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VISITING TOMBSTONE

By Bruce Dettman

 Recently, for the third time in my life, I visited Tombstone, Arizona.

The first occasion was back in 1957.  Hugh O’Brian’s popular TV series The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp had introduced me to the career of the famed lawman and I somehow later convinced my father on a vacation trip to Mexico to drive my mother, older brother and myself some two hundred miles out of our way to visit the home of the celebrated Gunfight at the OK Corral where Wyatt, his stalwart brothers Morgan and Virgil and eccentric friend Doc Holliday had met the Clantons and McLaureys in the most famous shootout in the annals of the old west.

It was a blistering hot day as our 1955 red and white Buick Special moved down Highway 80 with nothing in the way of scenery save the parched, cactus-marinated desert and the distant and rather redundant foothills.  My mother hated every minute of it and made certain we all knew it. My brother, more interested in airplanes than stagecoaches, was indifferent. My father, always a bit of a romantic, marveled that men and women had once traipsed across this inhospitable terrain in search of new beginnings. Me, well, I just wanted to see where the shootout had taken place and perhaps Boot Hill as well. I was pretty darn excited about the whole thing.

At the time we visited Tombstone it was really just beginning its post World War II campaign to lure in tourists. The place had gone through many changes since its heyday as a mining town in the early 1880s. When the mining finally stopped the town began to die but not quite. The locals, who understood the attraction the old west had for Americans, banded together to re-invent it, to bring its back to some semblance of its glorious frontier past.

But little of this renovation had taken place on that dry and searing day in June when our family showed up hot, tired and hoping the drive had been worth it.

There were few visitors and not a great deal to see. The Oriental Saloon had been transformed into an ice cream parlor which my brother and I made our first order of business while my parents sauntered into the Crystal Palace (outside of which Virgil Earp one evening had been gunned down by ambush and crippled) for something tall and cold.

Later, our thirsts quenched, we began to make the rounds of the town. Again, not much of interest to see.  Since I couldn’t enter any of the saloons—at least not the ones that sold the “rot gun” I had grown up hearing about on TV and in the movies—all that was left was Boot Hill and, of course, the OK Corral.  The former was fun although once I had seen the more famous folks “planted up there” it got a bit boring just reading headstones. That left the OK Corral, but once again I was in for a major disappointment. There was really nothing to see, just an empty lot with a few old wagon wheels propped up against some buildings. There was no indication where the Earps or Clantons had stood, no real material to explain what had happened or where. How could this be, I wondered. There wasn’t even any old dried blood to see. In the juvenile vernacular of the day, it was a real jip.

By this time, all of us were ready to head back to Tucson, my fantasy of one day visiting the so-called “Town Too Tough to Die” somewhat tarnished, not an unusual thing when boyhood dreams come up smack against cold reality. Still, I somehow survived.

I would return to the town some thirty-five years later. The (then) recent release of two films celebrating the story of Wyatt Earp, Tombstone with Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer as Wyatt and Doc, respectively, and Wyatt Earp starring Kevin Costner in the title role, had spurred new interest in the infamous OK gun battle.  Both movies dealt with the story of Tombstone—although in the Costner film, which attempts, albeit rather sluggishly, to recount much of Wyatt’s life story, the Tombstone section only comes at the film’s conclusion—and while not huge box office successes (Wyatt Earp actually lost money) these movies were both good for the city of Tombstone.

The town was certainly hopping when I visited in 1996. Tourists were everywhere. The restaurants were packed. There were daily gunfight recreations on the dusty streets. Rooms were hard to come by and the stores—selling everything from Wyatt Earp cabernet to Doc Holliday glass coasters—were doing a landmark business.

I managed to find lodgings just down the street from the OK Corral in a charming old split level Victorian that had been turned into a bed and breakfast. It was fun to sit out on the big wrap-around porch just about the time the actual gunfight took place, have a beer and listen to the pistols of the re-enactors going off  as you imagined how it must have been for the townspeople back on that afternoon in 1881.

