The Time of My Life (14 page)

Lesley, who played my love interest, Madeline Fabray, in the series, had already starred in countless TV shows and films, including
The Pink Panther Strikes Again
and the BBC’s popular
Upstairs, Downstairs.
At the time we were shooting
North and South,
she and her then-husband, the director Billy Friedkin, were heading toward a bitter divorce. And it seemed to some in the cast that Lesley was aiming to spend as much of Billy’s money as she could before it was final.

So on the nights she was at Philippe Million’s, the Cristal was flowing and the food kept coming—courtesy of Lesley and, unbeknownst to him, Billy. She must have spent tens of thousands of dollars at that restaurant, to the delight of the rest of the cast. We’d all eat and drink to our hearts’ content, then head out the door to a nearby place to dance. It was a pretty lively group, and there were a lot of late nights.

Lesley also treated herself to an upgrade over the cast housing in Charleston, which was already nothing to sneeze at. She upgraded to a penthouse suite, which she paid for with her own money. And she was generous with that, too, inviting us all up a couple of times for drinks in her suite, with its fantastic view of Charleston.

On one of those evenings, a whole group gathered in Lesley’s suite and continued to party late into the night. The last thing I remembered was talking with David Carradine, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning in my hotel room slightly hung over. But the next afternoon, Lesley said to me, “Patrick, I was so worried about you last night!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well,” she said in her clipped British diction, “you and
David were out on that tiny ledge, outside the window, doing karate with bottles of Crown Royal in your hand. I was scared to death!”

I just stared at her. I had no recollection of going out on the ledge—why would I do a crazy thing like that? After all, her suite was up on the twelfth floor. But apparently, it was true. David was a big martial arts guy—he’d played the lead in the seventies TV series
Kung Fu
—and he and I had apparently gone out to the ledge to demonstrate our balance skills in Kata, a form of slow-motion shadow boxing. Thank goodness, even with alcohol in our bloodstreams, our balance was good enough to keep from tumbling to the beautiful cobblestones of Charleston twelve floors below.

Needless to say, Lisa wasn’t in Charleston with us that particular weekend. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been out there on the ledge in the first place. I definitely tended toward more drinking and late nights when she wasn’t with me—I never have been able to stand the inside of a hotel room alone. When I was missing Lisa, I just wanted the nights to go by faster, and staying out was my admittedly imperfect way of trying to make that happen.

The wild energy running through that whole shoot also included hookups among cast and crew. Lesley-Anne Down ended up in a relationship with the cinematographer, Don FauntLeRoy, and the two have been together ever since. Jim Read got together with Wendy Kilbourne. And Genie Francis, of
General Hospital
fame, started dating actor Jonathan Frakes, whom she married a few years later. It was certainly never boring on the set of
North and South,
either during filming or after hours.

But as much as I loved my fellow cast members on
North and South,
I probably loved the horses even more. There were
some gorgeous horses on that set, including John Wayne’s last horse, Parsons. Parsons and I had an amazing connection—it was almost telepathic. All I had to do was think about what I wanted him to do next, and he’d do it.

There were plenty of good horse scenes in both parts of
North and South,
but the best one came in
Book II.
Orry, who’s now a general, is riding away from camp with two of his aides, when suddenly the camp comes under attack. The three of us have to turn around and come to the rescue, with guns blazing.

Just before we shot the scene, I had an idea. I was always trying to figure out ways to make the action scenes more exciting, and I knew I’d hit on something great with this: We should hold the horses’ reins in our teeth, so we could fire rifles with both hands as we raced through the battle.

The two guys who played my aides were hard-core, badass re-enactors. They had the long hair and grizzled look of real Civil War soldiers, and this was how they spent their leisure time—traveling around the country, putting on re-enactments, and handing down knowledge of the Civil War era to future generations. These were real manly men, with full beards, powerful builds, and leathery skin. I just knew they’d be ready to up the ante on this scene.

We were all three astride our horses, and just as the director was about to yell, “Action!” I said to the two guys, “Hey, dudes— we’ve got these double-barreled short shotguns; let’s ride with the reins in our teeth so we can fire with both hands!”

