He lived like a man determined to outrun grief, turning private heartbreak into unforgettable performances. Onstage at Juilliard, on sets from “Top Gun” to “The Doors,” he chased truth with a ferocity that often unnerved those around him. Directors called him difficult; others simply called him fearless. Beneath the intensity was a son and brother still haunted by loss, a man who believed that total immersion in a role was the only honest way to live.
When cancer attacked his throat, it seemed a cruel joke aimed at someone whose voice had once filled theaters. The tracheostomy scar, the labored breathing, the reliance on machines and AI to speak again — none of it dimmed the spark that drove him. Returning in “Top Gun: Maverick,” he didn’t reclaim his past so much as rewrite his ending: fragile, altered, but unbroken. His body failed; his artistic defiance never did.
