social engagement. Residents of Santa Fe Summit, the gated enclave where they resided, shared in recent years that the couple had all but vanished from public view, their only trace being the empty trash cans lining the roadside, a silent testament to their presence.
During Friday's press briefing, Santa Fe County Sheriff Adan Mendoza disclosed that investigators had pieced together the events leading up to February 9, a Sunday, when Ms. Arakawa collected Zinna from the veterinarian post-procedure, providing a plausible reason for the dog's confinement in a crate. Two days later, on February 11, Ms. Arakawa exchanged emails with her massage therapist in the morning and ventured out to a grocery store in the afternoon, her movements also captured on surveillance footage at a local pharmacy. According to Sheriff Mendoza, she donned a mask that day, a precaution she often took to shield her frail husband from potential illnesses, as revealed by friends.
Later that afternoon, Ms. Arakawa made a quick stop at a pet supply store before returning to her neighborhood around 5:15 p.m., as narrated by the sheriff.Regrettably, since then, she has never responded to any emails, leaving an unfilled silence in their digital exchange.
When queried about whether the couple had assistance in caring for Mr. Hackman, Sheriff Mendoza responded, "At present, there is no evidence suggesting that they had in-home care." James Everett, a part-time resident of the neighborhood for five years, expressed surprise at the lack of caregivers given Mr. Hackman's advanced age, recalling, "When my father was in his 90s, we had a live-in cook and maid for him. I'm astonished they didn't."
Neighbor Robert Cecil pondered whether their deep-seated desire for privacy ultimately became a "vulnerability," contributing to the tragic events that unfolded. Conversely, Mr. Hatfield, a long-standing friend of Mr. Hackman's, insisted that Santa Fe offered him the anonymity he cherished. "Gene despised the limelight," he stated emphatically. "It was quite evident."
Stuart Ashman, another friend, echoed this sentiment, highlighting solitude as a common aspiration among those who relocate to Santa Fe. "People flock here seeking refuge," he mused. "And indeed, they found it."
