‘The Actor Lit Up a Cigarette After We Went Running in Central Park, Then Shared His Mantra for Success’

By Allan Ripp

News of William Hurt’s recent passing has drawn well-deserved eulogies for a gifted screen and stage actor who conveyed both intense intelligence and sex appeal across dozens of memorable roles, from a psychopathologist tapping into his prehistoric animism in Altered States to a hunky news anchor who cries on cue in Broadcast News, to an arrogant physician humbled by cancer in The Doctor.

Hurt’s death saddened me like many fans. But it also rekindled a spark I’ve carried for 45 years, going back to a brief moment when I hung out with him in my early 20s as his career was taking off and my own head was filled with a great future in journalism.

Thanks to a high school friend, I got a gig as an usher at Circle Repertory Theater in 1976 upon arriving in New York after college for a magazine job. I had no designs on an actor’s life, but it was great fun being around a close-knit group of first-rate players at one of city’s the premiere companies. Bill Hurt was part of the Rep’s regular ensemble, along with other young actors on the verge of bigger recognition, including Christopher Reeve, Jeff Daniels and Amy Wright.

Hurt had already done Shakespeare at the Public Theater and would soon have a breakout role in Lanford Wilson’s Fifth of July. Although not intimates, we regularly engaged between performances backstage and I was struck by his confidence and self-assurance, yet without a trace of vanity. That was especially on display in a play called My Life, which ran at Circle Rep for three dozen performances in early 1977.

Hurt played a brilliant physicist examining all facets of his life, including a fraught family history, which meant the action shifted between past and present – Reeve (fresh from auditioning in London for the life-changing part of Superman) played the grandfather and Daniels a younger version of Hurt’s character Eddie. The New York Times called it “confusing and contradictory” but I was enthralled, not least because the set design included a real swimming pool where the actors immersed themselves (first-row patrons were warned they might get wet.)

Hurt’s part called for frequent distracted, existential musings and fits of doubt. I got to stand in the wings each time he came on stage. He’d wink at me, take a healthy, centering breath and bound into the spotlight with complete command, at one point having an imagined dialogue with his dead girlfriend. He was consumed by his character’s inner turmoil, but then bantered easily the moment he exited. His hair was amazing, his bearing patrician and his future stardom apparent.

I was an avid runner back then and asked Bill that spring if he’d want to meet for a loop around Central Park. He showed up at the park’s West 72nd Street entrance across from the Dakota shirtless in micro shorts and squeaky Jack Purcell sneakers better suited for boating. But he admirably kept pace and told me about growing up privileged in Washington, where his stepfather was Henry Luce III, son of Time-Life’s founder. We talked about girls and ambitions – he was only a few years older than me but far more advanced and worldly. To my shock, when we finished our run he lit up a cigarette.

I asked how he stayed so committed to acting and dealt with rejection, something I was feeling at my editorial job, where I didn’t think my talents were being properly appreciated. He answered with Ibsen-like conviction: “Whatever you do, do what you must and don’t let others dictate your actions.”

Watching him perform over the ensuing years, and learning he turned down starring roles in Jurassic Park and Misery, confirmed that he stuck with that mantra. I can’t say I’ve always done the same in my own life — and Hurt was reportedly no paragon of virtue in his. But it’s good after all these years to remember a great actor’s best lines.

Mr. Ripp runs a press relations firm in New York.