Patrick Dempsey is Driven
Patrick Dempsey cut me off on La Cienega Boulevard. His 3-series BMW convertible was in my rearview mirror long enough for me to recognize the actor's face from his just-released film Coupe de Ville. At the intersection of La Cienega and San Vicente—a tangle of competing traffic lanes well known to Los Angeles body shops—he hit the gas and nipped in ahead of my bumper, forcing me to tap the brakes and watch his taillights speed north past the Beverly Center.
Now, 17 years later, Dempsey sits under the cold fluorescent lights in the cafeteria of the Petersen Automotive Museum, about half a mile from the scene of the infraction, pleading guilty with an explanation. "Oh, that's funny," he says sheepishly. "I did have a BMW convertible." He gives a slow spin to his cup of coffee and looks up. "Well," he says, "if I drive aggressively, I try to signal, so people know. It's irritating when people drive aggressively and they don't signal."
Dempsey is no stranger to aggression. As a teenager growing up in Maine, he was a state champion downhill skier who trained for a place on the Olympic team. Today, his favorite method of relaxation, when he's not watching the Speed Channel, is driving pumped-up Mustangs and Mazdas that can hit 160 miles an hour. On the streets of L.A., he can be seen riding his Specialized Tarmac road bike, putting in 100 miles in a good week, he says—and then hitting the gym. And of course, on the TV series Grey's Anatomy, which has given him financial freedom and more fame than he's comfortable with, he plays Dr. Derek Shepherd, the most aggressive of specialists in the medical profession: a brain surgeon.
Dempsey has agreed to meet at Petersen's—better known in certain quarters as the scene of Notorious B.I.G.'s last earthly party than for its collection of classic automobiles—because he loves fast cars and racing history. When I arrive, he is already here, unaccompanied, at the Ferrari exhibit, studiously looking at a car called the Dino. Dempsey explains how the model was named by father Enzo for his son Alfredino, who'd helped him design the V6 engine. When his son died of muscular dystrophy at age 24, the elder Ferrari made this car a tribute to his son. "Enzo wanted them badged only as Dinos," says Dempsey. "Technically, it's a Fiat, but a very special car."
Dempsey rattles off the specs and story behind each of the 10 or so cars in the exhibit, knowledge he conveys unpretentiously and sotto voce as we stroll. Before we sit down to talk, he tosses in the histories of a couple of low-slung Fords. For a guy who struggled with dyslexia and never finished high school, Dempsey has managed to become a walking encyclopedia of model numbers, horsepower, and torque. He turned pro in 2005, becoming part owner and driver for a sports-car endurance-racing team. This is a passion that he has been better able to indulge since his celebrated comeback from obscure '80s actor to Dr. McDreamy. So, it's impossible not to ask a gearhead whose weekly paycheck recently went up to a reported $200,000: What's new in your garage?
"I recently bought a 1954 XK 120 SE, which is sort of, I think, the defining postwar Jag," he says. "Really an old-school elegance to it."
Dempsey talks that way, really, imparting a natural sophistication to even a tech-heavy conversation. He sounds a bit like a courtly millionaire about to be handcuffed for killing his mistress on Law & Order. But Dempsey, with his black-Irish good looks and laid-back—if alert—personality, is not that sort of lady-killer. Those who have worked closely with him, from race-car drivers to directors, tell me he is simply an old-school gentleman. He endures the publicity process attached to fame with a certain mellowness. Or maybe he's just a touch bleary from a combination of 14-hour shooting days on Grey's Anatomy mixed with film acting jobs. He's starring in a fresh take on the Disney movie tradition, Enchanted, in theaters now, and he spent the summer in England filming Made of Honor, in which he has a leading role. On weekends, he flies all over the country, keeping his auto-racing team in active competition. Most important, however, he has the duties and pleasures of helping his wife, Jillian, raise their twin boys—Darby and Sullivan, born in February 2007—and their daughter, Talula, now 5.
Now, 17 years later, Dempsey sits under the cold fluorescent lights in the cafeteria of the Petersen Automotive Museum, about half a mile from the scene of the infraction, pleading guilty with an explanation. "Oh, that's funny," he says sheepishly. "I did have a BMW convertible." He gives a slow spin to his cup of coffee and looks up. "Well," he says, "if I drive aggressively, I try to signal, so people know. It's irritating when people drive aggressively and they don't signal."
