The Man of Two Worlds: Paul Winfield’s Secret Life and Quiet Triumph in Hollywood

With his warm baritone voice and eyes full of quiet power, Paul Winfield moved millions of Americans. He did not need grand gestures to command the screen; he embodied dignity, whether as the resilient father Nathan Lee Morgan in Sounder or the composed leader Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. Yet, beneath the professional acclaim that earned him an Oscar nomination and an Emmy Award, Winfield managed a secret life that lasted over three decades, hiding his true self to survive in a Hollywood not yet ready for him.

A Childhood of Quiet Difference

Born in 1939 in Dallas, Texas, and raised in the Watts neighborhood of South Central Los Angeles, Paul Winfield was a thoughtful, pensive child who felt “different” early on. His mother, a stern union organizer, instilled in him a love for language and discipline, but it was film that truly captured him. He saw cinema not as entertainment, but as “a weapon, a voice”.

He chose to pursue acting relentlessly, forgoing a full scholarship to Yale because he “didn’t want to study anything except acting”. This determination to follow his own path led him through various uncompleted college programs, teaching him to live outside the mold. This was the first stage of his two parallel worlds: the quiet Paul Winfield in real life, and the luminous Winfield in art.

The Rise of a Dignified Actor

Winfield entered Hollywood without a college degree or connections, possessing only an undeniable voice and a presence that directors recognized as “deeper than its dialogue”. He landed a long-term contract with Columbia Pictures in 1966 and quickly cemented his reputation in the pioneering sitcom Julia (1968-1970), where he redefined the image of a black man on television as “a refined, intellectual man” who was not a stereotype.

His breakthrough came with Sounder (1972). In the role of Nathan Lee Morgan, the resilient, dignified father, Winfield saw himself. The performance was a revelation, earning him an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor. He later cemented his legacy by playing roles of integrity, including the lead in the miniseries King (1978) and winning an Emmy Award in 1995 for his portrayal of Judge Harold Nance in Picket Fences.

Winfield never sought the blinding light of major stardom, choosing instead to be a “character actor” whose roles provided the “soul of its most powerful moments”.

The Secrecy of Survival

In the 1970s, as a successful black actor, Winfield became a “dream man” in the eyes of the public. He would smile and never confirm or deny the rumors of a relationship with a woman, which became the first shield in his double life. He later lived with his Sounder co-star, Cicely Tyson, for 18 months, an arrangement the press assumed was romantic, though both knew it was not. Tyson later recalled that Winfield had gently confessed to her, “I love men”.

Winfield made a conscious choice to hide his sexuality, not out of shame, but out of wisdom and survival. As a black gay man, a single rumor could have ended his career in 1970s Hollywood, freezing him out of every serious project.

His escape and emotional center came in San Francisco, where he met Charles Gillan Jr., a young architect. Their relationship, which was hidden from the public eye, lasted nearly 30 years—longer than his entire film career. They lived together in quiet peace, but in public, Gillan was merely a “close friend, colleague, interior designer”.

The Final, Touching Honesty

Winfield’s peace was shattered when Charles Gillan Jr. passed away from bone cancer in 2002. Winfield fell into a deep depression, mastering the art of hiding his emotions even as his heart collapsed.

He followed his partner in death two years later, passing away from a heart attack at the age of 62 on March 7, 2004.

After his death, his sister found a small tin box containing un-sent letters to Charles. The contents revealed the profound love and deep isolation he experienced:

“You’ll never understand what you saved me from.”
“On set I belong to everyone, but at home I belong only to you.”
“If one day I’m gone, don’t be sad. We’ve already lived enough for two.”

The irony of fate was that only after his death did the media finally write the truth with respect, acknowledging him in his obituary as an actor who “shared nearly 30 years of his life with his partner Charles Gillan Jr”.

Paul Winfield’s legacy proved that sometimes, to live truthfully doesn’t require a public declaration, but the quiet courage to protect one’s heart in a world that wasn’t ready to love it.