Still, the place was just too crowded for my tastes. One night I waited two hours for a poor meal in a Mexican restaurant just down the street from Scheifflen Hall. The bars were as crowded as any in my hometown of San Francisco and you couldn’t take a step without walking in front of someone snapping a picture.

What I preferred was the town around seven o’clock when most of the day visitors were on their way back to Tucson, when the shop doors were locked and people were off at restaurants. This is when Tombstone became real for me, when it was transformed into Tombstone of myth, legend, history and even popular culture. I liked hearing the sounds of my boots striding with a flat echo against the wooden planked sidewalks. I liked the way the sun, a sizzling orange orb, began to descend beneath the distant desert horizon. I liked the distant, ghost-like sounds of voices and a tinny piano coming from one of the saloons down the mostly deserted street. I liked being there alone and sensing what it must have been like a hundred years before when the Earps and Clantons, Johnny Ringo and Curly Bill Brocius, Bat Masterson and Luke Short had walked these same streets. It was my favorite part of the trip and in many ways I wish that had been my last visit to Tombstone, my final glimpse of the place.

But more recently I visited there again, this time with my wife and friends who were eager to see the town.

Honestly, it looked pretty much the same, on the surface anyway. But something had changed, had slowly eroded away certain strands of its historical fabric and replaced it with celluloid. That something was Hollywood.

Tombstone, of course, ever since the town tried to re-define itself after the silver lode was played out, had always been linked to the cinematic Wild West. There was a revival of sorts for the community during the 1950s when Hugh O’Brien’s Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp was such a success on television. Later, the big budgeted movie Gunfight at the OK Corral with Kirk Douglas and Burt Lancaster also spawned new interest in “The Town Too Tough to Die.”

But none of this was anything like what now had taken over the town. The popularity of the film Tombstone and the less well received Wyatt Earp, though now nearly twenty years old, had all but superseded much of the actual history of the community. Where on previous occasions photos of the real Earps, Doc Holiday and some other notable Tombstone residents of the 1880s were invariably in evidence, the majority of the likenesses now observed, positioned just about everywhere one looked, were of the actors from these films. It was impossible to walk into a shop, regardless of whether it sold guns, hats, wine, postcards, six shooters or T-shirts without being confronted with Russell and Kilmer, Costner less so. Clothing stores also felt the film’s influence with coats, hats and vests lifted from the Hollywood version.

Even the Crystal Palace Saloon, where on my second visit I had sat over a few tall ones and listened to a guitar-strumming singer of cowboy ditties from a small stage, now had several TVs running which ran the subtitled film Tombstone throughout the entire day. And the same was true of other eating and drinking establishments.

Meanwhile, the OK Corral itself now boasts a half hour skit depicting—with not a great deal of historical fidelity—the events leading up to the shootout and all the actors wear outfits right out of the film.

One cannot help coming away from such a visit, unless schooled in some of the real history of the town, with the lines seriously blurred between what actually was and what has been created on celluloid.

  

A shame too because Tombstone is rich in history, much of it still there if you are willing to dig a bit, to move beyond the bumper stickers and the gaudy commercialism that is at once both its bread and butter as well as its downfall. For a feel of the real Tombstone visit the Bird Cage Saloon, one of the few authentic buildings still in existence (the town has been partially wiped out on a number of occasions by fire). Go into the basement and in the grainy and moody darkness peer into one of the cramped little rooms, hardly more than closets really, where, just a few feet from active poker games, the working girls would present their favors to the winners. Take a peek into the office of the Epitaph where the OK Corral gunfight was reported or just sit, as I have earlier described, on a bench at twilight and listen to the wind and the flapping wooden signs.

Sometimes, if you listen real hard you can even hear the ghosts. Sometimes if you’re lucky they’re pretty loud.

