Roy Scheider: The Last Curtain Call
Famous friends, fellow activists gather at Bay Street Theatre memorial
 John Wegorzewski |
(5/15/2008) Helen Hunt was there remembering the days when she and Brenda Siemer, the late Roy Scheider’s wife, were aspiring actors and roommates moving to a new place in Los Angeles. She recalled walking around the empty rooms, speculating about where the furniture would go, their careers would lead, and the paths their lives would take when, according to Ms. Hunt, a phone on the floor in the empty house began to ring. Ms. Hunt and Ms. Siemer looked at each other, surprised that anyone would have the new number. It was Mr. Scheider.
This anecdote wasn’t told at an intimate dinner, or overheard on the deck at Dockside; it was one of the memories shared last Saturday afternoon during a memorial at the Bay Street Theatre in Sag Harbor for the late Mr. Scheider, who died on Feb. 10 at the age of 75.
Mr. Scheider, of course, was an iconic screen figure who earned an Academy Award nomination for his amped-up star turn as Bob Fosse’s alter ego in “All That Jazz.” As much character actor as leading man, he played, over the years, such disparate roles as Jane Fonda’s pimp in “Klute” and Gene Hackman’s New York police partner in “The French Connection.” He is probably best remembered, though, as the shark-hunting Chief Brody in Steven Spielberg’s 1975 blockbuster, “Jaws.” Lean and sinewy, with crooked good looks, Mr. Scheider was also a familiar presence on the East End, where he lived from 1994 until his death.
“In 1983 we were in Marina del Rey, [California],” Ms. Siemer said, during a phone conversation earlier in the week, “and he took my face in his hands, and brought it down to his, and kissed me, and said, ‘I love you.’ ” Mr. Scheider and Ms. Siemer moved to Sagaponack, and then Sag Harbor, where they raised their two children, Molly and Christian, helped to found the Hayground School in Bridgehampton, and became active in the preservation and conservation of land on the South Fork.
Mr. Scheider died after his second stem cell transplant at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences hospital in Little Rock, having been diagnosed with multiple myeloma several years earlier. He went in for the arduous procedure in December with every expectation of a full recovery. “His last message to me was, ‘You better bring my glasses; cause I’m going to be watching a lot of movies,’ ” Ms. Siemer said. She had returned briefly to Sag Harbor following the transplant and was packing to return to Arkansas at the time.
But having endured the transplant procedure once before at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, Ms. Siemer said, Mr. Scheider knew 10 days after the transplant that the prognosis was not good.
“Those first 10 days are really crucial,” Ms. Siemer said. “They basically take you to death’s door with mustard gas, like in World War I. Then your own stem cells are injected, and they embed themselves into the femur and pelvis, and begin to grow. When he had his first transplant they asked him how important his quality of life was, and, of course, he said it was important. We didn’t realize that meant that the treatment would be less aggressive, and that’s why he needed the second transplant in Arkansas last year.”
The event at Bay Street paid homage to a man whose career as an actor vied with his reputation as a loving father, friend, and social activist. Among the many guests in the theater were the designer Donna Karan, the artists Eric Fischl and April Gornik, and the painter Ellen Adler.
Ms. Siemer’s poise set the tone for the service, which frequently saw joy and sadness in quick succession pass across the faces of the speakers and guests.
The memorial featured extensive clips from Mr. Scheider’s famous and not-so-famous roles, including a clip from “Curse of the Corpse,” a low-budget 1964 horror film (which, Mr. Scheider recalled in a clip from a later interview, took its title from patched-together words borrowed from the titles of other successful horror movies).
Andrea Eastman, Mr. Scheider’s agent at International Creative Management, flew in for the memorial from Los Angeles, and recounted the genesis of his role as Chief Brody. It all began at a cocktail party at her house sometime in the early 1970s.
“Roy was there,” Ms. Eastman said. “And so was Steven Spielberg, who was looking very glum, sitting off on the couch by himself. Roy went over to him and said, ‘What’s wrong with you, man? This is a party. Why on earth are you so down?’ ” Mr. Spielberg, Ms. Eastman recalled, told Mr. Scheider that his lead actor had just pulled out of a film he wanted to make. Mr. Scheider asked what the role was, and Mr. Spielberg began to describe how he envisioned Chief Brody in “Jaws.” After listening patiently while Mr. Spielberg detailed all the qualities necessary for the role, Mr. Scheider said to him, “That’s me.” When he said goodbye to Ms. Eastman that night, he told her he was going to star in a movie about a shark.
James Henry, a Sag Harbor lawyer who campaigned for Southampton Town supervisor last fall, remembered Mr. Scheider’s enthusiastic support for his platform, which centered on an activist movement to curtail large-scale commercial development in Sag Harbor. Mr. Scheider’s support included making the rounds knocking on doors.
“I admired Roy Scheider,” Mr. Henry said, “as an entertainer, artist, and as a citizen activist. He was someone who cared about our community deeply, and issues of human rights.” He said that Mr. Scheider had a commitment to progressive politics that was more than just cynical dissent.
Joe Pintauro, a playwright and Sag Harbor resident, spoke about his friendship with Mr. Scheider. Although they had met many years earlier, it only really began in earnest 10 years ago, when they were reintroduced by Sybil Christopher, the co-creative director and founder of the Bay Street Theatre.
“I’ve been writing for 25 years,” Mr. Pintauro said. “Mostly for the small stage, in fact this one,” he said looking around the room. “Some of the people I’ve worked with have become very, very famous. They drift away, and it’s complicated, because people you’ve become very intimate with then become like lights on the horizon, very distant lights. Roy was different. He was someone who became closer, and closer, and closer, and his light penetrated the people he touched and became a gift.”
Mr. Scheider’s many gifts, his thoughtfulness, memorable stage presence, and fearless way of expressing himself, were perhaps best remembered by his son, Christian, and daughter, Molly, who spoke briefly at the end of the memorial. The young man, in a seersucker sports jacket, and his little sister, in a hoodie and leggings, walked to the microphone and shared their happiness that everyone had come to celebrate their father’s life.
“Sometimes,” Molly Scheider said. barely reaching the microphone and brushing back her bangs, “I just wanted to be my dad.”