Mourning ‘Sundance’

November 13, 2025 Michael Olesker

Robert Redford (Wikipedia)

With the death of Robert Redford back in September, I naturally joined all movie fans saddened by his departure. But forgive me when I claim my grief deeper than most. After all, Redford and I were family.

What, you never noticed the resemblance?

When news of his death arrived, at age 89, it took me back to an autumn morning in 1985, precisely 40 years ago. The phone rings, and it’s my father.

“Did you read Liz Smith this morning?” he asks.

Some of you will remember Liz. She was a syndicated gossip columnist. My father mostly read the serious political columns of daily newspapers. But now Smith was running an item of some importance to the Olesker family, and to my father’s first cousin, Herby.

Herby was Herbert Schlosser, who was a big shot back then at NBC. Cousin Herby had a son named Eric, and Liz Smith’s big scoop was that cousin Eric was getting married.

This was not an immediate big deal in my life, since the last time I saw cousin Herby was some years earlier, and the last time I saw my cousin Eric was never.

But this was still pretty big family news since my dear cousin Eric was marrying one Shauna Redford, daughter of the actor Robert Redford, who starred in one of my all-time favorite movies, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” with the great Paul Newman.

“Here,” said my father, handing over the phone, “talk to your mother.”

“What happens,” I ask my mother, “if you and Dad get invited to cousin Eric’s wedding, and you get seated next to Paul Newman?”

“I would kill myself quietly,” said my mother, already in mid-kvell.

As it turned out, no wedding invitation ever arrived. The closest we got was our next regular visit to Atlantic City, where the Schlossers and other cousins lived.

We always dropped in to see cousin Herby’s parents, Aunt Chana and Uncle Abe. Abe was famous for making great homemade sour pickles in his garage.

Anyway, go figure, there was no contact with cousins Herby or Eric over the next three years. And then there was another newspaper item. Democrat Michael Dukakis was running for president, and Robert Redford was campaigning for him, and they were both coming to Baltimore. Redford wanted to talk about environmental issues. I was writing for a daily newspaper.

Naturally, “Bob” would want to talk with his cousin Michael. He could talk about the ozone layer. I could ask why I wasn’t invited to Eric’s wedding.

So I call Dukakis campaign headquarters and ask for Redford.

“He hasn’t arrived yet,” a young woman says.

“I wonder if you could have him call Michael Olesker at The Sun,” I tell her.

“Sir,” she says, “I’m not certain Mr. Redford is doing interviews. But all requests would have to go through our press office.”

This, of course, I find amusing in the extreme, the notion that a close family member such as I would have to approach Redford through a press officer.

“No, you don’t understand,” I tell her. “Bob and I are cousins, sort of.”

“You are?” the young lady says. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” I tell her, and offer a brief family history, including the stuff about Uncle Abe making pickles in his Atlantic City garage.

“When is the last time you saw him?” the young lady asks.

“Uncle Abe?” I ask.

“Robert Redford,” she says.

“The last time I saw Redford,” I explain, “was never.”

The young lady seems momentarily confused.

“And when was the time before that?”

“Always,” I tell her. “I always never saw him before that.”

The young lady said she would pass the message to cousin Bob. Yet, close as we were, I never heard from him. He came to Baltimore, and then he was gone. My phone must have been busy whenever it was that cousin Bob got around to calling me.

It’s understandable how sad people were when they heard he died. Of course, in my house, we grieved a little more than most people.

That’s how it is when you’re family.

A former Baltimore Sun columnist and WJZ-TV commentator, Michael Olesker is the author of six books, including “Journeys to the Heart of Baltimore” (Johns Hopkins University Press) and “Michael Olesker’s Baltimore: If You Live Here, You’re Home” (Johns Hopkins University).