July 2010


M SQUAD

Timeless Media Group

15 DVD Set

Complete Series run

117 Episodes

Reviewed by Bruce Dettman

Depending upon one’s perspective, early TV was either the final career stop for a lot of former film actors on the way down or the launching pad for up-and-coming performers who had begun honing their craft after World War II. Nonetheless, despite major successes on the small tube, it was a rare occasion when a TV star migrated successfully and with the same degree of popularity to television. There were exceptions, of course—Steve McQueen, who had only been featured in a few film roles before his breakout part in the video western Wanted Dead or Alive, was probably the most famous of these. James Garner was another although to a slightly lesser degree. There were a few movie roles and then Maverick came along to jettison him to fame and (eventually) fortune.

An actor with much more on his film resume who then decided to tackle a regular weekly television gig was Lee Marvin. Fresh out of the army where he had seen considerable combat action including being wounded in the battle of Saipan, Marvin moved to Hollywood where he soon became a fixture in many movies, often portraying psychotic and villainous parts.  His early celluloid resume included crime, western, gangster and war films such as Bad Day At Black Rock, Hangman’s Knot, The Wild One, Violent Saturday and The Big Heat, the latter earning him a degree of cinematic immortality by tossing a cup of scalding hot coffee in Gloria Graham’s face.

It would seem that Marvin, having quickly scaled the ladder of Hollywood bad guy parts, had no major problems in securing colorful movie roles and could have continued in this vein making a comfortable living for himself, but in 1957 he turned his ear (and career) to the beckoning voice of the small tube and accepted the leading role of Detective Frank Ballinger in the weekly NBC TV series M Squad.

For three years Marvin would take Ballinger into the living rooms of millions of viewers as he ferreted out—as well as often dishing out—his own manner of punishment to a wide assortment of Chicago’s worst criminals: killers, robbers, rapists, embezzlers, burglars, kidnappers and every sort of con man. The half hour, black and white series was shot on location and did for Chicago what Naked City had done for New York.

There were many crime shows on television of that era, from Jack Webb’s groundbreaking Dragnet to The Lineup and Arrest and Trial. What made M Squad different than the others is that while Ballinger was indeed a plainclothes police officer working in a special detail of the windy city’s police force he more or less functioned on his own. In this respect his was a character that fused traits of the professional cop with that of a private investigator, Marvin’s strong voice-over narration bolstering the impression of independence. There were other members of the squad who occasionally lent him a hand—DeForrest Kelly, a few years shy of his role as Dr. McCoy in Star Trek, is one who comes to mind—but for the most part Ballinger was his own man, a lone wolf following his own leads and instincts, not always approved of by his bosses which included several actors until Paul Newlan got a steady birth as the seasoned, slightly world-weary Captain Grey. The two played off each other very well.

M Squad hosted a large and impressive list of guest stars which included Joanna Barnes, Charles Bronson, Ed Nelson, Burt Reynolds, Mike Connors, James Colburn, Leonard Nimoy, Don Rickles, Mike Connors, Janis Rule, Paul Burke, Joe Flynn, Angie Dickinson, Ruta Lee and Whitney Blake.

Adding to the gritty urban feel of the show was its use of jazz themes and motifs. For the show’s second season the great jazz composer Count Basie wrote the popular M Squad theme.

While the thirty minute format made for fairly simplistic and predictable plots with not much wiggle room for extensive characterizations or complex themes, M Squad still benefited from great locations, tight directorial reins, lean dialog and most of all, the unforgettable Lee Marvin as Ballinger.

June 2010


MEETIN WITH FESS

By Bruce Dettman

As one ages, the line between youth and adulthood appears not so much a vague or gradual transformation but rather a sudden and irreversible alteration, a drastic and unfair change that all too often takes one completely off guard. One moment you are a kid with nothing more serious on your mind than running out of caps or missing a favorite western, and the next you're paying bills and contemplating buying more life insurance. Sometimes you pause and wonder what the hell happened and occasionally, when the ill-advised whim is upon you, you might even attempt to bridge those bygone years, rarely with success. (AP-undated Disney photo)

 

On July 28, 1993, however, I managed to not only cross that bridge but to spend nearly four hours happily on the other side.

On July 28, 1993 I met Fess Parker.

