He still makes us believe he’s just like us
I first heard the name Harrison Ford when I was eleven and a Corellian smuggler and star-freighter pilot named Han Solo wrangled, blasted, quipped, rescued, and adventured his way across a galaxy a long time ago and far, far away. Ford played a rogue with a heart of gold, and he kept on doing it as the Star Wars saga unfolded. In 1981’s Raiders of the Lost Ark he brought another iconic character to life as the ruggedly dashing young archaeologist Indiana Jones. Though so rarely in a research library or in his classroom (actually climbing out of a school window to escape a clamoring throng of students wanting their papers graded), Dr. Jones was clearly both astoundingly learned and well-loved. We audiences watched as he spent his time racing around the world, battling Nazis and other sinister forces, crawling into subterranean crypts, and returning to the light with rare treasures.
Through Han Solo and Indiana Jones, Harrison Ford showed a generation of boys who we wanted to be when we grew up. What teenage boy in the 1980s didn’t want to fly through hyperspace and break senseless rules, to have a cool Wookiee co-pilot and save the good guys, to find romance? What aspiring young man didn’t want to be both truant and educated, living a life of high adventure, boldly following the perilous path to where X marked the spot? We got leather bomber jackets, or the closest approximations we could find. We combed through thrift stores until we acquired a suitable brown fedora. My dad found me a farmer’s weathered bullwhip for sale, and I practiced with it until I could wssht-CRACK aluminum cans off the tops of fences. I was ready to defend the world from nefarious empty cans.
As Gen X boys reached adulthood, Ford remained a powerful role-model, and he accomplished it with a quality that set him apart from most other Hollywood leading men. He made us believe he was us. We knew we were not Brad Pitt or Al Pacino. Here’s the thing: Ford was (and still is) undeniably handsome and charismatic—our female peers most likely saw a great difference between Ford and us—but we boys thought he looked just like us, with his mussed hair and perpetually uncomfortable expression. Indiana Jones was written and played as a character making it up as he went. He took falls. He bumbled, got battered and bruised. He was afraid of snakes. But he came through.
That’s it! we concluded. YES! He’s us!
In various interviews, Ford has told the story of his success in Hollywood, which came about because he found a way to develop staying power. Other starry-eyed aspiring actors tried for parts, didn’t get them, and went away one after another. Ford knew he had to be there till the opportunities came around, and that meant managing to support himself even if the roles were not coming. He learned carpentry and enjoyed it. Working with tools and wood took his mind off the stress and despair of elusive success at acting. It helped him get to know people. A director needed some shelving. A producer needed some cabinets. Every carpentry job he did for a director was an audition, though the directors may not have realized it. As the carpenter who happened to be on site, he was asked to read for the part of Han Solo—and the rest, as they say, is history.
Throughout the ensuing decades Ford has continued a varied and honorable acting career at the highest level of success. He has kept on playing the long game that he taught himself to play as a young actor who needed his first big break.
Most recently, Ford stars in the successful series Shrinking, which has been approved for a third season. As cognitive behavioral therapist Dr. Paul Rhoades, Ford portrays a Boomer in his last good run as he battles Parkinson’s disease. A weary curmudgeon, Paul lives with his regrets and navigates a tense relationship with his long-estranged daughter while overseeing unconventional and erratic junior colleagues and sometimes shepherding their children and neighbors, their fragile patients. Beneath his gruff façade, Paul remains true to his life’s vocation: He is a therapist because he wants to help people. An important point is that Paul, like Indiana Jones, did not wade into the fray with nothing. The two characters are people of education; they have learned their fields, and this preparation has enabled their work.
In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones, complaining of how his entire body hurts from his ordeals, says, “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.” Dr. Paul Rhoades bears the weight of both the years and the mileage, and he does so with dignity. The Nazis and physical dangers Paul fights are age, infirmity, consequences, and the pitfalls of the mind.
The opening credit sequence of Shrinking depicts a complex hedge maze; within the maze are various cartoon images of figures who resemble characters from the show. They are falling headlong into holes, climbing ladders, wandering, lost, and sometimes helping one another. A final, aerial view reveals the maze’s shape, its pathways looking very much like the convolutions of the human brain. A machine like a large mower is cutting through the hedge walls. Like therapy itself, which is the central device of the story, the mower is chugging along, going deeper, getting to the heart of the maze and the problem. Just as Indiana Jones followed maps, clues, and esoteric wisdom through the labyrinths of his adventures, Paul Rhoades helps patients negotiate the complex paths of their own psyches and work toward healing.
As a young man, Ford taught us Xers how to embark upon life, how to learn and adapt, to be courageous adventurers, how to do the right things and to hang on. Now he’s teaching us how to grow old with dignity and grace. We are learning to keep on doing those right things for as long as we can, to keep showing up for others.
Even given the assistance of lighting and makeup crews, Ford is unquestionably still looking very good. The build and bearing of Han Solo and Indiana Jones are still there, though they move more slowly. The rugged face is still there, albeit with a few more wrinkles, and still present is the speech that is also a growl.
And dang it, he still looks just like us!
For over twenty years, Frederic S. Durbin has been professionally writing fiction for adults and children. His most recent novel, A Green and Ancient Light, was named a Reading List Honor Book by the American Library Association.