” Ah, seaQuest…
You know, so many people tell me they loved that show…
Maybe I should’ve stayed on…”
Roy Richard Scheider – Actor (1932 – 2008)
The first thing an author of a book about a famous person is asked:
Did you meet him?
Yes, I met Roy Scheider (briefly) a few times between 1997 and 2002. I had to go out of my way to do this, but it did happen. He was cordial, gave me a few minutes, posed with me, autographed whatever I would bring him to sign. At the end of the fifth visit, in 2002, to the Artists Vs. Writers Charity Softball game in East Hampton, I gave him a copy of my Scheider book and he told me, “I know who you are.”
I also am asked: Why did you write a book about Roy Scheider?
That one is a much longer story.
In January 1986, I met my future husband, John Kachmar, at a Doctor Who Convention in Miami. We had a mutual friend named Bill Wilson, and when Caroline Munro cancelled her appearance, we were left with nothing to do, so we all went out for pizza. Bill was wheelchair bound and his car could not fit everyone in, with the wheelchair, so John (gallantly) offered to let me sit on his lap. John and I were (pretty much) the same height and weight, so I was dubious, but he insisted, so I did. Me and four guys. That happened to me. A lot. John apparently decided there and then he was going to marry me and proposed before the con ended. I went home and told my father I had received a marriage proposal. He did not believe me. Until the cards started arriving and John came over for dates. I had an engagement ring by April. We were married in November.
Shortly after our wedding, John found out I had never seen some of Roy’s movies. I had been taken to one of his movies in 1977, when I was dating someone else, but it was Sorcerer and was such a downer, it did not make me a fan. I also skipped Jaws, because of the gore. John was a huge fan of Roy’s. Roy was not a big muscular guy, but he didn’t back down from anyone. John was also from New Jersey, was scrappy Like Roy, and I think John related to Roy’s somewhat damaged characters, who did find the courage to do the right thing. I was introduced to John’s favorite Roy Scheider movies: Blue Thunder and 2010 and The Seven Ups.
That was my re-introduction to Roy Scheider. I had heard of him, but he wasn’t someone I followed. But John did. We continued to watch Roy Scheider together, whenever there was something to watch. I had been a Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea fan since 1976. In fact, I was corresponding with David Hedison, who played Captain Crane, by 1983 and was in his fan club. When seaQuest DSV came along, John was sure I would like it. We watched the series, until the bitter end. I enjoyed Roy’s character, until Scheider left the series. I never went to Orlando when Roy was there, even though it was only 150 miles away from where I lived. I became active in seaQuest fandom. On the internet, with one of the fan clubs. I even attended a seaQuest convention after the show ended.
SeaQuest fandom was quite active during the show. There were set reports and sightings, particularly when the studio moved the show to Orlando. Then the show ended. Universal Studios decided to auction off everything from the series. We went to the auction in Orlando, mostly because we lived in Florida and could carry the stuff home we bid on. I was able to buy some Roy Scheider wardrobe and props. We chased after auction items for a year and half after, as they popped up all around Orlando and on eBay. John amassed a very large collection of costumes and props. SeaQuest became another fandom that I wrote fanfic for, which I had been doing in other fandoms since 1977. I helped produce a seaQuest zine, Latitude Ninety North. I wrote Bridger stories. This went on until 1997 –
In 1997, I received a letter from publisher, inviting me, a University Librarian/professor, to submit a book proposal. I suggested Roy Scheider. I had 11 years of watching him under my belt. I felt I could do a filmography justice. There was no other book about him. They sent me a contract. I began to write my book. The fandom had followed Roy up to Long Island, where he had moved to, after he left Orlando. They reported back that Roy played in a “celebrity” slow pitch softball game every August. It was ‘actors’ vs. ‘writers.’ Roy would pitch for the actors. Once I got my book contract, I arranged to get myself to this game. I watched Roy pitch for three hours. There was a lot of byplay between the players and most of the time the Actors won. Roy was a good pitcher, but not that great at batting, usually someone would bat for him. He had fun and was a willing player. And I learned quite a bit about who he was watching him pitch and interact with the other players. At the end of the game, Roy would stay for about 10 minutes, to sign autographs, So I would get in line and have him sign something. I would try to bring him something he didn’t usually see, like a Japanese program book for one of his films. That worked. It worked so well, that second game, his wife, Brenda, wanted the program. I promised her I would bring her one the following year, and I did.
