Gene Hackman Was Their Most Famous Neighbor. They Rarely Saw Him.

Gene Hackman had two Academy Awards, legions of devoted fans, and a career in acting spanning four decades. He earned the admiration of critics, formed friendships with fellow celebrities, and starred in numerous films that captivated millions. Yet, for the past twenty years, he sought comfort in the quiet solitude of a secluded cul-de-sac, where even his neighbors rarely caught sight of him.

Last week, Hackman, 95, and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, 65, were found dead in their home just outside Santa Fe, New Mexico. The couple, known for their deeply private lives after his retirement, had become increasingly withdrawn. The fact that Hackman likely passed away nine days before their bodies were discovered underscores both the remoteness of their residence and the extent of their seclusion.

Their home was in Santa Fe Summit, a gated community just east of the city. Even those who lived nearby had little interaction with the couple in recent years—aside from the occasional sight of their trash bins left out for collection. They did not participate in homeowners’ association meetings or neighborhood gatherings, and their expansive four-bedroom house, tucked away on Old Sunset Trail, remained hidden from view, even from the entrance of the driveway.

Despite their reclusive lifestyle, the couple maintained some local ties. Hackman had invested in a restaurant where his paintings were displayed, while Arakawa co-founded a home goods store. However, those who knew them noted that they became even more withdrawn during the Covid-19 pandemic, retreating into the serenity of their neighborhood. Their privacy was respected by their neighbors, many of whom were professionals—doctors, lawyers, and executives—who also valued the area’s seclusion and breathtaking views, just a short drive from downtown Santa Fe.

“They have a gate, and we have a gate, and we’ve never even seen each other,” said James Everett, who has owned a neighboring house for about five years.

A narrow, winding road lined with stone walls and hillside homes leads to Hackman’s residence. From higher points in the neighborhood, there are sweeping views—dense clusters of trees and rolling hills on one side, the cityscape on the other, softened by a desert haze.

On Monday afternoon, the neighborhood appeared nearly lifeless, save for a few maintenance and construction workers with trucks parked along a small road. Sculptures swayed in the wind beside some driveways, and street signs bore quaint names like Bent Hill and Summit Ridge.

Those who had rare encounters with Hackman and Arakawa described them as warm and deeply fond of their three German shepherds, which they often walked through the area. (When authorities arrived last week, one of the dogs was found dead, while the other two survived.)

Helen Dufreche, a former neighbor who later moved to Louisiana, still remembers her first meeting with Hackman more than a decade ago. He had pulled up in his truck, wearing a baseball cap, and admired her dachshunds.

“What adorable puppies!” he had remarked through the window.

When one of Dufreche’s dogs, Payton, was featured in a local newspaper’s annual pet calendar, Arakawa later told her that she and Hackman had recognized the dog’s photo. Laughing, Dufreche recalled telling Payton, “Gene Hackman’s been talking about you.”

She also often saw Arakawa driving around the neighborhood with their three dogs in the back of her Toyota Land Cruiser. The last time she spotted Hackman was in 2017, when he passed by in his truck with a mountain bike strapped to the back. He appeared fit and healthy—“just like he did in Crimson Tide,” she said.

Bud Hamilton, a longtime neighbor, only had dinner with the couple once, shortly after moving in. Still, Hackman was generous—every year, he donated one of his paintings to be auctioned for a local cancer foundation, continuing the tradition until last year.

Their desire for privacy was not unusual in Santa Fe Summit, a community with only about 55 homes. Many residents, both permanent and seasonal, admitted they barely knew their neighbors.

The development was conceived in the 1980s by Ralph L. Brutsche, working alongside architect Stephen Ewing. Advertisements at the time boasted “top-of-the-world views” amid untouched natural beauty. Karl Sommer, a Santa Fe lawyer who worked with Brutsche, emphasized that preserving the landscape was a priority.

“Ralph knew how to develop land without destroying it,” Sommer said. “He maintained the natural beauty without tearing it apart.”

For many residents, the neighborhood’s solitude was its greatest appeal. Claire Lange, a real estate agent who lived in another section of the community, described Santa Fe as a place where people valued both nature and privacy.

“People come here to enjoy the scenery but also to live quietly, on their own terms,” she said.

Others echoed this sentiment.

“I know there are great people up there—I just don’t know them,” said Beau Theriot, a Texas resident who visits his Santa Fe home periodically. He was an admirer of Hackman’s films and had spotted him a few years ago walking with a cane alongside Arakawa.

Even those who rarely saw the legendary actor took pride in calling him a neighbor. Now, they mourn his passing.

Norma Lord, another local resident, grew up watching Hackman’s movies. Her husband had seen him walking a dog at Christmas, but otherwise, they had never interacted with the couple.

Harvey Chalker, a longtime resident who previously ran a Santa Fe ski shop, recalled that during his tenure as the homeowners’ association president, it was Arakawa who handled the couple’s affairs. He remembered Hackman once stopping by his store to buy hiking boots.

“He wanted to keep to himself, and I don’t blame him,” Chalker said.

Many in the community were particularly saddened to learn that Hackman had likely died on February 17—meaning his and Arakawa’s deaths may have gone unnoticed for as long as nine days.

Fernando Miranda, a neurologist who has owned a home near the couple since 2018, reflected on his last visit to the neighborhood, just after February 17. As usual, he had spent his time reading, playing the harpsichord, and reflecting.

Now, it pained him to think that Hackman—one of his longtime idols—had likely already passed, his absence unnoticed just a few houses away.

“In Santa Fe Summit, we all cherish our isolation,” he said.