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Gene Hackman Lost His Wife and Caregiver, and Spent 7 Days Alone
Before Gene Hackman faded from public view in his adopted hometown of Santa Fe, N.M., the locals would see the aging movie star on the golf course or in his truck or walking his beloved dogs in the enchanted western city, amid the mesquite, juniper and pinyon pine.
His wife, Betsy Arakawa, was often alongside him. There was much about his life that she managed. She set up the golf games with his friends. She policed his diet, given the heart trouble that had dogged him for decades. She diluted his wine with soda water. She typed and edited the novels he wrote by hand.
She also apparently took on the role of sole caregiver as he endured the devastating effects of Alzheimer’s. Thirty years his junior, she must have planned to see him to his end, in their home.
And so it was all the more jarring on Friday when authorities in New Mexico revealed more dark turns in the mystery of how the couple died last month in their four-bedroom house, hidden by trees at the end of a luxurious cul-de-sac east of the city.
Officials said the couple died of natural causes, he of heart disease and she of a rare viral infection. But it was Ms. Arakawa — the caregiver, lover, protector — who died first, perhaps on Feb. 11, leaving Mr. Hackman, 95 years old with advanced Alzheimer’s, alone in the house for days. He is believed to have died a week later, on Feb. 18.
Their decomposing bodies were not discovered for yet another eight days, when a maintenance worker called a security guard to the house after no one came to the door. Emergency workers found Ms. Arakawa, 65, on the floor of a bathroom near a medicine bottle and spilled pills. Zinna, one of their three dogs, was dead in a crate in a closet. The body of Mr. Hackman was discovered in a mud room, with slippers and a cane.
New Mexico’s chief medical examiner said on Friday that Alzheimer’s disease was a contributing factor in Mr. Hackman’s death. Ms. Arakawa died of hantavirus, which is contracted through exposure to excrement from rodents, often the deer mouse in New Mexico.
The exact details of what happened in the house over the course of that week may never be known. Friends and neighbors said that the couple had increasingly receded into the private confines of their hillside house since the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic.
But the timeline presented Friday raises the terrifying possibility that Mr. Hackman, a Marine veteran and actor of consummate precision and control, had spent days in the presence of his fallen wife, too disoriented or feeble to call for help — trapped, essentially, in the handsome, secluded home that had been his reward for a life toiling in the limelight.
Mr. Hackman was drawn to Santa Fe in the late 1980s, shortly after his divorce from his first wife. He had already earned an Oscar for his starring role in the 1971 thriller, “The French Connection.” Another Oscar, as a supporting actor in the 1992 western “Unforgiven,” would come later.
His father, who abandoned the family when Mr. Hackman was 13, was a pressman for the local newspaper. His mother was a waitress. But Mr. Hackman had a bohemian streak, and he was drawn to Santa Fe’s stunning natural landscape and the artists the landscape inspired. He would become one of them, spending much of the second half of his life painting, sculpting and writing fiction in Santa Fe, far from the trophy homes of Beverly Hills that many celebrities of his caliber inhabit.
Ms. Arakawa was a classical pianist, born in Hawaii. She met Mr. Hackman in Los Angeles at a fitness center where she had a part-time job. He had forgotten his entry card, and she refused to let him in, according to Rodney Hatfield, a friend. They married in 1991. Friends said that the relationship seemed natural, despite the age difference.
“That part never came to mind because they seemed equal in so many ways,” said a friend, Susan Contreras. “She was a personality unto herself.”
The life they settled into in Santa Fe was both charmed and strikingly normal. Architectural Digest featured an earlier hilltop house they owned outside of town, built to their specifications in an elegant Southwestern style. Mr. Hackman joined the board of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, one of the city’s storied cultural gems. They invested in a restaurant, Jinja, which displayed Mr. Hackman’s paintings and named a house mai tai cocktail in his honor.
But others remembered a man who often seemed to fit the mold of the Everyman he so often played onscreen. Helen Dufreche, a former neighbor, recalled meeting Mr. Hackman for the first time about a decade ago. He was wearing a baseball cap and had pulled up alongside her in a truck to compliment her dachshunds.
