On the night of December 30th, 1971, Peter Deuel, a celebrated 31-year-old actor, took his own life in a devastating act of self-destruction. In the quiet hours of that December morning, the star of the hit television series Alias Smith and Jones, a show that had garnered him fame on both sides of the Atlantic, ended his life. The stark police report described it as “cerebral destruction.” What drove this successful and admired man to such a tragic end?
“I don’t know why he did it. I really don’t,” confessed a publicist friend, reflecting the disbelief that still lingered years after Peter Deuel’s death. Even after three years, the reality of the situation remained elusive, shrouded in unanswered questions and Hollywood enigma.
What chance did anyone have to truly understand the forces that led Peter Deuel to such a sudden and premature death?
An unexpected opportunity arose through an actor acquaintance, leading to a meeting with Peter’s younger brother, Geoffrey Deuel. Geoffrey, himself an actor of 30 years, possessed the same captivating charm and approachable smile as his late brother. In a Sunset Strip coffee shop, Geoffrey reluctantly opened up about Peter, sharing memories and insights for over an hour.
Their upbringing was idyllic, rooted in a small country town near Rochester, New York. Their father was a respected local doctor, and their mother was a nurse. Acting was a foreign concept in their family history.
The two brothers shared a close bond, united by their love for the countryside. “In the summer,” Geoffrey reminisced, “we built ourselves a wooden cottage out by a lake.”
“It was lovely,” he added, a nostalgic smile gracing his lips as he glanced around the bustling coffee shop, a world away from those tranquil childhood summers. “It seems so long ago.”
Peter Deuel’s initial ambition, like many young boys, was to become an airline pilot. However, his eyesight wasn’t sharp enough. Ironically, the millions who watched him on screen were unaware that off-camera, he relied on reading glasses.
Following high school, Peter attended St. Lawrence University to pursue liberal arts. “He wasn’t really committed to his studies,” Geoffrey explained, portraying a typical young college student, “a young college guy raising hell with no idea what he wanted to do with his life.”
It was at university that acting first captured his imagination. He participated in university plays, and during his second year, his parents witnessed his performance in Tennessee Williams’ The Rose Tattoo. Dr. Deuel was surprisingly impressed. Recognizing his son’s lack of enthusiasm for his formal studies, he suggested, “Why don’t you just quit wasting your time and my money, and go and study this professionally someplace?”
Peter heeded his father’s advice and auditioned for the American Theater Wing school in New York, successfully gaining admission. For two years, from 1959 to 1961, he immersed himself in drama studies in the vibrant, towering city. He secured roles in summer stock productions, touring shows, and Off-Broadway plays. Finally, in the spring of 1963, he landed in California, playing a lead role in a touring production of a Broadway comedy. A local actor friend recognized his potential, advising him, “You could do very well in Hollywood.”
In the summer of 1963, Peter exchanged the East Coast for the Californian city of dreams. He shortened his first name from “Peter” to “Pete” and modified the spelling of his surname from “Deuel” to “Duel.” He was determined to achieve success.
“It was an exciting time for Peter,” Geoffrey recalled. “He started going out, trying to land guest roles on various TV series. Eventually, he got a co-starring role in a comedy series, Gidget.”
Although Gidget lasted only a year, it paved the way for another year-long stint in the comedy show Love on a Rooftop, alongside Judy Carne, the Laugh-In star.
“He liked doing comedy,” Geoffrey noted. “He was very good at it.” However, in 1967, Love on a Rooftop was canceled, leaving Peter unemployed.
“He never ‘went Hollywood’,” commented Charles Parker, a prominent West Coast television writer. “He never owned a suit or a tie. He was always just the same as when he first arrived: a nice young guy in a denim shirt and faded jeans.” Despite his down-to-earth persona, Peter, like many actors, harbored insecurities, constantly fearing his last role would indeed be his final one.
Peter was accustomed to working, and financial concerns were not his primary worry. He rented a modest apartment above a garage for around $65 a month and drove a small Japanese jeep. His driving force was the desire to work, fueled by a deep passion for acting. He had several girlfriends, typically one at a time, but romantic relationships never superseded his dedication to his craft. Acting was his central focus, his driving need.