I think that was when he noticed me. I tried not to be intrusive, but I was there and taking pictures and in line. I was there to observe. Year three, I ended up sitting next to Richard Dreyfus, behind third base, which was the base Alex Baldwin was playing. He kept getting heckled by the two Richards, Dreyfus and Benjamin. That was the year I took the Hampton Jitney (big green greyhound style bus) out and back from New York City. It was way easier than trying to drive out there the first two years. I also spent some time in New York city buying photos and watching videos of Roy at the TV museum. Business and pleasure.
The fourth year I stayed at a BNB in East Hampton and finally was able to stay in town long enough to soak in the town. I spent a total of five weekends in East Hampton watching Roy play charity softball. The fourth year I managed “Press” credentials and ended on the dugout side with the players, instead of across the field – by third base. It was fun to listen to the various commentary about the game from the players. James Lipton of Inside the Actor’s Studio called the games and did a good job. I ended up with a signed baseball (for Charity) and various hats and programs. And lots of photos. I was not going to go to the game in 2002, but my hand was forced by a fan, who was going to go to the game and take him my book, whether I was there – or not. So I went, so I could give him the book myself and sign it for him. She was rather forward. She went to the Candy kitchen the day before the game, where Roy was eating Breakfast and showed him the book. She told Roy he was getting one at the game. I had not flown in yet, but she told me all about how she had found him where I said he would be Friday morning, and it had gone well. He was looking forward to meeting me. At the game, we were behind home plate. She was chatting with everyone there she knew. I was standing there, to be someone she came back to, after flitting here there and everywhere. I said hello to Leif Hope, the organizer, who recognized me, by now. She decided to go get Eli Wallach water, after chatting him up in his lounge chair. She got the water, dumped it on me and then spotted Roy. She bounced over to him and then pointed back at me. He looked up and over and I saw the recognition in his eyes. Then (thankfully) he walked over to me and extended his hand. “So, you are the book author she been telling me all about.” He seemed very amused by the whole thing.
I shifted the water bottles and stuck out a wet hand. “Yes,” I admitted. “I have a book here for you. I’ll give to you after the game.” That’s when he told me, “I know who you are.” I was not sure what he meant by that, but nothing bad happened after that. We had a cordial book exchange after the game. I signed his, he signed one for me. I gave him one to put in his Hayground school, that I had attended a fund raiser for after a previous game. I enjoyed going to the Softball games, learning about him as a person and family man. He brought his children, Christian and Molly, to the games. It was fun to see Christian run around and have fun and be the mascot of the Actor’s team. Roy won MVP of a no hitter game he pitched that the Actors won. The prize was a Taghauer watch, that Christian wore after, even though it was way too big for him. I remember looking down and there was Molly by my leg, her three-year-old face covered in chocolate ice cream. It was family, it was fun. It was for charity. Roy really was a baseball fan. He came, he had fun, he enjoyed the adulation. I enjoyed watching him.
After the book came out, I stopped going to the softball games. Something (unrelated) happened in January of 2003 and I moved on. I’d have to look up when Roy stopped playing in the charity game, but it was not long after that. He was not diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma until 2006 and that may have been because his daughter, Maximilia, died of it before he did. A couple of odd things happened after the book was published. It got reviewed in one of the East Hampton Papers. There were two. I subscribed to both. It gave me news to both use in the book and kept me informed about what Roy was doing after the book came out. I was surprised. If someone with a job they wanted Roy for they would contact me during those years. My internet profile was easier to find than Roy’s, which was almost non-existent. I had done my research and found out his agent’s name and phone number. I would refer them to her. If it was legit, they would go through the agent.
I also knew Roy did not mind if you came to the Candy Kitchen when he was having breakfast. Mostly he sat in the corner booth and read his newspaper in peace. He had two very active small children at the time. The locals eating there had no interest in bothering him. You could come to the booth during his “office hour” and he would talk to you. If you knew he was there. I know he got at least one movie job because I sent someone there to “talk to him.” It was something the locals knew about him, that I learned and used judiciously.
I knew where Roy lived, but I never divulged to anyone where that was. He lived next to a public beach access, but you had to have a resident tag to park there, so it was safe that out of towners would not go there or they would get towed. Not that he cared. For whatever reason, Roy had placed a listing in the white pages of the East Hampton phone book, which was available online. That web site no longer exists, it was called 411.com. You had to know the person’s full name and address to get the listing to come up. I knew all that and I had the listing. I only gave it out once, to the Hospital that enrolled Roy into the Multiple Myeloma Trial and where Roy spent his last days.