I must concede that I still look back on this event with a certain sense of wonderment coupled with a large dose of disbelief. In my mind I am certain the events of that day really happened, that I spent nearly four hours talking to one of my boyhood heroes, the man who as the legendary frontiersman on the 1954 Walt Disney Davy Crockett series had battled Indians, gone to Congress, perished at the Alamo swinging his rifle, Old Betsy, at the advancing horde of Mexican soldiers and whose performance set in motion a merchandizing and cultural craze among young Baby Boomers that even took Uncle Walt off guard.  Yet there are moments when I have to shake my head and think back upon the occasion with some lingering doubt. Fortunately, I do have tapes and photographs and a couple of autographed bottles of wine from Fess' beautiful vineyard to prove it.

It happened all right.

Mainly it happened because my buddy Glenn Nolan, a fellow Alamo enthusiast, urged me to send a copy of an unpublished article I had written on Fess to the actor. Such a gesture had never occurred to me, but at Glenn's good-intentioned insistence I went ahead and slipped the piece in the mail. To be truthful, I didn't think a great deal about it after that figuring that Fess Parker, a real estate tycoon and owner of a winery, was undoubtedly always receiving requests and correspondence from fans that he wouldn’t have time to deal with. In addition, my concern over the illness of a favorite uncle, who finally passed away in early February of that year, removed most every other consideration from my mind. I remember returning to my apartment after the funeral, feeling emotionally spent, reaching for a beer and from habit flipping on the answering machine.

"Hello Bruce," the familiar voice began, "This is Fess Parker."

At first I wasn't certain that what I was hearing was real. For an instant I felt like glancing around the room to make certain Rod Serling wasn’t injecting me into a Twilight Zone episode. What had been in that vodka from the night before? Was I dreaming, hallucinating? No, this was the real thing.  Fess went on to compliment me on my article, said he was going up to the house to read it to his wife, and invited me to please call him to discuss it.

 

Soon after that we had a long and most enjoyable phone conversation which led to several others. Initially I must admit to having been somewhat intimidated but I was soon put completely at ease by his casual and friendly style. He invited me down to his winery and, of course, I said yes. I also asked if he'd mind if I brought Glenn since without his suggestion this entire connection would never have taken place. "No problem," Fess assured me (I had tried calling him Mr. Parker but would have nothing to do with that).

"Love to meet your friend, bring him along."

We made several attempts to make something work on the calendar, but each time one of us found a free date Fess couldn’t make it. His winery, as well as other business ventures, obviously took up much of his time. It was becoming a frustrating business and I began to have doubts that I'd every meet my favorite Davy Crockett, but finally in July we settled on a day that worked.

 

Glenn and I made it most of the way to Olivous, a small community near Santa Barbara where the Parker Winery is located, the first day, had dinner then turned in anticipating our morning rendezvous with Fess.

 

After breakfast and getting our bearings, a long drive down a country road, which snaked lazily through a line of rolling California hills marinated in golden grass and dotted by an occasional grazing longhorn, finally led to a crossroad marked by several signs, one of which indicated a right turn to the winery.

 

My God, I remember telling myself one more time before starting down the final leg of our journey, I'm actually going to meet Fess Parker.

We parked and called the office.

"Come right up," one of his secretaries said. "Fess is talking to one of his grandchildren but he'll be right down to meet you in a few minutes."

 

The butterflies that had taken flight in my gut had suddenly grown into full-blown pterodactyls but somehow I managed to put one foot in front of the other.

 

The office, entered by a side door, was busy and cluttered. One young lady worked at a desk while another vacuumed. "Just have seat gentlemen," she said showing us into another room. She offered us coffee and reiterated that Fess would be down directly.

 

The office was smaller than I anticipated, made to appear even more so due to all the personal memorabilia both on the walls and piled in corners, everything from civic and scholastic awards to photos from his Crockett and Daniel Boone days. I quickly scanned everything I could. Then I was interrupted by a voice addressed to his office staff, a voice nearly as familiar as my own brother’s.

