Patrick Muldoon, the actor who brought Austin Reed to life on "Days of Our Lives" and played Richard Hart on "Melrose Place", died Sunday at his Beverly Hills home after a sudden heart attack. He was 57.
His partner, Miriam Rothbart, found him unconscious on the bathroom floor after he had gone to take a shower that morning, Page Six reported. Paramedics were called, but Muldoon was pronounced dead at the scene.
The death, first reported by Deadline, came without warning. Muldoon's sister, Shana Muldoon-Zappa, told TMZ that her brother had spent a quiet Sunday morning with Rothbart at their home before stepping away to shower. When he took too long, Rothbart went to check on him and discovered him unresponsive.
Fifty-seven years old. No long illness. No public decline. Just a heart attack on a Sunday morning in Beverly Hills, a reminder that time does not negotiate, not even with people who seem to have plenty of it left.
Muldoon grew up in San Pedro, California, the son of Deanna and Patrick Muldoon Sr. He graduated from the University of Southern California in 1991 and played on the Trojans football team. Even before finishing school, he had started testing the waters in Hollywood, appearing on two episodes of "Who's the Boss?" while still in college.
After graduation, Muldoon landed a three-episode recurring role on "Saved By the Bell," playing Jeff opposite Tiffani Thiessen's Kelly. That small part opened a bigger door. By 1992, he had been cast as Austin Reed on "Days of Our Lives," a role he held through 1995 and reprised from 2011 to 2012.
The entertainment industry has lost several familiar faces in recent years. James Van Der Beek, star of "Dawson's Creek" and "Varsity Blues," died at just 48, another sudden loss that hit fans of '90s television hard.
During a hiatus from "Days," Muldoon moved to primetime. He played Richard Hart on "Melrose Place" from Season 3 through Season 5, cementing his name in the decade's pop-culture lineup. In 1997, he took on the role of Zander Barcalow in Paul Verhoeven's "Starship Troopers," appearing alongside Denise Richards in what became a cult sci-fi favorite.
Muldoon did not stop at performing. He moved behind the camera as an executive producer, working on projects including "The Tribes of Palos Verdes," "The Dreadful," and "Riff Raff." At the time of his death, he was executive producing "Kockroach," a film set to star Chris Hemsworth, Taron Egerton, and Zazie Beetz.
His latest movie as an actor, "Dirty Hands," is set for release later this year.
Outside of film and television, Muldoon served as lead singer and guitar player for The Sleeping Masses. The man clearly did not sit still. He built a career across daytime drama, primetime soap opera, feature films, independent production, and live music, a range that few in Hollywood bother to attempt, let alone sustain for three decades.
The passing of beloved actors always stirs a particular kind of grief among audiences who grew up watching them. Demond Wilson of "Sanford and Son" recently passed at 79, drawing similar tributes from fans who felt they had lost someone they knew.
Friends of Muldoon offered a remembrance to Deadline that painted a picture of the man behind the screen credits. Fox News reported the tribute, which spoke to a warmth that colleagues said defined him off camera:
"[Muldoon] loved animals and people alike, gave unforgettable hugs, and possessed a rare quality of making others feel safe and seen."
That kind of tribute, specific, personal, unprompted, says more than any highlight reel. It is the sort of thing people say when they mean it, not when a publicist drafts it.
Muldoon is survived by his partner Miriam Rothbart, his parents, his sister Shana Muldoon-Zappa, and his brother-in-law Ahmet Zappa. He also leaves behind children, though their names were not publicly disclosed.
There is no scandal here. No cautionary tale about excess. Patrick Muldoon was a working actor and producer who had been at it since the early 1990s, still active, still building. He spent a Sunday morning at home with the woman he loved, went to take a shower, and never came back.
Heart attacks at 57 are not unheard of, but they are not expected either. The suddenness is the cruelest part. One moment, a quiet morning in Beverly Hills. The next, paramedics and a pronouncement that cannot be reversed.
For the millions who watched Austin Reed navigate the tangled storylines of Salem, or who saw Richard Hart scheme his way through the halls of Melrose Place, Muldoon was a fixture of an era when appointment television still meant something. He belonged to a generation of performers who showed up, did the work, and gave audiences characters worth caring about.
Fifty-seven is too young. That is not commentary. It is arithmetic, and a hard reminder to everyone watching that the people we take for granted can be gone between one ordinary moment and the next.
