In 2014, I traveled from Los Angeles to New York to meet Robert Redford for the first and only time.

Even as an experienced and somewhat jaded journalist, I was nervous. Not because of Redford’s iconic stature, which was beyond doubt; and not because I’d grown up deeply affected by such films as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All the President’s Men . The reason was that Redford, a brilliant actor and extraordinary director, had a reputation for showing up chronically late — if he showed up at all.

A friend of mine had told me a reporter’s nightmare about flying to Utah to meet with Redford, only for the star never to appear. Another friend had once spent more than a week twiddling his thumbs at a faraway location, waiting and waiting for an interview. At least he got lucky

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