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We were shootingNadja, a vampire movie, in Manhattan, working nights, keeping vampire hours.
His one stipulation for taking on the role was that he would not cut his hair.
(Prudence, an unfazable Australian, was the costume designer.)
His wife was there at least part of the time Becky, a tiny woman with a huge smile.
He seemed absolutely devoted to her; they were giddy in each others company.
He was an excellent listener but a better talker.
In reality, of course, Peter Fonda was gallantly extroverted a boundlessly democratic, uniquely American aristocrat.
His talk was riverlike, rhapsodic, and, not incidentally, overwhelming.
In interviews afterward, he was pleased to recount, I got to stake myself.
Karl just unearthed the above photo and supplied this caption: Peter was given a special award that night.
I half-remember the special boots what were they made of?
Snakeskin, crocodile skin, scorpion skin?
I was grateful that he found space in his autobiography to mentionNadja, naming me as our fearless leader.
But Peter was the fearless one, the unhesitating resistor of complacency and cliches.
His sunny disposition didnt prevent him from reaching into darker corners of experience and history.
The place was surprisingly modest, surrounded by a vast amount of snow.
We sat together near a cast-iron wood-burning stove.
There was an American flag stretched across one wall.
One of Peters favorite, insistent sayings was Do not back up severe tire damage!
Time floods past, and Im bereft, wondering how we lost touch over the past ten years.
Why didnt he direct more films?
Why didnt we make more films together?
I was going to reach out, to offer congratulations onEasy Riders50th birthday.
But Peters achievement, and his spirit, radiate beyond that one phenomenal flash point.
