Believe it or not, the primary focus of my fanboy energies throughout most of the 1990s was not the Star Wars saga. Really. I know it’s hard to accept, but it really wasn’t. It wasn’t even Star Trek, despite all the various TV spin-offs running at that time. No, for the better part of the final decade of the 20th Century, I was seriously preoccupied by a fictional universe called Highlander.

Highlander is tough to explain to the uninitiated. It has a fairly bizarre premise to begin with, and its cause isn’t helped by the fact that all the different properties that fall under the Highlander brand tend to contradict each other, or at the very least don’t share the same continuity. I’m not going to go into all that in this entry — I’ll explore that topic some other time — but what you need to know (if you don’t already) is that the entire franchise originated with a 1986 movie and was revisited in a television series by the same name that ran from 1992 through 1998.

When Highlander: The Series ceased production in ’98, The Girlfriend and I were sufficiently wrapped up in the whole scene that we flew to LA to attend a big farewell convention dedicated to the show. It was an exciting event — the entire regular cast was in attendance, as well as a lot of the more prominent guest stars, and, of course, fans from all over the country.

One afternoon during the convention, we somehow found ourselves alone in an elevator, headed downstairs from an autograph session to get back to the center of the action, the dealers room. We were both feeling a little goggle-eyed from the celebrity-watching and the heady emotions that come with simultaneously celebrating and eulogizing a series you’ve been faithfully living and breathing for six years.

The elevator stopped midway down to pick up another passenger, a middle-aged man in a blazer. He was wearing a convention access badge, but then so were half the people in the hotel that day, so Anne and I didn’t think anything of it. We gave him pleasant nods, then concentrated on the lighted numbers over the door, as good elevator etiquette demands.
After a moment, the guy in the blazer asked if we were having a good time at the con. We both nodded and babbled off answers to the effect of, “yeah, it’s cool.” Our snoopy co-rider then asked a couple more questions — how far had we travelled to attend, had we managed to meet our favorite cast member yet — then we all arrived at the mezzanine level and went our separate ways. I recall asking Anne, once the guy was out of earshot, “Who the hell was that?”

We learned a couple hours later that the middle-aged guy in the blazer was in fact Bill Panzer, one of the two co-producers of everything Highlander. We kicked ourselves for our ignorance, and our timidity for not asking his name and getting an autograph and/or a photo. In time, our brief encounter became an amusing anecdote that we retell whenever the subject of that big con experience comes up.

I just learned today that Bill Panzer died on March 18. He was only 62, the same age as my father, and the cause of his death was a stupid accident. He fell while ice-skating and hit his head, causing a brain hemmorhage that ultimately proved fatal.

I always feel a little twinge of grief when actors or creative people involved in the media I love pass away, but this news has really punched me in the gut. I’ve often disparaged Panzer and his business partner, Peter Davis, for what I see as their poor guidance of the franchise, as well as their efforts to milk the fans with some truly insidious sales tactics — again, that’s a topic for another entry — but when it comes right down to it, they are responsible for giving me a lot of pleasure through the creations they shepherded. That provides a basic connection. And if it’s not connection enough to mourn a person, well, I also shared an elevator with the guy once. I had first-hand evidence that he was real, not merely a name in the closing credits but a living, breathing human being. And now he’s no more. And I find that that really hurts.

How ironic that the franchise he and Davis controlled is about people who live forever. How sad that he didn’t live to see the release of the next iteration of the franchise, a feature film called Highlander: The Source, which is due later this year. (I suspect it will suck, unfortunately; yet again, a topic for another entry…)

I’ve been unable to find much about Panzer’s death on the InterWebs. I learned of it when I wandered past my old Highlander forum, just to see if anything interesting was going on. However, Adrian Paul, the star of Highlander: The Series and its related feature films, has posted a very sweet tribute to his old boss over on his official web site. I recommend reading it in its entirety, but here’s the really good bit:

I know there were times that you questioned your position in Hollywood; questioned whether you were big enough, good enough or successful enough. Perhaps inside, like many of us, you didn’t believe that you had achieved everything that you dreamed of. But believe me, you touched millions. You were able to create something that made a ripple in the frequency of life and touched people’s hearts and souls. For that we all thank you.

 

However, the thing I regret the most is that in all that time, in all the moments we spent together, in all the places we visited – Vancouver, Paris, Vilnius, London, Bucharest, Los Angeles Bordeaux, Cannes and Daytona – I never truly thanked you for allowing me into the Highlander universe and for giving me the opportunity to play Duncan MacLeod. So, from the bottom of my heart Bill, thank you. Thank You. Thank You.

 

May the winds be with you and ….in the end Bill, there was only one……

 

I will miss you.

May we all have such a tribute when our times come.