The guys just shook their heads.

“Come on!” I said. “It’ll be cool!”

They shook their heads again. “No way,” said one of the guys, sitting back in his saddle.

“Well, why not?” I asked, exasperated. We had a chance to make this scene really pop, and these guys wouldn’t even consider it.

“Teeth,” the guy finally said. And he reached up and popped his front teeth right out of his mouth. It took me a second to realize it was a denture.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “How’d that happen?”

“Riding with the reins in my teeth,” the guy replied, and calmly placed the bridge back in his mouth. “If that horse trips, it’ll knock your teeth right out of your head.”

Just then the director yelled, “Action!” We all took off, and despite the warning, I held the reins in my teeth for the whole shot. I kept my back as rubbery as possible, trying to absorb every little jolt with anything but my teeth. But I didn’t need to worry, because Parsons was such a good, sure-footed horse that he raced silkily around every obstacle, including the dozens of soldiers’ “corpses” on the ground. The shot turned out amazing, and fortunately all my teeth stayed in my head.

The first installment of
North and South
aired in November 1985, and suddenly Jim Read and I found our faces plastered all over newspapers, magazines, billboards, and TV shows.

ABC had ratcheted up its publicity machine, and that, combined with Americans’ enduring interest in the Civil War, turned the miniseries into a huge TV event. The television landscape wasn’t so fragmented in the 1980s as it is now, with hundreds of cable channels, DVRs, and the internet competing for attention, so millions of people tuned in to see the installments as they aired.

The floodgates were officially open. Patrick Swayze fan clubs started appearing and interview requests were pouring in. Now, whenever we went out in public, Lisa and I would find ourselves surrounded. Before
North and South,
people might recognize me on the street and ask for an autograph. But after the miniseries aired, fans were suddenly everywhere, approaching us on all sides no matter where we were. I have to admit, it was kind of cool.

But as the level of fame went up, the level of courtesy sometimes went down. People would interrupt a conversation, cut someone off, or even jump in front of our car to ask for an autograph. And when we went to events, the organizers would often take my arm and try to lead me away, completely ignoring the fact that Lisa was with me. In those cases, I’d interject loudly, “Have you met my wife, Lisa?” and they’d get the picture. But it wasn’t always easy for us to be polite in the face of the increasing whirlwind surrounding us.

Yet we’ve always tried to accommodate fans’ requests for autographs, photos, or anything else. After all, Lisa and I both know we wouldn’t be where we are if it weren’t for the fans, and we’re incredibly appreciative of all the support they’ve given us over the years. For the most part, people are very nice even when they’re asking for something, so it’s easy to be nice back. And of course, I’m the kind of guy who always wants people to like me, so I have extra motivation for being nice to those who approach us.

Lisa has always taken the attention in stride, even when women fans get a little more aggressive. She’s not the jealous type, for one thing. And besides, she knows as well as anyone that all the attention is good for my career.

Just after
North and South
aired, Lisa was talking to an actress friend of ours named Barb, who worked as an office temp when she was between roles. Barb had just spent the day at an office building in LA, and she was concerned about what she’d been hearing at the water cooler. “Lisa,” she said, “there’s a girl in this office who’s obsessed with Patrick. She kept saying she was going to find a way to meet him, that she wanted him and was going to find a way to get him!” Barb was seriously trying to warn her, but Lisa just laughed.

“Barb,” she said, “that’s great! This is a good thing! This is just what we need.” Barb couldn’t quite believe it, but that’s been Lisa’s attitude throughout my whole career.

But even though we were happy about my career taking off, we had to deal with some difficult situations after
North and South.
For one thing, my manager, Bob LeMond, who’d brought us out to LA and helped us get started, died of complications from AIDS. Bob had been a real mentor and friend, and we’d known him since our days in Houston. Losing him at this point in my career, just three years after my father died, was devastating.