Dempsey is no stranger to aggression. As a teenager growing up in Maine, he was a state champion downhill skier who trained for a place on the Olympic team. Today, his favorite method of relaxation, when he's not watching the Speed Channel, is driving pumped-up Mustangs and Mazdas that can hit 160 miles an hour. On the streets of L.A., he can be seen riding his Specialized Tarmac road bike, putting in 100 miles in a good week, he says—and then hitting the gym. And of course, on the TV series Grey's Anatomy, which has given him financial freedom and more fame than he's comfortable with, he plays Dr. Derek Shepherd, the most aggressive of specialists in the medical profession: a brain surgeon. Dempsey has agreed to meet at Petersen's—better known in certain quarters as the scene of Notorious B.I.G.'s last earthly party than for its collection of classic automobiles—because he loves fast cars and racing history. When I arrive, he is already here, unaccompanied, at the Ferrari exhibit, studiously looking at a car called the Dino. Dempsey explains how the model was named by father Enzo for his son Alfredino, who'd helped him design the V6 engine. When his son died of muscular dystrophy at age 24, the elder Ferrari made this car a tribute to his son. "Enzo wanted them badged only as Dinos," says Dempsey. "Technically, it's a Fiat, but a very special car."
Dempsey rattles off the specs and story behind each of the 10 or so cars in the exhibit, knowledge he conveys unpretentiously and sotto voce as we stroll. Before we sit down to talk, he tosses in the histories of a couple of low-slung Fords. For a guy who struggled with dyslexia and never finished high school, Dempsey has managed to become a walking encyclopedia of model numbers, horsepower, and torque. He turned pro in 2005, becoming part owner and driver for a sports-car endurance-racing team. This is a passion that he has been better able to indulge since his celebrated comeback from obscure '80s actor to Dr. McDreamy. So, it's impossible not to ask a gearhead whose weekly paycheck recently went up to a reported $200,000: What's new in your garage?
"I recently bought a 1954 XK 120 SE, which is sort of, I think, the defining postwar Jag," he says. "Really an old-school elegance to it."
Dempsey talks that way, really, imparting a natural sophistication to even a tech-heavy conversation. He sounds a bit like a courtly millionaire about to be handcuffed for killing his mistress on Law & Order. But Dempsey, with his black-Irish good looks and laid-back—if alert—personality, is not that sort of lady-killer. Those who have worked closely with him, from race-car drivers to directors, tell me he is simply an old-school gentleman. He endures the publicity process attached to fame with a certain mellowness. Or maybe he's just a touch bleary from a combination of 14-hour shooting days on Grey's Anatomy mixed with film acting jobs. He's starring in a fresh take on the Disney movie tradition, Enchanted, in theaters now, and he spent the summer in England filming Made of Honor, in which he has a leading role. On weekends, he flies all over the country, keeping his auto-racing team in active competition. Most important, however, he has the duties and pleasures of helping his wife, Jillian, raise their twin boys—Darby and Sullivan, born in February 2007—and their daughter, Talula, now 5.
"I have not been this tired…ever," he says. "This weekend, it was nice not to leave the house and just be with my family. Newborns for men can be extremely difficult. It's not until the six-month period that you're getting more feedback and you're starting to see a personality and you begin relating a little bit more. It is fun to see that and feel it again. And I've been spending a lot of time with my daughter to help make that transition for her."
As for his day job, Grey's Anatomy is in its fourth season as one of the most highly rated and critically acclaimed series in recent TV history. "The show is like running a marathon," he says. "It feels like it never stops. The obligations you have for the show—it's relentless. The amount of exposure and the visibility…it was a big change for me. Coming to terms with it has been the real challenge."
Dempsey says he intends to slow down and not jump on the next movie offer until he has a chance to plot his future. "At the end of the day, family—and all of its joys and heartaches—is the grounding force," he says. "It's why you do everything. It's why you go to work, and why you put up with what you have to put up with, why you do what you have to do. Because you want a better life for them."