"Good morning, ladies."

Glenn and I both stood as he appeared at the door, all six foot six of him. The hair was greyer than in his Davy Crockett days, the face certainly more mature, but there was no mistaking those bright and friendly eyes, that soothing resonant voice or that posture straight as a flintlock. Almost at once Glenn and I felt relaxed and comfortable. He told me to close the door so we could have some privacy. And for close to the rest of the morning we had just that.

 

Although I was taping our meeting interview-style, the tone was more one of three old friends sitting around in a good old fashioned bull session. Fess, reclining in one of the room's three large chairs and engrossed in Glenn's tremendous collection of Crockett film material (much of which he either hadn't seen in over thirty years), answered all our questions and often, as conversations are wont to do, going off on fascinating side roads, each story and anecdote somehow more interesting than the last. Initially there was a lot of Crockett talk but we also moved along to Fess' experiences with John Ford, his thoughts on Disney, dreams for his winery and much more. Later, of course, I would think of a host of other questions I should have put to him. Honestly, Glenn and I could easily have spent a week with this fascinating man but the thought of imposing on his time began to seem a possibility, something we certainly didn't wish to do.

"Well, gentlemen, if you can spare the time why don't I show you the winery.”

If we could spare the time?!!

We loaded into Fess' Landcrusier and he drove us the half mile back to the beautiful rustic winery he'd been in the process of building for several years. Fess was a hands-on guy—no ivy tower executive suite for him—who obviously involved himself in all phases of the product he was so obviously proud of. At one point he excused himself to go pick up some papers that had blown onto the massive front lawn. As people showed up there was always a "howdy" or "thanks for comin’, folks." I'm sure some of the visitors didn't know who this ball-capped charmer in the Levis and T-shirt was.

 

Fess showed us around the operation. At certain points we would stop as he chatted with winery workers or paused for a steer on the upper road to get out of our way. It was at this point, as Fess stared the steer down just as he had that bear forty years before when playing Crocket, that it really came home to me what a truly amazing experience this was, that I was actually driving around with my boyhood idol, a man who not only had single-handedly set in motion my interest in the Alamo and western history but who I had emulated a thousand times as a small boy. I was really quite overwhelmed and from our conversation later I know Glenn felt pretty much the same. Later, someone seeing one of the pictures we had taken during our visit remarked that my friend, sitting near Fess, somehow resembled a small child mesmerized by a hero. And that, better than anything else, is exactly what the entire day was like, a feeling one rarely, if ever, has the opportunity to experience as an adult.

"My pleasure. You fellas came an awfully long way and I appreciate it."

And you could tell that these were not just words. The genuineness came through just as it had in everything he had said to us that day.

We put our cases of wine, those he had given us as gifts, in the car, waved a last time and began our long drive home.

Never, however, had a long drive been more worth it.

This slightly revamped article originally appeared in the publication The Alamo Journal. No 88, October 1993. The author is indebted to Editor Will Chemerka for permission to reprint it here.

April 2010

 


LARAMIE

Timeless Media Group

Season Three/Twenty-eight episodes

Review By: Bruce Dettman

There has always been a certain caste system inherent in western movies and on television. While the hero might have friends and dependable sidekicks, these characters have traditionally been featured as a rung down in the competence and toughness department. In the early days of the big screen oater most of the famous western stars had assistance as they roamed the great west, but it was rare that any of these partners were on equal footing with the star as far as gunplay or pugilistic ability was concerned. Quite often they were just around for laughs as witnessed by the steady paychecks that actors such as funnymen Gabby Hayes, Smiley Burnette, Al “Fuzzy” St. John, “Fuzzy” Knight and others received for tagging along with the likes of Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and Buster Crabbe.

Instances where heroic duties were divvied up were rare (examples being the 1940s movie series The Rough Riders which co-starred Buck Jones and Tim McCoy—but even here Buck had a bit more of the screen time and heroic edge than the older and less popular Tim—and Republic Studio’s long running Three Mesquiteers series with Robert Livingston—and later John Wayne—being the real attraction over co-stars Ray Corrigan and Max Terhune) with a single cowboy star traditionally carrying the majority of the action and his sidekick supplying comedic bits and marginal backup if needed.

