You remember Chick Hogan, right? The guy who showed up in White Pine Bay looking like he’d just wandered out of a backwoods survivalist convention? When we first saw Bates Motel Ryan Hurst on screen, most of us probably thought he was just going to be another "villain of the week" or some throwaway obstacle for Dylan and Caleb to deal with. He had that menacing, bearded intensity that Ryan Hurst has perfected since his Sons of Anarchy days. But man, were we wrong. Chick ended up being one of the most bizarrely soulful and oddly tragic characters in the entire series.
Chick Hogan wasn’t just a gun runner with a penchant for taxidermy and cutoff shorts. He became a witness to the slow-motion train wreck that was the Bates family. Honestly, his evolution from a terrifying neighbor to a weirdly supportive (and eventually doomed) chronicler of Norman's madness is one of the best writing choices the show ever made.
Who Exactly Was Chick Hogan?
In the beginning, Chick was basically a problem. He was an ex-con running an illegal firearms business on the property next to Dylan’s farm. He was smart, articulate, and completely unpredictable. You never quite knew if he wanted to share a beer with you or bash your head in with a wrench. That ambiguity is exactly what makes Bates Motel Ryan Hurst such a standout performance. Hurst has this way of being physically imposing—he’s a huge guy—while projecting a weirdly gentle, almost poetic intelligence.
Early on, his beef was with Caleb (Kenny Johnson). If you’re a fan of Sons of Anarchy, seeing Opie and Kozik back together on screen was a total trip. But instead of brotherhood, we got a brutal rivalry. Chick ended up being the one who took Caleb out, though not in the way you’d expect. He didn't execute him in cold blood; it was more like a tragic accident involving a car and a lot of bad timing.
What's really wild is what Chick did afterward. He didn't just dump the body. He gave Caleb a "Viking burial" on the lake, complete with flowers and fire. It was weird. It was beautiful. It was quintessentially Chick.
The Weird Bond Between Chick and Norman
As the show moved into its final seasons, Chick’s role shifted in a big way. He became obsessed with the Bates household. After Norma died, Chick basically moved himself into the orbit of the motel. He saw Norman's "Mother" persona firsthand and, instead of running for the hills like any sane person, he decided to write a book about it.
Basically, Chick became the show's version of a Greek chorus. He was the only person outside the family who really saw Norman for what he was and didn't immediately try to fix him or lock him up. He was fascinated by the darkness. He’d sit in that kitchen, watching Norman talk to a ghost, and just take notes.
📖 Related: Why The Piper at the Gates of Dawn is Pink Floyd's Only True Masterpiece
- The Taxidermy Connection: Both men shared a love for the macabre art of stuffing animals. It was their "bonding" activity.
- The Chronicler: Chick viewed the Bates saga as a grand, tragic story that needed to be told.
- The Outsider: He was a loner who found a kindred spirit in another loner, even if that kindred spirit was a serial killer.
There was this one scene where Chick is just hanging out at the house, and he basically treats Norman’s psychosis as a creative Muse. It’s darkly funny but also deeply unsettling. You’ve got this giant, bearded man witnessing the birth of a monster and thinking, "This is going to make a great movie."
What Most People Get Wrong About His Ending
The end of Chick Hogan is one of the most jarring moments in the series. He’s at the typewriter, finishing his masterpiece, and Sheriff Romero (Nestor Carbonell) walks in. Romero doesn't care about Chick's art. He doesn't care about Chick's "Viking" sensibilities. He just sees a guy who is in the way of his revenge against Norman.
Boom. One shot. Chick is gone.
It felt unfair, didn't it? After everything he’d survived, to be taken out so casually was a gut-punch. But looking back, it makes sense. Chick lived in a fantasy world of his own making. He thought he was the narrator of the story, but in the end, he was just another victim of the Bates legacy. He died for a story that he never even got to publish.
Why Ryan Hurst Was the Perfect Choice
Could anyone else have played Chick? Probably not. Hurst brings a specific kind of "gentle giant" energy that makes the character's creepiness feel human. He has these tiny mannerisms—the way he tilts his head, the way he uses high-level vocabulary while looking like a mountain man—that make Chick feel like a real person you might actually run into in a rural town like White Pine Bay.
Carlton Cuse and Kerry Ehrin (the showrunners) have talked about how they kept bringing Chick back because they just loved what Hurst was doing with the role. He was originally supposed to be a much smaller part of the show, but he became indispensable.
🔗 Read more: Blue Lantern Corps Ring: What Most People Get Wrong
Takeaways for the Fans
If you’re revisiting the series or watching it for the first time, keep a close eye on Chick’s dialogue. A lot of what he says is actually meta-commentary on the show itself. He talks about the "inevitability" of tragedy and the way people are trapped by their pasts.
If you want to dive deeper into Bates Motel Ryan Hurst and the character of Chick Hogan, here is what you should do next:
- Watch Season 5, Episode 4 ("Hidden"): This is where Chick disposes of Caleb’s body. It’s the peak of his "weirdly poetic" phase.
- Look for the Hitchcock Parallel: Many fans believe Chick was meant to represent a version of Alfred Hitchcock himself—the observer who turns real-life horror into entertainment.
- Pay attention to the wardrobe: The wool socks and cutoff shorts were actually Hurst's idea. It adds that layer of "eccentric local" that makes him so memorable.
Chick Hogan was never going to have a happy ending. In a town like White Pine Bay, the only thing more dangerous than being a Bates is being a friend to one. Chick was the best friend Norman ever had, and in the end, that’s exactly what killed him. He was a witness to history, even if that history was written in blood and stuffed owls.