Thank You, Gene Hackman, We Will Do Better

Have you ever run into a movie star and not even realized it?

I did, and it changed me.

I was walking through the arroyos of Santa Fe with my mom, the red dust kicking up beneath our feet, the piñon trees casting slow shadows across the trail. A friendly couple passed by with their dogs. We smiled, nodded, and kept walking. A few steps later, my mom stopped mid-stride, her eyes wide with disbelief, her grin stretching from cheek to cheek.

“Do you know who that was?”

I didn’t. Not yet.

That chance encounter set me on a crash course into the life and legacy of Gene Hackman, a man whose work left indelible marks on American cinema and who, I later learned, had made our hometown of Santa Fe his quiet refuge.

Gene Hackman is a little before my time, but once I started watching his films, there was no going back. His roles were more than just performances, they were full-body immersions into flawed, complex characters. He was wild and hilarious in The Birdcage, unrecognizable and brilliant in Young Frankenstein, terrifyingly charismatic in Unforgiven, and heartbreakingly tender in The Royal Tenenbaums. His career spanned genres and decades. And yet, he chose to live quietly in Santa Fe, tucked into the mesas of the Sangre de Cristos, far from the Hollywood spotlight.

When I heard of his and his wife’s passing, my heart dropped. Gene Hackman, at 94, and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, had passed away in their Santa Fe home and heartbreakingly, they were not discovered until weeks later. Like many who admired him, I went into my own reel of memories.

I called my mom.

“Did they lower the flags?! Was there a moment of silence? A parade?!”

There wasn’t.

But what lingered with me most wasn’t the absence of fanfare, it was a deeper question: could Gene Hackman and Betsy Arakawa’s passing been prevented?

Gene Hackman was a legend, yes. But more importantly, he was our neighbor. And neighbors, especially those who are aging, deserve more. They deserve to be seen, checked on, called, asked how they’re doing. If they don’t answer, someone should knock. Show up. Make sure they’re okay.

Homecare and caregiving can’t just be confined to time clocks and scheduled shifts. Real care must be rooted in community vigilance, genuine connection, and everyday compassion. Whether you live in the Twin Cities metro area or a quiet stretch of New Mexico, building these systems matters. We need proactive check-ins, smart devices for safety, accessible protocols for follow-ups, and small acts of outreach that can mean the difference between loneliness and life.

As we head up Safeway’s new department, and as I step into leading this next chapter of our caregiving mission, stories like Gene Hackman’s fuel me. They are a reminder of why we must do better for those aging in MN and beyond. They motivate me to create teams who see the quiet neighbor as much as they honor the famous name, to build services that don’t just react but anticipate, support, and uplift.

Losing Gene Hackman has inspired us to expand Safeway’s homecare service packages to include proactive check-ins, real-time alerts, voice and video call systems, critical, life-affirming touches that protect autonomy while reminding people they are never alone.

Because whether you’re a Hollywood legend or the quiet neighbor down the street, your life matters. And someone should be there to make sure you’re okay.

Let’s do better. For Gene. For our communities. For every person who built the world we live.