A Soap Opera Actor Died this Week

A soap opera actor died this week. But he didn’t just die; he shot himself in the head in his home here in Huntington, New York. His name was Benjamin Hendrickson and he played Lt. Hal Munson on the television soap opera As the World Turns for over 20 years.

Hal Munson was an upright, loyal, dependable cop with a wrinkled shar-pei face and a good heart. He was the kind of man who maybe would forget to buy flowers on your birthday, but would step in to do the dinner dishes when he saw you were tired; who didn’t miss a child’s soccer game or school play; who would take a leave of absence from his job to nurse his mother as she was dying of cancer.

Benjamin Hendrickson took a leave of absence a few years ago, to handle what were announced as “personal problems.” He was replaced by a journeyman actor, but fans were overjoyed to see him return. He hadn’t looked well for several years; but no one knew what was happening inside. Surprisingly, I never ran into him in Huntington (which is really a very small town) although I once answered a telephone call from him when a film he was in was playing at our local art-house cinema.

I wonder if he knew how many fans he had. I don’t know if he had a fan club; he never played the sexy romantic character, and I think that fans of the show just liked to see him around Oakdale (the fictional town that mirrors Huntington), as familiar and re-assuring as the cop on the beat. I wonder if I had had a chance to meet him face-to-face at the Cinema or at the Public Library or at Heckscher Park, if I could have said anything that would have touched his heart and pierced through the depression to make his life worth living.

“Mr. Hendrickson,” I probably would have babbled like an idiot, “You are so cool! Millions of people enjoy seeing you on ‘As The World Turns.’ Watching you has made my life a little lighter. Keep up the good work!”

So what can I take from his sudden death? What is the universal truth that I can learn from his life? I once knew a bright, lovely, kind young man who worked for a newspaper. One day he was in an auto collision and poof! He was gone. He was so full of energy and light that it was hard to accept that he was erased from the Earth. Here’s what he taught me: numbers under ten should be written as numerals, and numbers over ten should be written out in letters. Or maybe it was the other way around. I don’t know. But I remember our conversation that day, and that’s what I carry around with me.

What can I learn from Benjamin Hendrickson, what lesson can I carry around for the rest of my life? Maybe nothing as practical or profound as the finer points of proofreading a newspaper article.

I suppose what I have learned from my friend, my cop on the beat, my Hal Munson, is that you can never know the pain a person is hiding deep inside; a pain mere words can never reach. ‘Benjamin,’ I want to say, ‘Your mother is supposed to die before you. It’s terrible, but it’s the way of the world. Benjamin,’ I want to say, ‘Your life has meaning to millions of people.’ ‘Benjamin,’ I want to say, ‘Give me a call and we’ll talk it out. You can save me and I can save you.’

Would it have made a difference?

July 10, 2006