In July 1967, Universal, a leading motion picture studio in Hollywood, offered him an exclusive 7-year contract, which he accepted. “Yes, he got tied up,” Geoffrey Deuel explained. “A contract means you get paid every week, not per show. It also means that the studio will give you work because they want to build you up.”
Signing that contract, which for many aspiring actors would represent a dream come true, marked the beginning of Peter Deuel’s path toward “cerebral destruction.”
When a major Hollywood studio invests in a long-term contract with a young actor, it’s a calculated business decision. The studio strategically provides “exposure” through various roles to gauge audience response. Once the studio executives deem it the opportune moment, they cast the actor in a series as a “star.” This arrangement is financially beneficial for both the actor and the studio.
This trajectory unfolded for Peter Deuel, but the outcome was not positive in aspects beyond commercial success.
In October 1970, Universal offered Peter the co-starring role of “Hannibal Heyes,” alongside Ben Murphy, in their new Western series Alias Smith and Jones. This series deviated from typical cowboy narratives. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were reformed outlaws striving to live honestly and earn a final pardon. The characters, loosely inspired by the Paul Newman-Robert Redford duo in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, were portrayed as likeable, amiable figures who valued humor and avoided violence.
Peter had previously declined two series offers. Another refusal would likely lead to suspension from the studio, meaning no income and restricted opportunities elsewhere. He would have preferred to continue pursuing substantial guest roles in other series rather than becoming the “star” of his own. However, as Geoffrey described, “he really had no choice.”
Geoffrey emphasized that he wasn’t criticizing the studio system. “That’s the way it is; that is the rule of the game. Certain other actors would just love to have a series; they would be on Cloud Nine.”
That same month, Peter Deuel was involved in a serious incident. Intoxicated, he got behind the wheel and collided with another car on the fast-paced Hollywood roads, nearly causing fatal injuries to two people. The accident was entirely his fault. Unbeknownst to the public, Peter struggled with alcoholism. “Yes, he had a drink problem,” Geoffrey admitted. “Drink can often intensify happy moods and can, very easily, magnify depressing moods. To Peter, drink was an off-and-on thing. He could go for a year without a drink — but when he did things he often did them to an extreme. Often the problem with a romantic and an idealist is that he is too hard on himself.”
The demanding environment of a mass-production factory is ill-suited for romantics and idealists. This is essentially what a successful Hollywood television studio had become. An hour-long show was churned out in a mere six days. Actors were required to film seven to eight minutes of usable footage each day. The pace was relentless.
Harold Frizzell, Peter Deuel’s stand-in on Alias Smith and Jones, offered a poignant perspective: “He was one of the greatest guys you could meet. He was a hard person to understand, but I could read him. He just had so much love that he wanted to spread it. He loved people in general, everybody. His attitude was that people are human beings and entitled to be treated as human beings. He loved kids. He wanted to settle down with a good woman who would look after him and give him kids — a whole house full of kids.”
“He came back home with me to Kentucky and he would call my parents ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ — he would phone them from the set. He loved his own parents, too, and both his Grandmas. One he loved a lot; he bought her a brand new TV set. I could not have asked for a better friend. He was one of the greatest guys, especially in this business. This is a dog-eat-dog world.”
“The simple things in life were what Peter loved — so simple that most other people would not like them. ‘Let’s take a walk in the woods,’ he would say, and we would sit out all day beside a lake and fish. He was just about the best-liked person who ever worked at Universal studios.”
“He was crazy about ecology and hated pollution. He would not use plastic cups on the set — only glass ones. He would not use anything that would not dissolve and go back into the earth.”
Alias Smith and Jones achieved immense popularity, making Peter Deuel admired and famous worldwide. Yet, he confided to a journalist that the show was “junk and I hope it gets scrapped.”
Egbert Swackhamer, known as “Swack,” a respected television film director who frequently worked with Peter Deuel, offered a starkly different viewpoint. In an interview on the set at Warner Brothers Studios, he stated bluntly: “He had a self-destructive urge, that young man. I have seen it before in actors with a real natural, in-born talent. He was an instinctive actor. Pure gold! Yet he was self-destructive — and self-indulgent. He was into everything — drugs, booze, you name it. He did not spare himself in self-abuse.”
