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Robert Redford 1936-2025

With quiet authenticity, the Hollywood icon channeled his passion
into storytelling and activism - and lived his life on his own terms

By Julie Jordan in People

t's no surprise that Robert Redford was a gifted athlete in high school, even winning a baseball scholarship to the University of Colorado Boulder and dreaming of joining the Boston Red Sox. Yet when he was asked about the proudest moment in his sports career, he said, "I had just one. We were making The Natural, and my character was supposed to hit the ball foul." Redford persuaded the director of the 1984 classic to let him try it himself. "Pitcher came in from the Pittsburgh Pirates. I said, 'Yeah, just give it to me fast and inside.' And I put it in the bleachers, and I stood there stunned. I was supposed to run. I stood there, I went, 'God, am I great or what?'" he recalled with a laugh.

The world would agree. Charismatic and sun-kissed, with a heart-meltingly mischievous grin, the actor knew how to balance his movie-star magnetism with a relentless curiosity about the human condition. He was a monumental champion for independent filmmakers, launching the Sundance Film Festival, as well as for the environment and his beloved western landscapes. Outside of the spotlight Redford navigated his own fiercely private life as a father of four (his two sons, Scott and James, preceded him in death) and grandfather of seven. He lived with his second wife, artist Sibylle Szaggars, 68, on their secluded property in the mountains outside of Provo, Utah. There, on Sept. 16, the actor died at age 89, peacefully in his home, "the place he loved, surrounded by those he loved," said his longtime rep Cindi Berger. No cause of death was given, but Berger noted he died in his sleep: "He will be missed greatly."

Tributes poured in for the legend, who for more than six decades in Hollywood delivered iconic performances -- from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to All the President's Men and The Sting -- and acclaimed turns as a director (he won the Oscar for Ordinary People). "One of the lions has passed. Rest in peace my lovely friend," wrote his Out of Africa costar Meryl Streep. Leonardo DiCaprio said Redford's "unwavering commitment to protecting our planet and inspiring change matched his immense talent." And longtime friend Jane Fonda, who starred with him in four films, was especially devastated by the loss: "I can't stop crying," she wrote. "He meant a lot to me and was a beautiful person in every way. He stood for an America we will have to keep fighting for."

  

e began as a typical California kid: Born Charles Robert Redford Jr. on Aug. 18, 1936, in Santa Monica, the actor was raised by his father, Charles, and mother, Martha, who died when her son was in his late teens. A self-described bad student at Van Nuys High School, he dropped out of college (admitting he partied too much) and traveled in Europe briefly to try his hand at painting. Back in L.A. he met Lola Van Wagenen, a neighbor originally from Utah, and they married in 1958. Settling down in New York City, he took acting classes and found work on stage and television before his Broadway debut in 1959 in Tall Story. "I had this early image of myself as not being acceptable, in terms of looks and personality," he told Rolling Stone in 1980. "So I was really desperate for this one-line job in a Broadway comedy."

The part eventually led to his breakthrough stage role in 1963 in Neil Simon's Barefoot in the Park, which he reprised alongside Fonda in the 1967 movie adaptation. As an electric, revolutionary era in film kicked off in the late '60s and '70s, Redford was the rugged idol at its center, delighting crowds and critics alike in romances, political thrillers and westerns. His appeal was rivaled only perhaps by his two-time costar Paul Newman, whom he credited for getting him his Butch Cassidy role. "The studio didn't [want me], but Paul and I spent an evening together, drinking and talking," Redford recalled. "After, he said to the studio, 'I want to go with Redford.' He stood up for me." Newman's daughter Nell remembers Redford as "just a good guy, warm and helpful," who forged a lifelong "buddy-movie friendship." with her father -- except for one issue: "Bob was always late. That was Dad's one point of contention."

At the top of his game, Redford leaned into directing, following up his 1981 Oscar with movies like A River Runs Through it (starring Brad Pitt, an heir to his golden-boy image) and Quiz Show (which earned him best picture and best director nominations). His star power never dimmed: He earned a Golden Globes nom at age 82 for the 2018 thriller The Old Man & the Gun and made cameos in 2019's Avengers: Endgame and this spring's season premiere of the AMC series Dark Winds, which he executive-produced. When Helen Mirren called Redford an "icon" after costarring with him in 2004's The Clearing, he responded in typical fashion: "I just am who I am. And I can't account for what's out there," he said. "I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. So whatever goes on out there is really kind of almost not my business."

  

ffscreen, Redford's life was marked by great passions -- and tragedy. He had four children with Van Wagenen, a historian: Scott, who died of sudden infant death syndrome in 1959 a few months after birth, Shauna, Amy, and David James, who died at 58 in 2020 of bile duct cancer. Redford, who rarely spoke about his sons' deaths, told People in 1998 that losing Scott "was a tough hit. It was our first child." James battled liver disease and received two transplants before his cancer diagnosis. "The hardest thing in the world is when your children have problems," Redford said. "There have been so many hits on our family that no one knows about, and I don't want them to, for my family's sake. I've made some interesting movies, and I've been very satisfied with the work, but if someone wrapped it all up and said to me, 'What's your greatest achievement?' I'd say, 'The children. They're the best thing in my life.'"

