I'm trying to think of a time from my 1970s childhood/teen years when Robert Redford wasn't a part of my cultural experience. He was THE biggest star in the world and he was everywhere. I really can't think of much to add to the volumes of loving tributes to the man, actor and activist that haven't already been said except to say that like everyone else, I adored his movies, and remember quite vividly when my Dad  took me to see "The Sting" (I really didn't get it) and when Mom took me to see "The Way We Were," a real grownup movie. (I loved it!)  His beautiful face graced all the movie fan magazines, while any movie release of his was a major event. To me, he  always came across as a good guy, the cautious everyman who tried to escape the glamor of his looks. So when Dad was hired to be one of the makeup artists for 1975's "Three Days of the Condor," I was beyond ecstatic. Dad and I had a ritual..he would carry my small (and now very tattered) autograph book to his sets and try to get whatever celebrity he was working with to sign it. That autograph book went everywhere with him, including several states. He would leave us for months on movie locations around the US and always, ALWAYS that book came right back to me. How he didn't lose it, I will never know. So when I begged him, cajoled him and nagged him about getting Redford's autograph, it proved most elusive. By all accounts the shoot, mostly on the streets of NYC in the winter was grueling. Redford seemed untouchable given that he had his own hair and makeup people. I have to think that Dad tried his best, but didn't want to come across as tacky and perhaps jeopardizing his own job. I regret it to this day, but at least he got me Cliff Robertson's signature. Small comfort to this pre teen Redford fan. But back to the shoot. I remember Dad discussing in great detail a special effect he had worked on diligently, as was his habit. It was a shootout in an alley off the famed Astoria building on the Upper West Side, where we also lived. (In fact, we had lived about ten blocks from part of the set on Broadway, which made Dad a happy commuter). The actor in question was to be shot in the throat, and a large gaping hole was seen in closeup. From what I recall, Dad fashioned the wound from rubber, filled it with fake blood and placed a rubber skin piece. And THAT piece had a long, barely visible string attached to it. At the moment of action, Dad was sitting right under the actor, hand on string and pulled the piece off in what must have been some sort of otherworldly feat of speed. The wound successfully gushed. This was all before computers and CGI. This is how it was done. By master craftspeople dedicated to being meticulous and creative. So RIP, Robert Redford, Say hello to Dad and give him that autograph!