In May 1971, while Alias Smith and Jones was still in production at Universal, Peter Deuel’s drunk driving case reached court. Peter wrote a letter to the judge, expressing:
In recalling my feelings on that night, shame and terror were in my mind. Sitting here eight months later it is very difficult to re-create the events of the accident or even try to find justification for my conduct. But I do want your Honor to know that I am a person basically interested in other people and I would not knowingly harm anyone.”
The probation officer spoke in Peter’s defense. The drunken driving charge was dropped, and he was fined $1,000 for dangerous driving, placed on probation for two years, and his driver’s license was suspended for two years. He narrowly avoided jail time.
“From then on, I became Pete’s chauffeur,” Harold Frizzell recounted. “I used to collect him in the morning, bring him to the studio, give him his script for that day. He said it was so much rubbish he couldn’t read it except in small daily doses — then work with him all day, and collect him at the end and bring him back home.”
“This series, any series, is a big fat drag to an actor who has any interest in his work,” Peter confessed to Hollywood reporter Cecil Smith in September 1971. “It’s the ultimate trap. You slowly lose any artistic thing you may have. It’s utterly destructive.”
By this point, Peter was completely disillusioned with Alias Smith and Jones.
“It isn’t the work that tires you,” he explained to Smith. “It’s that it’s all such a dreadful bore it makes you weary, weary.”
“A successful series is, like Pete said, a trap for an actor who wants to do better things,” affirmed top television script writer Bernard Slade. “It’s very seductive. The money is fantastic. Of course, it makes pressures. An actor who wants to expand, to develop, finds himself trapped in a hit. He cannot go on, he has to stay where he is; the character does not develop. It stays the same; it is a personality.”
Peter became increasingly vocal about his dissatisfaction with his work. In November 1971, he told Cecil Smith, for publication, “Contractually, I have to do this series — or some other trash.”
The end was approaching. Like any factory worker, Peter began his work week at the studio on Monday, December 27th, 1971, for the latest six-day shoot of an Alias Smith and Jones episode – just two days after Christmas.
Filming proceeded as usual. If anything, Peter seemed more relaxed that week. His parents were unable to travel from New York State for Christmas, but they were scheduled to arrive on Friday morning, December 31st, to spend the weekend in Los Angeles with their sons. The Christmas tree stood in Peter’s living room, with his parents’ gifts wrapped and waiting beneath its branches.
“I was going to have dinner with the family that weekend,” Egbert Swackhamer mentioned. “Those boys idolized their father; they loved, feared him. I thought he must have been eight feet tall — the way those boys talked about him. I was looking forward to meeting him.”
On Thursday, December 30th, 1971, Peter Deuel finished work for the day around 7 p.m. An episode of Alias Smith and Jones was scheduled to air on television at 8:00 p.m. Peter called his girlfriend, Dianne Ray, and invited her to his place to watch it with him.
Harold Frizzell drove Peter home and joined them to watch the show. “Dianne and Pete kinda lived together,” Harold explained, “but she had her place as well.”
Dianne was already there, and the three settled in to watch.
“Pete did not like it,” Harold recalled. “He said it was trash. He did not like the dialogue.” He then changed the channel to a basketball game. Midway through the game, Harold announced he was tired and heading home. “All right, man, see you in the morning,” Peter replied.
These were the last words Harold Frizzell ever heard Peter Deuel speak.
Harold assured that Peter was sober when he left. “He had not been drinking all day long,” he stated. “He could quit drink whenever he wanted to.”
However, around 1:30 a.m. the following morning – as Dr. and Mrs. Deuel were about to embark on their 3,000-mile flight to see their son – a distraught Dianne Ray contacted the Hollywood police. Peter was dead.
Upon arriving at the house, Sergeant Paul Estrada found the actor’s body lying naked on the living room floor beneath the Christmas tree, surrounded by his parents’ presents. A revolver lay beside him. “There was no doubt he had shot himself,” Sergeant Estrada confirmed. “It was a contact wound to the head. The angle of the bullet clearly showed he had held the gun to his temple and fired.”
Dianne recounted to Sergeant Estrada and his colleagues that after Harold Frizzell departed, Peter drank heavily. She went to bed in the small house’s single bedroom. Peter remained in the living room. Around 1:25 a.m., he entered the bedroom naked, retrieved the gun from a box, and left, saying, “I’ll see you later.”
