Jack and Me
Jack Palance as hired gun Jack Wilson in the 1953 film Shane. Photo: © Paramount Pictures
In the fall of 1963, I traveled by train from Vienna to Madrid with a stopover in Marseille, where I made connections for the final leg of the nearly 2-day journey. I woke around 3 a.m. to find that sometime during the night, another passenger had entered my previously empty compartment and was seated directly across from me. He seemed lost in thought, and didn’t notice me staring. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but even in the moonlit compartment, I recognized him. I was only 10-years old when I saw him perform in the 1953 film, Shane. His character, Jack Wilson, was a hired gunslinger, and Alan Ladd’s nemesis. As impossible as it seemed, the tall dark stranger across from me was Jack Palance, one of my favorite actors.
Why he happened to be in Europe and on the same train as me in the first place was, and still is, a mystery. What I later learned was that after Palance received a 1954 Oscar nomination as Best Supporting Actor for Shane, he appeared in several Hollywood films, but eventually, his career took him to Europe, where he starred in films like Jean-Luc Godard’s 1963 Le Mépris/Contempt, appearing alongside Bridget Bardot as Hollywood producer Jeremy Prokosch. The film was shot in France and Italy. Palance could have boarded the train anytime after we left Marseille.
I decided not to say anything to him until morning and soon fell asleep, not waking until we reached Barcelona a little after dawn. Palance was gone. In his place, the compartment was crowded with noisy university students on holiday. While they celebrated, I sat quietly reading a novel. Finally, a young man asked me in Spanish where I was from.
At that moment, I wanted more than anything to remain an anonymous traveler, a mysterious stranger like Jack Palance. Reluctant to identify myself as an American, I reasoned that since I had been living in Vienna at the time, I was technically an Austrian.
“Soy austriaco,” I answered, stepping out of the compartment to disappear down the sun splashed corridor until I reached another car at the back of the train where I remained until Madrid.
Later that year I returned to the States and headed for San Francisco. I shared an apartment with friends and worked part-time at the Bonanza Inn Book Shop, a popular bookstore on Market Street. One day, Jack Palance walked in, apparently in town to do an interview promoting his TV series, The Greatest Show on Earth. While he was browsing for books, I approached him and asked him for his autograph. He obliged and wrote: “For my pal, Steve” and signed it. I let him pay for his books and leave the store without mentioning the incident on the train, and so, I lost my one chance to confirm my story.
Many years later, I was living in Pennsylvania’s Susquehanna Valley. Palance’s birthplace was located about two hours west of my home, and at the time, he still owned a farm near Hazleton. One day, I heard that Palance, who had become a successful artist, was exhibiting his paintings nearby with those of his friend, artist David Armstrong. I attended the exhibit, but never saw Palance. Somehow, I was relieved that our paths didn’t cross again. Suppose I had learned that he had no recollection of being on that train, or worse, that he wasn’t even in Europe in the fall of 1963? I’ll never know for sure .
Regardless—I prefer to keep my memory of a forty-three- year old Jack Palance, sitting across from me, brooding in the dark while traveling through the night without luggage to a destination unknown.
—Stephen Newton