Steve McQueen

by Greg Laurie

  When McQueen disliked something in the script, says don, he literally started ripping out pages.

  Le Mans coincided with McQueen’s midlife crisis. During its production, his fifteen-year marriage to Neile ended, he broke up with his longtime agent and producing partners, his production company collapsed, and McQueen lost a personal fortune. At the end of the snake-bitten picture, McQueen was presented with a seven-figure bill by the Internal Revenue Service for back taxes.

  Today at seventy-eight, Don remembers well how he started in the business in 1959 and first encountered McQueen on the set of Wanted: Dead or Alive when he was an assistant propmaster at Four Star Studios. He recalls McQueen as “young, feisty, and often prickly,” and says, “He liked to have his own way and had no qualms about bucking the system whenever he felt something was out of order or was not in sync with what he thought his character, Josh Randall, would do in a particular situation.”

  When McQueen disliked something in the script, says Don, he literally started ripping out pages.

  “When he disagreed with a director’s suggestions, he emasculated the poor soul right in front of the crew. He would tell the other actors to ignore the director and play a scene the way he thought it should be done.”

  After several days and more than seventy thousand hours of racing footage, nobody knew yet what the film’s story line was. McQueen hired six writers to patch one together, but because he was unable to communicate his vision of the film to anyone, it was hopeless.

  But believe it or not, Don tells me, the McQueen who played Josh Randall was a choirboy compared to the one on the set of Le Mans.

  The idea was to film the actual 24 Hours of Le Mans race from the viewpoint of McQueen’s character, driver Michael Delaney. But on the very first day of shooting, McQueen refused to put on his driving suit and walk through the pit area as a way of getting back at the studio for not allowing him to actually drive in the race. They wanted to use a stunt double. Steve wouldn’t have it.

  McQueen’s petulance signaled the start of a long and frustrating shoot. “On account of Steve’s refusal to cooperate,” Don says, “we had to recreate 90 percent of the paddock area shots later, which cost Cinema Center [the studio] a bundle. They were not happy.”

  After several days and more than seventy thousand hours of racing footage, nobody knew yet what the film’s story line was. McQueen hired six writers to patch one together, but because he was unable to communicate his vision of the film to anyone, it was hopeless.

  Even as the faint outlines of a story finally began to emerge, several of the racing scenes resulted in accidents, further complicating matters. Six cars crashed at a cost of forty-five thousand dollars per automobile. McQueen himself had a close call or two behind the wheel. The most serious of them was off the set when he drove his Swedish costar to her hotel and crashed his Peugeot on a winding road. They both went through the windshield but were miraculously unhurt. The actress was knocked unconscious but was revived at the scene.

  McQueen fought with everyone, including director John Sturges, who had practically given the actor his start in movies. Finally studio executives flew in from California to survey the carnage. They shut production down for two weeks and ordered McQueen to “pick a script, shoot the picture, and be done with it.”

  Says Don, “We were all adults and understood this came with the territory called superstardom, but Steve’s behavior bordered on manic—as if he had to prove his manhood to everyone. When he wasn’t working, he was usually running around on his motorbike, often shirtless, giving rides to young women in the countryside or on the track. He was never secretive, either, about disappearing with them into his trailer for an hour or two.”

  McQueen and Neile were now separated, but she brought their children to France during the filming in hopes of reconciliation. It didn’t work.

  Five weeks into filming, Don says, there hadn’t been much forward progress. Expenses were mounting thanks to the foreign location, race car maintenance, the salaries of professional drivers, and an international crew whose members did not always understand each other, not to mention uncooperative weather. And an uncontrollable star.

  McQueen fought with everyone, including director John Sturges, who had practically given the actor his start in movies. Finally studio executives flew in from California to survey the carnage. They shut production down for two weeks and ordered McQueen to “pick a script, shoot the picture, and be done with it.”

  The way I see it, Steve was not mastering the monster within; it was mastering him.