“What cute puppies!” he said.
Tom Allin, a longtime friend of Mr. Hackman’s, said Ms. Arakawa had always served as something of a gatekeeper for her famous husband. Over a 20-year friendship with Mr. Hackman, Mr. Allin never recalled speaking to him over the phone or emailing with him. He would always set up golf games or visits through Ms. Arakawa. Uninterested in technology, Mr. Hackman did not have a cellphone that Mr. Allin knew about.
“She was very protective of him,” Mr. Allin said, adding that Mr. Hackman seemed happy to have his wife run things.
He recalled Mr. Hackman saying that he would have been dead “long ago” without his wife taking care of him and ensuring that he ate healthily.
In January 2020, just before the pandemic, Mr. Allin said, he saw his friend for his 90th birthday in Islamorada, Fla. He recalls Ms. Arakawa mixing soda water into his wine. “She just really looked after him,” he said.
He also said that he could sense that Mr. Hackman was declining. The couple had a tradition where Mr. Hackman would cook dinner each year for Ms. Arakawa’s birthday. In 2023, she came home expecting a meal, Mr. Allin recalled, but Mr. Hackman had forgotten their ritual.
Like many older Americans, Mr. Hackman retreated indoors during the Covid crisis to stay safe. In recent years, neighbors in Santa Fe Summit, the gated community where the couple lived, said they had seen no sign of the couple, except for their trash cans on the side of the road, waiting to be picked up.
During Friday’s news conference, Sheriff Adan Mendoza of Santa Fe County said that investigators had determined that on Feb. 9, a Sunday, Ms. Arakawa had picked up Zinna from a veterinarian after the dog underwent a procedure, which could explain why Zinna was being kept in a crate.
On Feb. 11, perhaps hours before she died, Ms. Arakawa emailed her massage therapist in the morning and then went to a grocery store in the afternoon. She was also captured on surveillance video making a brief stop at a pharmacy. Sheriff Mendoza said he believed she wore a mask that day while in public, which she often did to avoid bringing any illnesses back to her husband, friends said.
Ms. Arakawa stopped by a local pet food store later that afternoon and then returned to her neighborhood around 5:15 p.m., the sheriff said. She did not respond to any emails after that day.
Asked whether the couple had anyone taking care of Mr. Hackman, Sheriff Mendoza said, “At this point, there’s no indication that there was a caretaker at the home.”
James Everett, who lived part-time in the neighborhood for about five years, said in an interview last week that he found it unusual that the couple did not have any caretakers, given Mr. Hackman’s age. “I know when my dad was 95, 96, 97, 98, we had a live-in cook and maid for him,” he said. “I’m surprised they didn’t have them.”
Another neighbor, Robert Cecil, wondered whether the couple’s desire for privacy was, in the end, a “weakness” that contributed to the horror that befell them.
But Mr. Hatfield, Mr. Hackman’s longtime friend, said that Mr. Hackman loved Santa Fe because it allowed him to live a life that was not always that of a star. “I know that Gene did not like the role of celebrity,” he said. “It was pretty obvious.”
Another friend, Stuart Ashman, said that solitude was often the goal for people who migrated to Santa Fe. “People come here as a way to hide out,” he said. “They certainly did.”
News
Want to opt out of AI? State labeling laws might help
Red STOP AI protest flyer with meeting details taped to a light pole on a city street in San Francisco, California on May 20, 2025.
Smith Collection/Gado/Getty Images
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Utah and California have passed laws requiring entities to disclose when they use AI. More states are considering similar legislation. Proponents say labels make it easier for people who don’t like AI to opt out of using it.
“They just want to be able to know,” says Utah Department of Commerce executive director Margaret Woolley Busse, who is implementing new state laws requiring state-regulated businesses to disclose when they use AI with their customers.
“If that person wants to know if it’s human or not, they can ask. And the chatbot has to say.”
California passed a similar law regarding chatbots back in 2019. This year it expanded disclosure rules, requiring police departments to specify when they use AI products to help write incident reports.
“I think AI in general and police AI in specific really thrives in the shadows, and is most successful when people don’t know that it’s being used,” says Matthew Guariglia, a senior policy analyst for the Electronic Frontier Foundation, which supported the new law. “I think labeling and transparency is really the first step.”