At 41, Patrick Dempsey has grown into the kind of man the younger, skinnier, brashly single guy in the Bimmer might barely have recognized. Back in 1990, he was costarring in Coupe de Ville, a road-trip picture about three brothers on a cross-country jaunt. But having begun his Hollywood career with teen-friendly fare such as Can't Buy Me Love and Loverboy, he eventually slipped into Hollywood's doldrums, marginally employable as the second or third banana and going on a lot of unsuccessful auditions. Even the chance to play the role of Dr. Shepherd on Grey's Anatomy came only after Rob Lowe turned down the part.
"Oh," he says, the utterance revealing a history of bruised feelings. "Right before Grey's, I was getting to the point where I was thinking, I cannot do another audition and go in and be rejected. Auditioning is extremely difficult for everybody, especially if you've been around. What it teaches you is to let go of the end result. You are who you are, you stop trying to be other things, and you just own yourself. Once I came to that point and married and settled down and starting having a life outside of the business—this is around the time I started racing—I stopped making acting so precious. And I still don't make it precious. I'm professional, I come in and get my work done, but I think it's important to have things that allow you to take at least one or two steps back. When you become that attached, you're self-conscious. So you need to lose that in yourself. You have to have a certain attitude of like, F--k you, I don't care."
Dempsey has since been nominated for his own Emmy for a guest spot on a 2001 episode of Once and Again, and he shared in the awards recognition the Grey's cast has drawn. He has turned in quietly convincing performances on film, as in last year's Freedom Writers as the not-quite-committed boyfriend to Hilary Swank, who says he's "funny and down-to-earth and professional." His Enchanted costar Amy Adams says he was a real-life knight in shining armor when she had to do a nude scene. "He was my hero on set, always stepping up with a towel," she says.
So the dough is there and the recognition as well. And yet his default mode—though he smiles easily enough and clearly enjoys the parenthood syndrome—is a kind of informed pessimism. "It's like the Sinatra song," he says, laughing. "'Flying high in April and shot down in May.' In the back of your mind, you realize that at any point this can all go away. Then, what at the end of the day is going to be fulfilling to you?"
As for his day job, Grey's Anatomy is in its fourth season as one of the most highly rated and critically acclaimed series in recent TV history. "The show is like running a marathon," he says. "It feels like it never stops. The obligations you have for the show—it's relentless. The amount of exposure and the visibility…it was a big change for me. Coming to terms with it has been the real challenge."
Dempsey says he intends to slow down and not jump on the next movie offer until he has a chance to plot his future. "At the end of the day, family—and all of its joys and heartaches—is the grounding force," he says. "It's why you do everything. It's why you go to work, and why you put up with what you have to put up with, why you do what you have to do. Because you want a better life for them."
At 41, Patrick Dempsey has grown into the kind of man the younger, skinnier, brashly single guy in the Bimmer might barely have recognized. Back in 1990, he was costarring in Coupe de Ville, a road-trip picture about three brothers on a cross-country jaunt. But having begun his Hollywood career with teen-friendly fare such as Can't Buy Me Love and Loverboy, he eventually slipped into Hollywood's doldrums, marginally employable as the second or third banana and going on a lot of unsuccessful auditions. Even the chance to play the role of Dr. Shepherd on Grey's Anatomy came only after Rob Lowe turned down the part.
"Oh," he says, the utterance revealing a history of bruised feelings. "Right before Grey's, I was getting to the point where I was thinking, I cannot do another audition and go in and be rejected. Auditioning is extremely difficult for everybody, especially if you've been around. What it teaches you is to let go of the end result. You are who you are, you stop trying to be other things, and you just own yourself. Once I came to that point and married and settled down and starting having a life outside of the business—this is around the time I started racing—I stopped making acting so precious. And I still don't make it precious. I'm professional, I come in and get my work done, but I think it's important to have things that allow you to take at least one or two steps back. When you become that attached, you're self-conscious. So you need to lose that in yourself. You have to have a certain attitude of like, F--k you, I don't care."Dempsey has since been nominated for his own Emmy for a guest spot on a 2001 episode of Once and Again, and he shared in the awards recognition the Grey's cast has drawn. He has turned in quietly convincing performances on film, as in last year's Freedom Writers as the not-quite-committed boyfriend to Hilary Swank, who says he's "funny and down-to-earth and professional." His Enchanted costar Amy Adams says he was a real-life knight in shining armor when she had to do a nude scene. "He was my hero on set, always stepping up with a towel," she says.