I had heard of the trial. I thought about Roy, but it was not my place to do anything. Then one day a doctor from that hospital rang up my university phone number. He had seen my book and asked me if I knew how to get in touch with Roy. I explained that I was not related and no, I did not have personal contact with him. By his choice. The Doctor was insistent; they wanted Roy in the trial. I walked him through the web site, showed him the white pages phone book listing (it was public domain) and told him if he called Roy R. Scheider at that address with that phone number Roy would pick up the phone. And I left him to call him. A couple of weeks later, there was a new article detailing how Roy Scheider had enrolled in the trial at the hospital. They could not save him, but that trial possibly extended his life and helped them with their research on the disease.
If that was the last thing I could do for a man who had been kind to me and gave me several fun afternoons watching him play slow pitch softball, then I am content. Twenty-three years later, my book remains in print. It was my first book, and you never forget your first one.
Diane Kachmar 11/5/25
“Nathan Bridger wasn’t the kind of man who sought glory. He was forged from salt water, steel decks, and sleepless nights beneath the hum of sonar. For more than thirty years, the sea owned him—its unpredictable moods, its silent depths, its power to both cradle and destroy. During that long service, he built bonds that ran deeper than blood, serving alongside men like William Noyce and Manilow Crocker—names etched into his memory like barnacles on an old hull. He’d trained at the Naval Academy with Scott Keller, a friend who chose the stars instead of the sea. While Keller aimed for space, Bridger stayed on Earth, convinced the oceans still had their own secrets worth discovering. Fate, of course, would test that conviction.
It was in those early, restless years that Bridger got tangled in something he’d spend the rest of his life trying to forget—the G.E.L.F. program, a series of genetic experiments meant to shape life itself. He believed he was helping the world. Instead, he helped open a door that should have stayed closed. That guilt lingered, silent and heavy, the kind that surfaces in the quiet moments when the engines stop and the only sound is the sea breathing outside.
When he finally earned his captain’s bars, the Navy asked for one last thing—a piece of his mind, quite literally. They ran deep brain scans on him, mapping his thoughts and emotions to feed into an artificial intelligence meant to guide a new generation of submarines. The experiment failed, leaving only fragments of a man’s conscience trapped in circuits. The Navy moved on, creating a holographic counsellor instead, modelled after Bridger’s dear friend Professor Martinson. But the experience marked him. From then on, Bridger knew the line between man and machine wasn’t as clear as anyone wanted to believe.
And yet, from that same spark of ambition, something magnificent was born—the seaQuest. A thousand feet of sleek steel and human ingenuity, a vessel that could glide through the ocean like a whisper. Bridger poured himself into its design, teaching at the Academy by day and sketching blueprints by night. One of his brightest students was Marilyn Stark, sharp and driven, though ambition can sometimes curdle into something darker. Years later, she’d stand across from him not as a pupil, but as a rival—proof that even the best intentions can turn against you.
But before that clash, tragedy struck with a cruelty Bridger never saw coming. The early wars of the 21st century claimed too much, and among the losses was his son, Robert. The Navy said he was killed in action, but there was no body, no confirmation—only silence. A father’s worst kind of uncertainty. With his heart hollowed out, Bridger walked away. He left the sea, the Navy, the half-finished seaQuest—all of it. He made a promise to his wife Carol: never again. Together, they fled to an island off the Yucatán coast, a secluded patch of paradise where the only sounds were wind through the palms and the steady rhythm of waves.
Years passed. By 2017, the seas had become battlegrounds of politics and power. The seaQuest—his seaQuest—had finally been completed, now under the NORPAC flag, patrolling an uneasy peace. Then came the Livingston Trench incident, a brush with nuclear catastrophe at the hands of none other than Marilyn Stark. In its wake, humanity tried something new. Nations united beneath the banner of the United Earth Oceans Organization, the UEO, an idealistic attempt at global harmony. It was Noyce—old friend, now an admiral—who came to find Bridger. He spoke of responsibility, of the need for a steady hand at the helm of the seaQuest.
At first, Bridger refused. He remembered the promise he made to Carol, the years lost to duty and death. But then he stepped aboard that ship—the one he had dreamed into being—and something stirred in him. The hum of its engines. The vastness of the ocean pressing against the hull. It was as if the sea itself had called him home.
Maybe it wasn’t about the Navy anymore. Maybe it was about redemption. About finishing what he’d started—not for the admirals, not for politics, but for himself. And so Nathan Bridger, the reluctant captain, returned to command. The seaQuest sailed under his watch, not as a weapon, but as a vessel of discovery, a symbol of hope in a world trying to heal.
And somewhere deep in those endless waters, Bridger found a piece of the man he thought he’d lost—the father, the scientist, the dreamer who still believed the ocean held answers worth chasing…”
– Silver Screen Hub
DK/ML