As an example, Guariglia points to San Francisco, which now requires all city departments to report publicly how and when they use AI.
Such localized regulations are the kind of thing the Trump Administration has tried to head off. White House “AI Czar” David Sacks has referred to a “state regulatory frenzy that is damaging the startup ecosystem.”
Daniel Castro, with the industry-supported think tank Information Technology & Innovation Foundation, says AI transparency can be good for markets and democracy, but it may also slow innovation.
“You can think of an electrician that wants to use AI to help communicate with his or her customers … to answer queries about when they’re available,” Castro says. If companies have to disclose the use of AI, he says, “maybe that turns off the customers and they don’t really want to use it anymore.”
For Kara Quinn, a homeschool teacher in Bremerton, Wash., slowing down the spread of AI seems appealing.
“Part of the issue, I think, is not just the thing itself; it’s how quickly our lives have changed,” she says. “There may be things that I would buy into if there were a lot more time for development and implementation.”
At the moment, she’s changing email addresses because her longtime provider recently started summarizing the contents of her messages with AI.
“Who decided that I don’t get to read what another human being wrote? Who decides that this summary is actually what I’m going to think of their email?” Quinn says. “I value my ability to think. I don’t want to outsource it.”
Quinn’s attitude to AI caught the attention of her sister-in-law, Ann-Elise Quinn, a supply chain analyst who lives in Washington, D.C. She’s been holding “salons” for friends and acquaintances who want to discuss the implications of AI, and Kara Quinn’s objections to the technology inspired the theme of a recent session.
“How do we opt out if we want to?” she asks. “Or maybe [people] don’t want to opt out, but they want to be consulted, at the very least.”
News
In a Looming Nuclear Arms Race, Aging Los Alamos Faces a Major Test
In a sprawling building atop a mesa in New Mexico, workers labor around the clock to fulfill a vital mission: producing America’s nuclear bomb cores.
The effort is uniquely challenging. Technicians at Los Alamos National Laboratory must handle hazardous plutonium to create the grapefruit-size cores, known as pits. They do so in a nearly 50-year-old building under renovation to address aging infrastructure and equipment breakdowns that have at times disrupted operations or spread radioactive contamination, The New York Times found.
Now, the laboratory is under increasing pressure to meet the federal government’s ambitions to upgrade the nation’s nuclear arsenal. The $1.7 trillion project includes everything from revitalizing missile silos burrowed deep in five states, to producing new warheads that contain the pits, to arming new land-based missiles, bomber jets and submarines.
But the overall modernization effort is years behind schedule, with costs ballooning by the billions, according to the Congressional Budget Office. In 2018, Congress charged Los Alamos with making an annual quota of 30 pits by 2026, but by last year it had produced just one approved for the nuclear stockpile. (Officials have not disclosed whether more have been made since then.)
That pace has put the lab — and especially the building called Plutonium Facility 4, or PF-4 — under scrutiny by Trump administration officials.
News
With food stamps set to dry up Nov. 1, SNAP recipients say they fear what’s next
Roughly 42 million Americans rely on food stamps that arrive every month on their electronic benefit transfer cards. On Nov. 1, that aid is set to abruptly stop amid the ongoing U.S. government shutdown, potentially leaving households scrambling to figure out how to put food on the table.
People enrolled in the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP, told CBS News they’re bracing for some tough financial choices. Kasey McBlais, a 42-year-old single mom who lives in Buckfield, Maine, said she’s planning to delay paying her electric and credit card bills to make sure her two children have enough to eat.
“Now we’ll have to prioritize which bills we can pay and which can wait,” said McBlais, who works for a Maine social services agency and who draws about $600 a month in SNAP benefits. “My children won’t go hungry.”
The suspension of food aid comes as Democratic and Republican lawmakers continue to trade blame over the government shutdown, which now stands as the second-longest funding lapse in U.S. history. The U.S. Department of Agriculture, which funds the SNAP program, warned earlier this month that there would be insufficient funding to pay full November benefits if the shutdown continued, prompting local governments to post notices on their websites about the potential interruption in payments.
