The Spokesman-Review from Spokane, Washington • 124

THINK YOU HAVE to leave home to be yourself," said Richard Gere. "You have to destroy a lot of things in the process. You've got to destroy 'your daddies' and all that Gere talked with me in his austere apartment in Manhattan's Greenwich Village. Its bookshelves heavy with studies of Tibet, Buddhism and philosophy, the room is more appropriate to an assistant professor than a film star. Gere, 39, was dressed in a blue workshirt, tight dark-gray chinos and half-boots.

He is tall, muscular and handsome, with an easy, engaging smile. His mind is quick, complex, unsentimental and appreciative of irony. As I was to learn, central to his life has been a rebellion against received values and a search for new ones. Before he left home, Gere had a typical small-town, middle-class boyhood in upstate New York. His parents had moved there from Philadelphia, where Gere was born.

The second of five children, Gere was athletic and musical. Among the instruments he mastered were the guitar, trumpet, banjo and sitar. "My father is a very soulful trumpet player," he told me. "My mother plays the piano. We were Methodists, so there was a lot of singing in church.

My parents were very involved with the church. Very moral people. Straight-shooters. My father even played with the idea of becoming a preacher." Gere's father sold insurance. "He didn't see himself as a businessman," the actor told me.

"He was protecting people's families. He never made a lot of money, and that was never a factor around our house. What mattered were the good works of the church or the school and community. As for myself?" Gere sat forward. "It was just the opposite.

I wanted nothing to do with anybody! I hated everybody and assumed everybody hated me. I was rebellious. A bad boy. Everybody's bad boy." Gere's excellence at gymnastics won him an athletic scholarship to the University of Massachusetts in 1967 and allowed him to leave home. "I was a terrible student!" he admitted, running his hand through his hair, a characteristic gesture.

"I didn't go to classes. I just read a lot. I was very much a dreamer." At the end of his sophomore year, Gere worked in summer stock in Provincetown, where the director of the Seattle Repertory Theatre spotted him and persuaded him to join that company. After one season in Seattle, playing minor roles, he headed for Vermont, where he organized some friends into a band. When the band fell apart six weeks later, Gere moved on to Greenwich Village: It was the height of the hippie age, and Gere, his hair below his shoulders, lived in makeshift quarters and looked for work.

His first important break was replacing Barry Bostwick as Danny Zulco in the hit Broadway musical Grease. By the mid-'70s, Gere's growing reputation in the theater had piqued the inter na Own M3230311 est of Hollywood. In 1977, after a few films, he was offered the role of a migrant worker in Days of Heaven. "As soon as I did that film, everything else took off," Gere recalled. "I was hot.

I was the newest thing in town. That year." How had it felt, at 28, to be the hottest young actor in town? He grinned. "It was great having the attention," he said. "I thought: 'This is it! I've done it! I'm going to retire my father. I'm putting money away for college for my the whole thing.

It's incredibly euphorious. All of a sudden the rehearsal period of your life is over, and your future has arrived. It's liberating." Gere's career really took off with Looking for Mr. Goodbar, released in 1977. American Gigolo in 1980 brought him stardom, and An Officer and a Gentleman, two years later, made him an DOT SON RADER "Knowing yourself, growth that's the real work of life," says actor Richard Gera.

international superstar. Curiously, none of the films that followed would duplicate their success. His most recent movie was Miles From Home. I asked how fame has affected him. "Well," he said, "the change is almost always in the people around you.

When I became famous, very close friends were insecure of their place in my life and were becoming aggressive and difficult. Prove we're still friends. Prove you haven't changed. It's heavy going, especially when you want to enjoy that moment you've worked so hard for." An intensely private man, Gem has never married, although for several years he maintained a rather public relationship with Sylvia Martins, a Brazilian painter. I asked what mattered most to him.

"My faith," he said. "Emptying the negative out of my heart. The career? I'm not really that interested. Discovering things. Knowing yourself.

Growth. That's the real work of life." Gere has studied Buddhism for 15 years. "I always wanted to know, 'Who am 'What is the origin of suffering?" he said quietly. "We're all afraid. We're all bound one way or another.

And suffering is all around us. And it's our suffering. There's no separation." "In the last few years," he added, "I've felt the need to do more for others whether its humanitarian aid to Central America or for AIDS or support for the Tibetan people, who are suffering terribly under the Chinese." Gere's concern for Tibet has brought him into friendship with the Dalai Lama, the leader of Tibetan Buddhists. "He's a wonderful combination of things said. "Brilliant.

Very generous, very compassionate, very easy. He's avuncular, warm. He meets me with this big hug. I described it once as being, maybe for the only time in your life, in the presence of someone who wants nothing other than your happiness." "Is the Dalai Lama like the father you should have had?" I inquired. "He's like the father we all should have had," Gere answered.