  Sturges eventually left, causing a permanent rift in his friendship with McQueen. His replacement was TV director Lee Katzin, who was berated, humiliated, and scorned by McQueen throughout the remainder of the shoot.

  Then in an even more tragic turn a few weeks before production wrapped, racer David Piper lost control of his car and crashed as the cameras rolled. Years later, Piper recounted to a reporter, “I suddenly found myself sitting in only half a car, surrounded by smoke and dust, and I thought, Good Lord, that’s my shoe over there—and my foot is still in it!” The wound in his right leg became infected, and the limb eventually was amputated.

  The shoot that had started in June staggered into November, and on the seventh day of that month, director Lee Katzin finally called it a wrap.

  “There was no traditional wrap party,” says Don, “no grand farewells by the cast and crew. We all just wearily shuffled off the set and looked forward to happier days and better projects.”

  The cost of Le Mans went beyond dollars and cents. Friendships were irretrievably broken, reputations besmirched. A steady and loving marriage ended. And the finger of blame for all of it was pointed directly at Steve McQueen and his hubris.

  The way I see it, Steve was not mastering the monster within; it was mastering him.

  THE FALL

  _____

  At the height of his popularity Steve McQueen said, “I believe in me. God will be number one as long as I’m number one.”

  Wow.

  Sounds like the legend of the Titanic builders who famously proclaimed, “God Himself couldn’t sink it.” We know how the rest of that story turned out, and now we look at Steve’s. He, too, was taking on water fast.

  God survived Le Mans, of course, but McQueen’s life and career went into freefall.

  The actor had taken every advantage possible in his professional life, and now Hollywood was paying him back in spades. After years of sticking it to producers, directors, and studios, he was finding out the truth of the biblical law of “reaping what you sow,” for which McQueen was long overdue.

  Le Mans took away his box-office heat, serving as a vivid reminder that McQueen wasn’t omnipotent and all-powerful. In one fell swoop he lost his wife, his agent, his production company, and a good deal of his personal fortune. Cut loose were old friends, business associates, and virtually everything and everyone connected to his past glory. It was out with the old and in with the new.

  So he retrenched, dissolving his three companies and ridding himself of all the lawyers, accountants, managers, and public relations folks he supported. The tailored suits and expensive ties he wore to the office were mothballed in favor of a simpler wardrobe of blue jeans, casual button-down shirts, turquoise belt buckles, and denim jackets. He later recalled, “I had put up a suite of offices, a lot of secretaries, accountants, lots of people on the payroll. I was producing my own movies. Just terrific. But I wasn’t making any money, I was working sixteen hours a day, and I was the president of three corporations. And I was not very happy.”

  After years of sticking it to producers, directors, and studios, he was finding out the truth of the biblical law of “reaping what you sow,” for which McQueen was long overdue.

  Not as rich, either, especially when he got that $2-million bill from the Internal Revenue Service for back taxes. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. He had worked tirelessly for years to achieve financial security. No
w he could well end up flat broke again.

  It was a long fall from the top, and McQueen hit every step on the way down.

  “When I met Steve, he seemed a little lost and confused as to what he wanted in life,” says Barbara Leigh. She was McQueen’s costar in Junior Bonner, his first movie after Le Mans. “He spoke of his marriage to Neile and how it was nearing the end. He spoke of her with respect, which I found admirable. I think he needed to spread his wings and wanted to be free to take the next step in his life. The romantic part of his marriage was over, and he wanted excitement. Sadly, Steve and Neile still loved each other deeply, but Steve, from what I knew and read, couldn’t be faithful to her.”

  “Wouldn’t be faithful” would be more like it. Steve had made a series of bad choices, and now he was facing the consequences, learning that when you make your choices, your choices make you.

  Barbara has graciously joined my wife and me for lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen in Westwood Village. I figured I had enough alone time on this journey, and because we were close to home, Cathe hopped in the Bullitt and came with me. And since she’s a good sport, she didn’t mind if I pretended to be Steve McQueen behind the wheel.