So the dough is there and the recognition as well. And yet his default mode—though he smiles easily enough and clearly enjoys the parenthood syndrome—is a kind of informed pessimism. "It's like the Sinatra song," he says, laughing. "'Flying high in April and shot down in May.' In the back of your mind, you realize that at any point this can all go away. Then, what at the end of the day is going to be fulfilling to you?"
He was married once before and is fairly taciturn when asked about it. He was 21 and his first wife, Rocky Parker, also his manager, was 48; there were infidelities on both sides, he has said. It ended in divorce after seven years. "I learned a lot from that relationship," he says. "And you know, it was many years ago now."
A failed marriage and a mercurial occupation aren't the only things contributing to Dempsey's outlook. He's a Maine boy at heart—"happy in the rain and the snow," he says. His father, William, was a reserved but caring man. Dempsey grew up in a series of small towns in inland Maine—Turner and Buckfield and Lewiston—where he attended St. Dominic's Regional High School. His father, a jockey, had already retired when Patrick was a boy, supplementing the family's income with a bottle-redemption center and a stake in a bar. "He was much older—different generation—and he died when I was 18. But he was always around when I was a kid, and he was the coach of the baseball team. He'd go skiing with me and he was always extremely supportive," says Dempsey. "Very quiet. Didn't speak a lot."
He came to know his mom, Amanda, gradually, most crucially around the period from 1996 to 1999, when she twice fought off ovarian cancer. He returned to Maine to help his two older sisters look after her, and while there, he bought neighboring houses for Mom and himself on a quiet cove in the lobstering town of Harpswell. When a local reporter visited her, he found her "as down-home as a slice of warm apple pie," and a neighbor described Patrick as "a regular old country boy, very pleasant. We sat together and talked a lot."
Dempsey met Jillian, his wife of eight years, when he walked into the salon where she worked as a stylist. (She has since become an entrepreneur in the cosmetics business.) "I knew from the moment I saw her that I had a connection to her I couldn't quite describe. I thought she was absolutely beautiful and had amazing eyes," he says. "Marriage is great. It's a euphoric, blissful, agonizing, challenging place."
After his ups and downs in the film business, Dempsey permits himself guarded optimism about both the family-friendly Enchanted and Made of Honor (due out next spring), the full-on romantic comedy that saw him photographed, to the delectation of photo services who shopped the pictures around the world, in a pink dress. "There's a core audience who's watching Grey's Anatomy who expects something from you when they go to the box office, so you want to deliver that," says Dempsey. "I'm going to wait to see what happens with these movies, and we'll make choices after that. You can't get too far ahead of yourself."
It has been nearly a year since the Grey's Anatomy fracas that led to the firing of Isaiah Washington after he referred to cast member T. R. Knight as a "faggot." Dempsey, who had his own nose-to-nose altercation with Washington, says it's a lighter atmosphere all around: "It's fun to work in a group when everybody has a moment to mess around and to play. This season, I've had a lot of scenes with Eric [Dane, his rival Dr. Mark Sloan]. They've become friends again, and it's been fun to be playful." As for the loss of Washington, Dempsey says, "Well, I'm still waiting for it to pass. I think it's a sad day, all the way around. It's a shame, a big waste. The role of Burke was an extremely important character that is no more. And that's, I think…I think the biggest tragedy."
With various Hollywood creative guilds threatening to go on strike this year, Dempsey may be one of the few stars who's quietly rooting for a work stoppage: "I think I'll just be very careful in what I choose to do next, because I need to spend time with my family. And I really want to dedicate a year to racing a full season and see what happens there. There are certain goals I want to reach, and at this point, it's really satisfying to go and race."
For Dempsey, racing has become more than a pastime; he admits he's "getting deeper and deeper as the years go by. It's such a nice departure from Los Angeles and Hollywood. I've sort of become friends with these guys over the past five years. Because of the huge response to the show and all the attention from the female population, my male camaraderie is so much more valuable because it doesn't threaten the marriage, it supports the marriage."