"It's like completing the circle, and the circle is really finding the father here." He tapped his chest above his heart. PAGE 10 NOVEMBER 27, 1988 PARADE MAGAZINE "I ItrAS everybody's bad boy 1 "says the actor. But he had another side. (27) ci na2.1 NA1 Etorta a UXU r'Irsz On "Knowing yourself, growth- that's the real work of life," THINK YOU HAVE yRicouhardrseGerel I 6 I Richard Geri). I .1 I i.

op 41 4 I international superstar. Curiously, none to leave home to be i of the films that followed would dupli- cate their success. His most recent mov- as Miles From Home. have to destroy a lot of things in the pro- '4400, 11 '414 i ie Jib'. it I asked how fame has affected him.

cess. You've got to destroy 'your dad- "Well," he said, "the change is almost dies' and all that 1 always in the people around you. When Gere talked with me in his austere 1. I became famous, very close friends were apartment in Manhattan's Greenwich insecure of their place in my life and Village. Its bookshelves heavy with stud- 4- 1 were becoming aggressive and difficult.

les of Tibet, Buddhism and philosophy, Prove we're still friends. Prove you the room is more appropriate to an assis-haven't changed. It's heavy going, espe- 3 taut professor than a film star. Gere, 39, I. 1 I.

cially when you want to enjoy that mowas dressed in a blue workshirt, tight e- 1: ri 1 ment you've worked so hard for." 4 dark-gray chinos and half-boots. He is I e' It An intensely private man, Gem has nev- tall, muscular and handsome, with an 4 er married, although for several years he easy, engaging smile. His mind is quick, maintained a rather public relationship complex, unsentimental and apprecia- 'e' with Sylvia Martins, a Brazilian paint- tive of irony. As I was to learn, central er. I asked what mattered most to him.

to his life has been a rebellion against re- i Ai- "My faith," he 'Emptying the ceived values and a search for new ones. 4, negative out of my heart. The career? '1 Before he left home, Gere had a typi- I'm not really that interested. Discovering 1 cal small-town, middle-class boyhood ..:1 things. Knowing yourself.

Gmwth. That's I in upstate New York. His parents had the real work of life." i moved there from Philadelphia, where Gere has studied Buddhism for 15 1 Gere was born. The second of five chil- 1 3 i ii ears. "I alwa wanted to know, Who I oi ei.

I dren, (ere was athletic and musical. am is the origin of sufferinar I Among the instmments he mastered were i he said quietly. "We're Eill afraid. We're I the guitar, trumpet, banjo and sitar. -i.

'ti all pound one way or another. And suf- I "My father is a very soulful trumpet 2- tti feting is all around us. And it's our sufplayer," he told me. "My mother plays -I fering. There's no separation." the piano.

We were Methodists, so there 1 1. "In the last few years," he added, "I've was a lot of singing in church. My par- 11, 1, I felt the need to do more for others- ents were very involved with the church. whether its humanitarian aid to CenVery moral people. Straight-shooters.

his hand through his hair, a characteris- est of Hollywood. In 1977, after a few tral America or for AIDS or support for My father even played with the idea of tic gesture. "I didn't go to classes. I just films, he was offered the role of a migrant the Tibetan people, who are suffering becoming a preacher." read a lot. I was very much a dreamer." worker in Days of Heaven.

"As soon as terribly under the Chinese." Gere's father sold insurance. "He didn't At the end of his sophomore year, Gere I did that film, everything else took off," Gere's concern for Tibet has brought see himself as a businessman," the actor worked in summer stock in Provincetown, Gere recalled. "I was hot. I was the him into friendship with the Dalai Lama, told me. "He was protecting people's fain- where the director of the Seattle newest thing in town.

That year." the leader of Tibetan Buddhists. "He's a Hies. He never made a lot of money, and Repertory Theatre spotted him and per- How had it felt, at 28, to be the hot- wonderful combination of things," Gere that was never a factor around our house. suaded him to join that company. After test young actor in town? said.

"Brilliant. Very generous, very comWhat mattered were the good works of one season in Seattle, playing minormles, He grinned. "It was great having the passionate, very easy. He's avuncular, the church or the school and communi- he headed for Vermont, where he orga- attention," he said. "I thought: 'This is it! warm.

He meets me with this big hug. I ty. As for myself?" Gere sat forward. nized some friends into a band. When the I've done it! I'm going to retire my father, described it once as being, maybe for "It was jutt the opposite.

I wanted noth- band fell apart six weeks later, Gere I'm putting money away for college for the only time in your life, in the presMg to do with anybody! I hated every- moved on to Greenwich Village: It was my the whole thing. It's incred- ence of someone who wants nothing othbody and assumed everybody hated me. the height of the hippie age, and Gere, ibly euphorious. All of a sudden the er than your happiness." I was rebellious. A bad boy.

Everybody's his hair below his shoulders, lived in rehearsal period of your life is over, and "Is the Dalai Lama like the father you bad boy." makeshift quarters and looked for work, your future has arrived. It's liberating." should have had?" I inquired. Gere's excellence at gymnastics won His first important break was replacing Gere's career really took off with "He's like the father we all should have him an athletic scholarship to the Uni. Barry Bostwick as Danny Zulco in the Looking for Mr. Goodbar, released in answered.

"It's like completversity of Massachusetts in 1967 and hit Broadway musical Grease. 1977. American Gigolo in 1980 brought ing the circle, and the circle is really allowed him to leave home. "I was a By the mid-'70s, Gere's growing rep- him stardom, and An Officer and a Gen- finding the father here." He tapped his terrible student!" he admitted, running utation in the theater had piqued the inter- tleman, two years later, made him an chest above his heart. 11 If DOTSON RADER, PAGE 10 NOVEMBER 27, 1988 PARADE MAGAZINE.