  It was a long fall from the top, and McQueen hit every step on the way down.

  Years before, Barbara says this establishment was a family-owned Italian diner called Mario’s—a quaint place with checkered tablecloths, jug wine, candles with dripping wax, and food “that was just out of this world.” She and McQueen often dined here after they began seeing each other off the movie set. It’s a place, she says, with both good and not-so-good memories.

  Barbara recalls one dinner when Steve twice rudely rebuffed fans who’d requested his autograph. “It embarrassed me that he wouldn’t just sign a piece of paper for people who appreciated him and acknowledged him as a movie star,” says Barbara. “He was a little mean-spirited about it.” McQueen defended his behavior by maintaining that by interrupting his dinner the fans showed no regard for his privacy. “It wasn’t how I would have handled the matter,” she continued, “but then again, he was a superstar and I wasn’t.”

  Barbara was a top international model when she auditioned for the part of McQueen’s love interest, Charmagne, in early June 1971—the same month and year when Neile filed for divorce. Barbara read through part of the script for director Sam Peckinpah with McQueen himself but left with the feeling she wouldn’t get the role. As she reached her car, McQueen came running up. “I don’t think the part’s going to work out,” he said, “but I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  Barbara read through part of the script for director Sam Peckinpah with McQueen himself but left with the feeling she wouldn’t get the role. As she reached her car, McQueen came running up. “I don’t think the part’s going to work out,” he said, “but I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  They went to a nice restaurant on Sunset Boulevard near the Pacific Coast Highway and over dinner discovered they had several things in common. Both had been deserted by their fathers and had unstable mothers. Barbara was a product of the foster care system, Steve a product of the Boys Republic.

  Their relationship quickly progressed, and when McQueen left for Prescott, Arizona, to start filming Junior Bonner, Barbara agreed to come for a visit. Three days before the cameras rolled, McQueen called to offer her the role of Charmagne because actress Tiffany Bolling had unexpectedly bowed out.

  “I was at a loss for words,” recalls Barbara, “absolutely dumbfounded. Just like that, out of the clear blue. That was the single greatest thing to happen in my acting career, starring in a Steve McQueen movie directed by the great Sam Peckinpah. But that’s Hollywood for you—overnight, anything can happen.”

  They ended up in a relationship and lived together, rehearsing lines over breakfast. Things seemed fine until Elvis Presley called her up one day and invited her to Las Vegas.

  Free-spirited Barbara, you see, had also been dating Elvis— oh, and also MGM president Jim Aubrey—the whole time things were heating up with McQueen. When she told Presley she couldn’t get away, the singer said he would come to Prescott instead to see her. That’s when Barbara got around to telling him she was staying with McQueen.

  “Whenever Elvis inquired about Steve, it was, ‘How’s that motorcycle hick?’ And with Steve it was, ‘How’s that guitar hick?’ Both came from humble beginnings, but it was funny they called each other hicks.”

  After that, she recalls, “Whenever Elvis inquired about Steve, it was, ‘How’s that motorcycle hick?’ And with Steve it was, ‘How’s that guitar hick?’ Both came from humble beginnings, but it was funny they called each other hicks.”

  Working with McQueen on the movie, says Barbara, “was a trip. Steve’s approach to acting was different than most, and that’s what separated him from other movie stars. He was a reactor instead of an actor. He didn’t initiate action or dialogue; he reacted with his facial expressions and body language.

  “Most actors fight for lines,” Barbara says. “Steve fought for the shot. Where he placed himself was more important to him than what he had to say. He didn’t appear to be acting at all, but that was his gift.”

  Living with him off the set, however, wasn’t always so fascinating. McQueen was often irritatingly rude, boorish, and profane. And when Junior Bonner wrapped, so did Barbara’s relationship with its star. At least she thought so, until McQueen began demanding to see her again back in California. When they did get together, he told her he wanted her exclusively—no more Elvis, no more James Aubrey. Barbara agreed.