“Bottom line, the well has run dry,” the USDA said in a memo posted Sunday on its website. “At this time, there will be no benefits issued November 01.”
Democratic lawmakers have asked the USDA to use contingency funds to cover most of next month’s SNAP benefits, but an agency memo surfaced on Friday that says “contingency funds are not legally available to cover regular benefits.” The document says the money is reserved for such things as helping people in disaster areas.
That means beginning Nov. 1, the government will halt about $8 billion in monthly SNAP payments, cutting off food assistance for the one in eight Americans who are enrolled in the program. Recipients, who include households in every state, typically get about $187 a month on a prepaid card to help cover the cost of groceries.
Some U.S. states, including Louisiana, Vermont and Virginia, have vowed to continue disbursing SNAP benefits even if the federal government suspends payments. New York on Monday pledged $30 million in emergency food assistance, while also recently committing to provide millions more in support for food banks.
Yet the USDA memo stipulates that states won’t be reimbursed for temporarily providing food aid to residents, raising questions about the viability of that approach.
Sharlene Sutton, a 45-year-old mother of four in Dorchester, Mass., who left her job as a security officer last month to care for one of her children, who has epilepsy, said she relies on the $549 she gets in monthly SNAP benefits to feed her family.
“I was freaking out because I’m like, ‘Oh my god, now I don’t have a job,’” she told CBS News. “I’m not worried about myself that much. It’s about the kids. Like, where am I going to get food from?”
Turning to food banks
Sutton said she’s looking for a food bank to help fill the gap if her food aid is cut off. But experts warn that the non-profit organizations alone aren’t capable of filling the $8 billion monthly hole left by a looming SNAP suspension.
“The charitable food system and food banks don’t have the resources to replace all those food dollars,” John Sayles, CEO of Vermont Foodbank in Barre, Vermont, told CBS News.
Already, food banks are getting an influx of calls from SNAP recipients who are worried about the payments freeze, and food shelves could see long lines next month if the shutdown persists, Sayles said.
“There is no safety net after SNAP other than the food shelf,” he added.
Albuquerque, New Mexico’s Roadrunner Food Bank, which typically serves 83,000 households per week, is “seeing panic” among residents due to the SNAP halt, said Katy Anderson, vice president of strategy, partnerships and advocacy at the nonprofit organization.
Even before this new surge in demand, food banks were already facing pressures because of the growing number of people seeking their services, aggravated this year by persistent inflation, and funding constraints. In March, the USDA said it was nixing $420 million in funding for a program that allows food banks to buy food directly from local farms, ranchers and producers.
A surge in patrons could also strain food banks as they face their own funding struggles and contend with growing demand thanks to inflation ticking higher in March, the USDA said it was nixing $420 million in funding for a program that allows food banks to buy food directly from local farms, ranchers and producers.
Broader economic impact
A temporary halt in $8 billion in monthly food aid could also impact local businesses, from grocers to farm stands, said Sayles of Vermont Foodbank. Each $1 in SNAP benefits provides an economic benefit of $1.60, he said, referring to the so-called multiplier effect in which dollars flowing through the local economy help support spending, jobs and growth.
“SNAP is the foundation of economic support for a lot of food retailers, like those smaller places in rural areas and the corner store in our cities,” said Kate Bauer, an associate professor of nutritional services at the University of Michigan. “So this has far-reaching impacts beyond just the people who get SNAP.”
SNAP is designed to provide supplemental aid for a family’s grocery budget, but some families depend on it as their main source of income to buy food, Bauer noted. For those living paycheck to paycheck, even a short disruption in benefits can have immediate consequences, experts said.
The loss of SNAP funding threatens some of the most vulnerable people in the U.S., with the Center on Budget Policy and Priorities noting that two-thirds of food-stamp recipients are children, seniors or people with disabilities.
For McBlais, the single mom, the issue isn’t political. Rather, it’s about making sure families can eat in an economy where many are already struggling to afford rent, utilities and basic groceries, she told CBS News.
“Everybody needs food — SNAP recipients are Democratic, Republicans and everything in between,” McBlais said.
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