Redford and Van Wagenen divorced in 1985, and decades later the actor met Szaggers, a German artist. They wed in 2009. He kept the relationship characteristically private but did tell AARP the Magazine that his wife, who was 20 years younger, was a "very special person" who had given him a "whole new life."

Throughout his career Redford recognized that his colossal fame could be used for good. Through Sundance Institute, the nonprofit he founded in 1981 to support independent film, he revamped a struggling film festival in Utah and turned it into Sundance in 1991. "By putting it in the mountains in Park City in the middle of winter, a lot of people thought I was crazy, but I wanted to make it unique," he told People in 2005. As its popularity grew, Redford became increasingly wary. "I want the ambush marketers -- the vodka brands and the gift-bag people and the Paris Hiltons -- to go away forever," he famously told a reporter in 2012. "They have nothing to do with what's going on here!" Redford didn't back down when it came to his environmental activism either. A board member for 50 years at the Natural Resources Defense Council, he made it his mission to help protect the landscapes he so loved. At a private dinner with Redford earlier this year, NRDC CEO Manish Bapna recalled the actor "spoke a lot about the American West, the need to defend and protect wild places and about the climate crisis and what we need to do now," he said. "One of the last things he said to me was 'Never give up.'"

On his beloved Utah property, which friends called his "sanctuary," Redford found the refuge he needed from the limelight. And he knew exactly how he wanted to be remembered. "The work.... And that's what the fun is: To climb up the mountain is the fun, not standing at the top. There's nowhere to go," he told Esquire UK in 2020. "But climbing up, that struggle... that to me is the thrill."  

Lionel Richie: A Legend Looks Back

Highs and lows and iconic love songs: inside the life of a creator of timeless pop classics

By Janine Rubenstein in People

t a certain point while writing his new memoir, Lionel Richie began to feel overwhelmed. "To be honest, I don't know how I remembered a lot of stuff," says Richie. "And then there were moments when I wanted to forget things -- and that's the painful part." In Truly, the Grammy winner and American Idol judge, 76, excavates his journey as a painfully shy kid in Tuskegee, Ala., who stumbled his way into stardom in the '70s with the Commodores and became one of the most successful solo artists of the '80s, with hits like "All Night Long (All Night)" and "Hello."

After navigating racism, the loss of loved ones and close friends like Michael Jackson, and the pain of two divorces, the father of three says, "I feel a sense of accomplishment. I finally met Lionel Richie." With Truly, excerpted here, he hopes others will do the same.

Richie recalls growing up happy and shielded.

  We were not affluent by any stretch -- my father was an insurance man for many years, and my mother an English teacher, later a principal. That's workin' folks, middle class, but there was enough to put food on the table. In spite of their differences, Mom and Dad were the perfect yin and yang of parents. My mother taught me to be polite, even with the curse of my shyness, whenever I was in unfamiliar settings. And my father, who was street, taught me how to walk into those settings in the first place.

While attending Tuskegee University, Richie joined an R&B band on a whim. The Commodores were a hit, even before they had a name.

  It was the middle of the night and there was a dictionary, and Michael Gilbert, eyes closed, opened it up randomly and pointed to the first word that jumped out at him. It was "commodore" -- the term for a high-ranking naval officer, just below admiral. Perfect for adding a "the" and making it plural. Thus, the name Michael gets credit for choosing was -- you guessed it -- the Commodores.

Richie has grappled with the complexities of racism in many forms.

  Racism in the South versus the Northeast was not a one-size-fits-all form of prejudice. Some folks didn't go so far as to use the N-word, but they sometimes said things like "Oh, you're too Black" or "Your music is too Black." The flip side was not being Black enough to your own folk. That stigma was hard to shake, sadly, and it only added to all the feelings of not being "enough." My recourse was to become more Black, another reason to grow the biggest Afro you ever saw.

As Richie's star rose, it cast a shadow across the band. He left to pursue a solo career in 1982.

  We were not built to adopt to a different band formation. I felt pushed out. It was like in a marriage when someone says, "You know, I might want to see other people on the side."

  When I wrote "Sail On" about a relationship breakup, I didn't know that it would be prophetic for me, or that it would apply to other kinds of separations. I couldn't accept a future in which I was no longer a Commodore. My feeling to this day is that I would have stayed had I not felt that I was being shown the door.

Richie adapted daughter Nicole, 44, with first wife Brenda Harvey and welcomed son Miles, 31, and daughter Sofia, 27, with second wife Diane Alexander. Now dating Lisa Parigi, he's reflective about love in Hollywood.

  In the business of fame and entertainment, "I love you" loses its magic fast. The part that I hated most was that this word that I use as my religion could become a throwaway phrase. When I write, "I love you," and when somebody plays that record, that's an emotional moment. When a man or a woman says, "I love you, still," after everything, that's an emotional moment. Naive as I was, it took me some to to see that everybody that says "I love you" to you when you're famous, that's something they say, not something they feel. Over time, even when writing emotional love songs, I began to distrust "I love you."  

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