  A child who was never allowed to live, and a man who had dodged death and didn’t know what his life was really about.

  Then she discovered she was pregnant. At first she thought the father was Aubrey, until he told her he’d had a vasectomy years ago.

  Turned out it was McQueen’s.

  But she never told him. “In hindsight, it was a rotten thing to do,” says Barbara. “He had every right to know I was carrying his child. I’ll regret forever my choice not to tell him. I should have given him the opportunity to have a voice in my decision.”

  That decision was to abort her pregnancy.

  Right before she entered Cedars-Sinai Medical Center on November 6, 1971, McQueen called to offer his support. Later he visited her at the hospital, bringing food, a kind word, and showing the tender side of his personality. This, of course, is one of the most tragic outcomes of the selfish, reckless lifestyle he had lived with such abandon up to this point: a child who was never allowed to live, and a man who had dodged death and didn’t know what his life was really about.

  Barbara reflects wistfully: “Through the years I’ve often wondered what my child would have been like and the differences he or she might have made in my life. It’s a decision I’ve thought about many times during the last four decades.” She also relays to us the hope that perhaps in the afterlife her unborn child and Steve have met. I say it’s entirely possible because I believe when children die they go straight to heaven.

  “Steve could be terribly charming, and for a split second I considered the idea of going back with him,” Barbara says, “but I knew it wouldn’t work out in the long run. There was no going back in time for either of us. I kissed his cheek gently and bid him farewell. It was the last time I ever saw him alive.”

  Here’s why. The Bible tells of a day when people were bringing their little children and infants to Jesus so He could touch them. His disciples tried to shoo them away, but Jesus rebuked them: “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 19:14 NKJV). That’s the heart of Christ for little children. So could Steve have already met his son or daughter on the other side? Absolutely.

  God’s heart of grace and redemption toward us is something that should never cease to amaze us. He is so loving and forgiving that He extends His hand to us throughout our lives and gives second chances. In Steve’s case, he was well beyond a mere second
chance. He was pushing the envelope for sure in his rough and tumble life. But salvation was coming and in a way he probably never expected.

  Barbara hadn’t seen Steve in many years, but in late 1976 they met for dinner in his private suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel while he was filming An Enemy of the People. She was shocked by his appearance. “Steve was one of the sexiest men alive when I knew him on Junior Bonner. Now I was looking at a man who was older, heavier, with shaggy, long hair and a big, bushy beard. He reminded me of Heidi’s grandfather.”

  McQueen was married to Ali MacGraw at the time, and he acknowledged to Barbara during dinner that things weren’t going too well on the domestic front. Before the evening was over, he’d asked Barbara to spend the night with him.

  “Steve could be terribly charming, and for a split second I considered the idea of going back with him,” Barbara says, “but I knew it wouldn’t work out in the long run. There was no going back in time for either of us. I kissed his cheek gently and bid him farewell. It was the last time I ever saw him alive.”

  Yet even as the trajectory of Steve’s life was trailing downward, what he didn’t know was that God was getting him ready for the greatest adventure of his life. We’re talking greater than the chase scenes in Bullitt. More exhilarating than the motorcycle jump in The Great Escape. More liberating than the prison escape scenes in Papillion.

  When you hit bottom like Steve did, the only way left is up. Way up.

  A JAMAICAN SEED

  _____

  Junior Bonner was Steve McQueen’s third box-office clunker in a row. And in a town where you’re only as hot as your latest film, he was in danger of fading to the back of the pack. But the forty-one-year-old superstar was never one to take anything lying down and actually worked his hardest and best when his back was against the wall.

  Over the next few years, McQueen not only recovered his box-office crown but achieved new heights, becoming the highest-paid movie star once again and standing head and shoulders above the rest of Hollywood.