On TV, of course, the Lone Ranger rode with Tonto, the Cisco Kid with Pancho, even Annie Oakley had a male second banana named Lofty. The so-called “adult westerns,” when not exploring the sagebrush careers of loners like Bill Longley (The Texan), Vint Bonner (The Restless Gun) or Dave Blassingame (The Westerner), were usually set around a town with a certain hierarchy (Gunsmoke for instance where Marshal Matt Dillon of Dodge City had deputies Chester, Festus and Newley to rely on over the years but who were never near his equal in the gunplay department) or a family unit like Bonanza or The Big Valley where siblings had very different strengths and personas.

A western that was completely different in this respect was NBC’s hour long series Laramie which premiered in 1959 and ran for four seasons, the last two in color, before the plug was pulled. What made Laramie unique was that the framework of the show was built around two characters of very similar heroic proportions, Slim Sherman, as portrayed by blonde-haired blue-eyed John Smith, and Jess Harper played by the slimmer, dark-haired Robert Fuller.

Although the characters had different backgrounds and demeanors they were very much alike in their strengths and heroic qualities. Slim, tough as nails, was the guardian of his younger brother Andy and along with this responsibility ran a stagecoach way station outside of Laramie, Wyoming. Jess Harper, the handier of the two with a shooting iron, had a darker past, not always a lawful one as hinted at in various episodes where he meets up with individuals from his earlier days, sometimes with violent results.  Ironically, since both men were so good in the parts, it is interesting to note that originally the producers had Fuller in mind for the Sherman role, an image nearly impossible for fans of the series to contemplate as Fuller, who possessed a kind of brooding intensity, seemed as perfect for the often moody and reflective Harper as the solid, likable and dependable Smith appeared to fit the Sherman part to a tee.

During the first seasons of Laramie the cast also included famed composer Hoagy Carmichael as Jonsie, who cooked and cleaned and did all sorts of odd work around the place, as well as the aforementioned Crawford (brother of Johnny Crawford of Rifleman fame) as Andy. No explanation was given for Jonsie’s departure but it was understood that Andy had gone east to school. In the third season this domestic vacuum was filled by veteran actress Spring Byington as Daisy, a woman stranded in the west who finds a home not only cooking and cleaning for Slim and Jess but helping to take care of Mike, an orphan whose parents were killed during an Indian raid and for whom the men have accepted responsibility.  Two other semi-regular characters on the series were Mort Cory, Laramie’s sheriff played by Stuart Randall, and Eddy Waller as the stagecoach driver Mose.

While everyone connected with the show—both behind and in front of the camera—pitched in to produce an excellent western, it was Robert Fuller’s portrayal of Jess Harper, particularly in that initial year, that truly resonated with the fans, not only in America but in Germany and Japan as well. His popularity was immense and although Laramie might have been successful without him, it is undeniable that his performance and the character of Harper helped make it the hit it was.

In many ways, Harper is the spiritual descendent of Shane; the famed western character created by novelist Jack Schaffer and played on the big screen by Alan Ladd. Like Shane, Harper is trying to settle down after a past filled with violence and danger. But his past often rears up to challenge or tempt him. Fuller does a terrific job at playing a character which is always a bit off balance; always flirting with what he knows is his potential for a different sort of existence. But Smith is excellent too; his controlled and measured personality being a perfect match for the other man’s volatility. It was good chemistry and was a large contributing factor to the show working so well.

Laramie was a strong, well produced, acted and directed show boasting two fine and high appealing leads plus a host of talented players, both up and coming players and established stars, such as Alex Cord, Denver Pyle, L.Q. Jones, Dan Duryea, Leonard Nimoy, Harry Dean Stanton, Ed Nelson, Cloris Leachman,  Jock Mahoney and many more.