A failed marriage and a mercurial occupation aren't the only things contributing to Dempsey's outlook. He's a Maine boy at heart—"happy in the rain and the snow," he says. His father, William, was a reserved but caring man. Dempsey grew up in a series of small towns in inland Maine—Turner and Buckfield and Lewiston—where he attended St. Dominic's Regional High School. His father, a jockey, had already retired when Patrick was a boy, supplementing the family's income with a bottle-redemption center and a stake in a bar. "He was much older—different generation—and he died when I was 18. But he was always around when I was a kid, and he was the coach of the baseball team. He'd go skiing with me and he was always extremely supportive," says Dempsey. "Very quiet. Didn't speak a lot."
He came to know his mom, Amanda, gradually, most crucially around the period from 1996 to 1999, when she twice fought off ovarian cancer. He returned to Maine to help his two older sisters look after her, and while there, he bought neighboring houses for Mom and himself on a quiet cove in the lobstering town of Harpswell. When a local reporter visited her, he found her "as down-home as a slice of warm apple pie," and a neighbor described Patrick as "a regular old country boy, very pleasant. We sat together and talked a lot."
Dempsey met Jillian, his wife of eight years, when he walked into the salon where she worked as a stylist. (She has since become an entrepreneur in the cosmetics business.) "I knew from the moment I saw her that I had a connection to her I couldn't quite describe. I thought she was absolutely beautiful and had amazing eyes," he says. "Marriage is great. It's a euphoric, blissful, agonizing, challenging place."
After his ups and downs in the film business, Dempsey permits himself guarded optimism about both the family-friendly Enchanted and Made of Honor (due out next spring), the full-on romantic comedy that saw him photographed, to the delectation of photo services who shopped the pictures around the world, in a pink dress. "There's a core audience who's watching Grey's Anatomy who expects something from you when they go to the box office, so you want to deliver that," says Dempsey. "I'm going to wait to see what happens with these movies, and we'll make choices after that. You can't get too far ahead of yourself."
It has been nearly a year since the Grey's Anatomy fracas that led to the firing of Isaiah Washington after he referred to cast member T. R. Knight as a "faggot." Dempsey, who had his own nose-to-nose altercation with Washington, says it's a lighter atmosphere all around: "It's fun to work in a group when everybody has a moment to mess around and to play. This season, I've had a lot of scenes with Eric [Dane, his rival Dr. Mark Sloan]. They've become friends again, and it's been fun to be playful." As for the loss of Washington, Dempsey says, "Well, I'm still waiting for it to pass. I think it's a sad day, all the way around. It's a shame, a big waste. The role of Burke was an extremely important character that is no more. And that's, I think…I think the biggest tragedy."With various Hollywood creative guilds threatening to go on strike this year, Dempsey may be one of the few stars who's quietly rooting for a work stoppage: "I think I'll just be very careful in what I choose to do next, because I need to spend time with my family. And I really want to dedicate a year to racing a full season and see what happens there. There are certain goals I want to reach, and at this point, it's really satisfying to go and race."
For Dempsey, racing has become more than a pastime; he admits he's "getting deeper and deeper as the years go by. It's such a nice departure from Los Angeles and Hollywood. I've sort of become friends with these guys over the past five years. Because of the huge response to the show and all the attention from the female population, my male camaraderie is so much more valuable because it doesn't threaten the marriage, it supports the marriage."
For the sake of racing, Dempsey says he needs to keep himself fitter than ever before. "The physical aspects of car racing are so demanding that I need to train," he says. "I'm going back full circle to that period in my life as a kid when I wanted to be an Olympic skier. I do a lot of running and training. Cycling has been tremendous for my psyche, to get out in nature, the speed of it and the agility needed and the stamina. Having children in my forties, I want to be healthy for them when I get older. I have to keep myself together. There's a reward when I can pick up my daughter and not pull my back out."
When I ask him about rivalries with other drivers—as seen almost weekly on TV among the NASCAR guys—Dempsey says, "You have good races and you have bad races. You make mistakes, and sometimes you have contact, which at the end of the day can hurt you, because it can puncture a tire or you can blow out your brakes. You don't want to hurt people. You don't want to take anybody out, but when you do, it's always a bad feeling."