Lisa and I also realized that we’d now have to take steps to protect our privacy. Even in those pre-internet days, there were still paparazzi all over Hollywood, not to mention some overzealous fans who weren’t above staking us out at home. When I got the role of Orry Main, it allowed us to buy a five-acre ranch, where we could keep horses and enjoy nature without being disturbed.

Yet although Lisa and I saw the potential for a dream home on our new property, when others saw it they were shocked. They thought we’d just bought ourselves a nightmare.

• • •

Nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains about twenty miles north of Hollywood, the piece of land Lisa and I fell in love with was just a weed-choked lot when we bought it.

Used-car parts sat rusting, tumbleweeds blew through, and dead tree limbs and river rocks lay scattered across the property. The house wasn’t even really a house—it was a couple of run-down cabins connected by a breezeway. The floors needed finishing, the kitchen needed renovating, the walls were made of plywood, and everything was generally a mess. But right from the start, it looked like heaven to us.

Ever since our first days of doing carpentry back in New York, Lisa and I felt ready to take on any project, no matter how large or small. This would be a very big project, but when we looked at those cabins and that land, we didn’t see work and toil. We saw the potential for what this place could be. Lisa and I both had plenty of ideas, and we couldn’t wait to get to work making them a reality.

We knew we’d need help, so the first thing we did was make it fun for friends to come out and join in the labor with us. We built the pool first, even before fixing up the house, so everybody who came out and sweated with us could have a nice cool dip afterward.

We invited friends to “rock parties” that had nothing to do with music: We’d fan people out across the property to pick up the rocks strewn everywhere, then have a big barbecue for everyone afterward. And a couple of times, we turned weed-cutting from a boring chore into a swordfighting lesson. I outfitted everyone with sabers and we all thrust and parried into
the weeds, theatrically spinning and attacking our common foe. It was during one of these cleanup sessions that one of our friends gave our new home its name: Rancho Bizarro.

It was incredibly liberating to be out in nature again after all our years of living in LA and New York. Our ranch adjoins the Angeles National Forest, which made it feel as if our little five-acre spread was really a million-acre spread—we could ride horses deep into the wilderness, literally right outside our back door. The air was fresh and the smell of sage and oak permeated everything.

For the year when we were renovating, we lived in one of the small rooms and made tea and coffee on a little propane stove. We worked on the ranch every chance we got, creating a beautiful kitchen with terracotta floors and refinishing the wood floors ourselves—which Lisa says she’ll never do again. We got to add our own special touches to the place, which made it that much more meaningful for us. Over time, we built trellised patios, a master-bedroom wing, a music studio, a dance studio, a guesthouse, and an office.

We also built a sixteen-stall pinewood barn, because living on the ranch wasn’t just about fresh air and privacy. It was also about reclaiming the cowboy life. The smell of dirt and horse sweat and the raw masculine power of working on horseback was energizing for me, and I wanted to get back into it.

Lisa and I were lucky enough to know someone who could help us get fantastic horses. Gene McLaughlin was a world-champion trick roper, and his son Cliff had been a stunt double in
North and South.
To make ends meet between rodeos and trick-roping shows, Gene would buy horses down South and truck them to Los Angeles in a trailer, where he could sell each one for three to five times what he’d paid. We bought our
second horse from him—a fantastic, talented horse named Cloud.

We called Cloud “Little Big Man,” because he was small but rode big. Cloud and I would explore the mountains in the Angeles National Forest behind our ranch, sometimes going out for days at a time. I’d pack some food and water and a sleeping bag, and Cloud and I would just hit the trails. Some of my happiest memories of this time of my life were of Cloud and me exploring the deepest reaches of the woods together, miles from people and civilization. It always reminded me of being with my dad, to the point where our journeys together felt almost spiritual.

Cloud was also an excellent calf-roping horse. Calf roping is the hardest rodeo sport, in my opinion, as it’s incredibly physical and requires lightning reflexes and excellent timing. You have to rope the running calf off your speeding horse, then use the horse’s stopping to propel yourself forward. You land on your feet running, hit the calf, flank it in the air, and simultaneously grab the feet to lace with the pigging string in a nice bouquet.