For years fans of the show have hoped that the entire run would someday become available on DVD, and now this is the case with the news that the first two seasons and the fourth will be released soon. Regrettably, picture quality varies with a number of episodes, some having a washed out appearance, absent from other ‘Timeless’ restorations.

A bonus feature includes an interview with Robert Fuller who discusses the series which he continues to be very proud of, rightfully so.

The author is indebted to Robert Fuller, a fine gentleman, for his kindness and generosity in taking the time to talk to him about Laramie. Photo courtesy of Mike Goldman.

April 2010


THE TEXAN

Timeless Media Group

70 Episodes on 10 DVDs

Reviewed by Bruce Dettman

There was an old west historical figure named Bill Longley but the goateed, rather satanic looking Texas-born character was no errant do-gooder like his TV counterpart but rather a vicious outlaw and killer who was eventually hung in 1878 at the ripe old age of 27.  While it may seem odd that TV should re-mold such a dangerous and cold-blooded person into an ethically pristine sagebrush hero it should also be remembered that the television industry of that time also sanitized and gave the public heroic versions of  bad men Billy the Kid, Johnny Ringo and Jesse James.

Rory Calhoun (1922-1999), who in the early 1950s established himself with a solid resume in action films, starred as Longley. Born Francis Timothy Durglin, the future actor had a tough youth in Los Angeles and eventually tangled with the law. Some prison time followed and after serving his time he found himself directionless and uncertain of what might be around the next corner. He tackled numerous dead-end jobs including a stint as a lumberjack when a chance meeting with actor Alan Ladd led to his being introduced to Ladd’s wife, Hollywood agent Sue Carol, who thought she saw potential in the young Calhoun. A number of forgettable roles came his way until he was given a choice part in the moody thriller The Red House which starred Edward G. Robinson. From then on he worked steadily with a growing reputation for handling himself well in outdoor actioners and westerns until he became extremely popular with the public.

During the making of the film Flight to Hong Kong (1956) he struck up a friendship with the movie’s producer Victor Orsatti and the two decided to go into business together. Forming the company Rorvic, they set out to develop a TV series. Their first thought was to create a show built around a nautical premise but when they approached Desi Arnez at Desilu he convinced them that a better idea was to do a western, a genre Calhoun already felt very comfortable with.

Developed by noted western writer Frank Gruber—who had also been responsible for the western series Tales of Wells Fargo—The Texan related the wanderings of fast gun Bill Longley, known for reasons never really explained by the title description. Longley had served in the Confederate army and later lost his wife. From this point on he became a drifter, describing himself at one point as always restless. In his travels, where he picks up work as a lawman, cattle drover and other occupations, he does not seek out confrontation or violence but invariably finds it. No matter how hard he tries to stay out of trouble he nearly always has to rely on his gunfighting skills (the producers made certain Longley’s gun sounded much louder than anyone else’s weapon, almost like a shotgun blast). Mostly these confrontations come about due to Longley’s attempts to help out and befriend people as he travels from one town to another.

The Texan ran for two seasons (1958-1960) and there were seventy-eight episodes filmed. It was never a major ratings success but did all right in the ratings game and had a loyal following although so many westerns being on the air worked against it.

The show boasted good production values and attracted most of the western character actors of the day, people like Lane Bradford, John Harmon, Terry Frost, John Dehner, John Doucette and Jack Elam but also featured bigger names in guest starring roles such as Lon Chaney, Brian Donlevy and Cesar Romero.

Central to the success of the show was Calhoun’s performance as Longley. In addition to being tough he was also compassionate and highly likable.  Moreover, the handsome actor possessed a set of the steeliest eyes in show business and when things got tough he would fix one of TV’s most intimidating stares at his intended victim. On the other hand he was chivalrous with women, polite with the aged and kind to children. He also spoke impeccable English and could often be quite the sagebrush philosopher.

Timeless Media has done a good job in the presentation of these fifty year-old shows. Picture and sound quality are above average. Regrettably they were unable to find eight episodes. Perhaps they will turn up some day. Also, a minor quibble, a couple of shows that had an on-going storyline are presented out of order.