He's out on the track with people who do this as their livelihood, so the question should be asked: Is Dempsey a danger junkie? "You know, there are a lot of great drivers. What they can do compared with what I can do is phenomenal. You have to go out with your own personal goals. And when you improve and you've picked up speed, it's extremely satisfying. But you're fighting for tenths of a second, you know, little things. And it becomes…it's a race within yourself to stay, I think, aggressively calm in the car and not allow your emotions to overwhelm you to the point where you start to make mistakes."
At that moment, his cell phone purrs. "It's the show," he says. "A call time for scene six tomorrow. I'm supposed to take my daughter to school. She just started. See, that's the problem with this scheduling. This is what I can't stand. It's constantly changing, and just try to express that to your daughter when she's expecting you. It's hard enough for my wife, who is a saint for putting up with me to begin with. But how can you stay dependable?"
Raising kids, he allows, is a "constant challenge, a humbling process. You're trusted, so you question yourself every moment of the day: Am I making her a better person? Am I making him a better person? Am I loving enough? Am I strong enough? Am I strict enough? Am I compassionate? Am I allowing her to get away with too much? Is she spoiled? Is that my mother's voice or is it my voice?"
These are the questions of a concerned father, but Dempsey is also a husband. Speaking about the need for intimacy, he brings the same self-scrutiny to his marriage: "Do I have enough time with my wife? Are we still being lovers as well as parents?"
In May 2007, he bought a farm in Maine, a purchase that he says was a turning point in his thinking. "It was like, you know what? I'm done. I now know what I want. I can be perfectly happy living in the country, having a little farm, and working occasionally. If someone calls, I'll go to work, but I am tired of going and putting myself through hell just to get into the room to be prepared, to be professional, and to let go of any kind of anger or frustration and then not getting the part."
When I ask him about rivalries with other drivers—as seen almost weekly on TV among the NASCAR guys—Dempsey says, "You have good races and you have bad races. You make mistakes, and sometimes you have contact, which at the end of the day can hurt you, because it can puncture a tire or you can blow out your brakes. You don't want to hurt people. You don't want to take anybody out, but when you do, it's always a bad feeling."
He's out on the track with people who do this as their livelihood, so the question should be asked: Is Dempsey a danger junkie? "You know, there are a lot of great drivers. What they can do compared with what I can do is phenomenal. You have to go out with your own personal goals. And when you improve and you've picked up speed, it's extremely satisfying. But you're fighting for tenths of a second, you know, little things. And it becomes…it's a race within yourself to stay, I think, aggressively calm in the car and not allow your emotions to overwhelm you to the point where you start to make mistakes."
At that moment, his cell phone purrs. "It's the show," he says. "A call time for scene six tomorrow. I'm supposed to take my daughter to school. She just started. See, that's the problem with this scheduling. This is what I can't stand. It's constantly changing, and just try to express that to your daughter when she's expecting you. It's hard enough for my wife, who is a saint for putting up with me to begin with. But how can you stay dependable?"
Raising kids, he allows, is a "constant challenge, a humbling process. You're trusted, so you question yourself every moment of the day: Am I making her a better person? Am I making him a better person? Am I loving enough? Am I strong enough? Am I strict enough? Am I compassionate? Am I allowing her to get away with too much? Is she spoiled? Is that my mother's voice or is it my voice?"
These are the questions of a concerned father, but Dempsey is also a husband. Speaking about the need for intimacy, he brings the same self-scrutiny to his marriage: "Do I have enough time with my wife? Are we still being lovers as well as parents?"
In May 2007, he bought a farm in Maine, a purchase that he says was a turning point in his thinking. "It was like, you know what? I'm done. I now know what I want. I can be perfectly happy living in the country, having a little farm, and working occasionally. If someone calls, I'll go to work, but I am tired of going and putting myself through hell just to get into the room to be prepared, to be professional, and to let go of any kind of anger or frustration and then not getting the part."
So there is Dempsey's dilemma: To find the balance between work and love, between present and future. "Do you sacrifice now so you can have a lot of time later? So you can have the financial stability to go, 'You know what? I'm at home now. I'm going to take you to football practice, to ballet, and to horse riding. I'll be there and I'll watch you.' I guess that's the dream that everyone wants. I guess success is how much free time you have."