Moments later, she heard a gunshot from the living room.
“We did a lie-detector test on the girl,” Sergeant Estrada stated. “Everything she said proved valid.”
Why did Peter Deuel take his own life? The police perspective was straightforward: “The autopsy showed the guy had three times as much alcohol in his blood as would have got him convicted for drunken driving,” Sergeant Estrada explained. “He was completely smashed. I guess there is a lot of pressure on these stars. I don’t know why he wanted out of it — making steady money, and all. I suppose it was the drink.”
The house where Peter Deuel died remains a somber location. The landlady has unsuccessfully attempted to remove the blood stain from the carpet for over two years. It persists, a permanent mark. “I knew Pete very well,” the landlady said. “I still can’t believe he shot himself. He was under pressure, but, by God, so are we all. He was a young boy; he wanted to get out of his series and to do some really good work that he thought he was capable of. All right. But why this?”
Harold Frizzell still grapples with the belief that Peter attempted to call him shortly before his suicide, tormented by the possibility it was a desperate plea for help. “At about one a.m., my telephone rang,” Harold recalled. “But I was asleep. By the time I could get to it, it had stopped ringing. The only guy who would have phoned me at that hour would have been Pete. Often in the night when he was lonely or wanted a chat he would phone me and we’d talk for hours.”
At Universal Studios that Friday morning, the day’s filming proceeded without interruption. Ben Murphy, Peter Deuel’s co-star, continued working. The crew was present, and the cameras rolled. Pete’s publicist friend recounted, “They did all the shots for that week’s episode that didn’t require Pete.”
There was consideration given to using the footage already shot for that week’s episode, as significant financial investments were at stake. The following Monday, just three days later, it was announced that Roger Davis would assume Peter Deuel’s role. Donning a black hat, black shirt, and gilt holster, he would, alongside Ben Murphy, reshoot the previous week’s episode and complete the series.
Ben Murphy declined to comment on his deceased co-star. When approached on the set of his new success, Griff, and asked about what drives a person to such an act, and how Peter’s death affected him, he simply stated, “No comment.” He clarified that any quotes attributed to him regarding Peter in the press were not genuine.
And thus, a successful, handsome, young television star returned to work in the Hollywood factory.
“What I cannot understand,” I expressed to my friends, “is how on earth Peter Deuel could choose that particular moment to kill himself — when his parents, whom he loved so dearly, were at that very moment flying out to see him.”
“But isn’t that classic?” responded Bernard Slade. “Isn’t that often the way with suicides? They do it in such a way as to deliberately hurt the people they most love. It’s as if they want to destroy not only themselves, but others whom they love the most.”
Geoffrey Deuel offered limited insight into his brother’s death, but the two words he shared, “Accidental suicide,” resonated deeply. It’s a fitting description.
Perhaps, as he sat in his country-style living room, drink in hand, girlfriend asleep in the next room, Peter’s thoughts spiraled. What was the point of it all? What was the purpose? “Perhaps we’ll try something, see what happens…”
Alias Smith and Jones did not survive long after Peter Deuel’s death. “He was the real star. A lot of the success of the series was due to him,” Egbert Swackhamer asserted. His words proved true. Despite Universal’s swift recasting and Roger Davis’s commendable efforts to step into a role already defined by another, the show only lasted for seventeen more episodes before being canceled.
Dianne Ray left Hollywood after Peter’s death and now resides in Mexico. She works as an assistant manager in a coffee shop and seems content. She remains unmarried.
Harold Frizzell continues to work at Universal Studios as a stand-in, cherishing the memory of Peter Deuel as a once-in-a-lifetime friend. Harold is now married and lives near the studios.
Charles Parker’s observation on Peter’s death is laced with irony: “Perhaps part of it was frustration in his work. He was successful, but he did not really feel a success. He did not think that what he was doing was worthwhile.”
The final word belongs to Geoffrey Deuel:
Peter felt there were other things he wanted to do. Acting was not enough in itself. He wanted to do other things for people that he considered more meaningful — and he wanted to have better parts. Possibly, that was a shame, because he forgot how much happiness he gave to so many people.”