December 2009


 

Tales of Wells Fargo

Timeless Media Group

46 Episodes (6 DVDs)

Reviewed by Bruce Dettman

It has been reported that during the 1950s some viewer, observing the television fare of the day remarked “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I love westerns. I just don’t like twenty of them every night.”

And he wasn’t exaggerating all that much.

In the heyday of the television western there were literally dozens on the airwaves each week, half hour ones, hour ones, ones about families like the Cartwrights and Barkleys (Bonanza, The Big Valley), ones about peace officers (Gunsmoke, The Deputy, Cimarron Strip), and ones about nomadic drifters roaming the west in search of adventure (The Restless Gun, The Texan). There were westerns with bounty hunters (Wanted Dead or Alive), Texas Rangers (Trackdown), newspaper editors (Man without a Gun), even a western with a one-armed hero (Tate). Some western heroes wore masks (The Lone Ranger), some had accents (The Cisco Kid), some were based on real historical figures (Wild Bill Hickok Bat Masterson and Kit Carson), some were gamblers (Maverick), Indian Scouts (Cheyenne) and even lawyers (Sugarfoot and Black Saddle). Most used conventional weapons, usually a Colt Peacemaker, but as the TV western thrived and multiplied writers and producers began to come up with gimmicks to make their characters more memorable and unique. One used a customized Winchester (The Rifleman), another combination pistol and shotgun (Johnny Ringo), still another rifle-shotgun (Shotgun Slade). Yancy Derringer favored, you guessed it, a derringer, and Steve McQueen on Wanted Dead or Alive shortened his rifle and put it in a special holster rig while Wyatt Earp (Hugh O’Brian) had a pistol, the famed Buntline Special, with an extended barrel.

Tales of Wells Fargo, which ran for five seasons as a half hour show and one year in an expanded hour format, was unique during this period because it was a solid and very popular oater without an iota of gimmickry. It was created by TV producer Nat Holt in 1955 who then turned it over to famed western writer and historian Frank Gruber who penned a pilot episode. Holt knew that the selling point of the concept, that of a roving detective named Jim Hardie working for the Wells Fargo banking and stageline company, would only work if they had the right actor in the lead role. Holt had used and been impressed by a young actor named Dale Robertson in one of his films and thought he would be perfect as Hardie. However Robertson, who was just beginning to get better roles on the big screen—and who viewed television as already overcrowded with western fare—initially, rejected participation in the project.

The Oklahoma born actor had grown up around horses as both a real cowboy and a trainer of polo ponies. He tried a career as a professional boxer but then as part of Patton’s Third Army was wounded in the leg during WW II putting an end to his ring career. Eventually he decided to give acting a try and came to Hollywood where he immersed himself in learning the trade. Eventually his hard work paid off with parts in many movies including Two Flags West, Outcasts of Poker Flats, Sitting Bull, Dakota Incident and The Silver Whip.

Holt was relentless, however, and eventually Robertson consented to film the pilot which was aired on Schlitz Playhouse.  The actor didn’t expect it to be purchased but it was immediately snatched up by NBC.

Holt was right is his assessment of Robertson who brought to the role of Jim Hardie—a reformed bandit who becomes one of Wells Fargo’s most capable troubleshooters—a cagey charm, warmth and immense likeability.  In addition to these qualities being showcased during the action of the series, the producers wisely decided to have Robertson do voice over narration which added dimension and scope to the character not to mention allowing him to offer sage philosophical musings when the occasion arose.

Jim Hardie, a rare left-handed gun (Robertson, in real life right-handed, had to teach himself how to draw with his left hand and he became incredibly proficient at it), is not adverse to using his fists or gun when tracking down robbers and thieves and even murderers, but is equally good at employing his mind and wits whenever possible. During the five year run of the series Hardie would be depicted up against some of the old West’s most dangerous outlaws and criminals including Billy the Kid (Robert Vaughn), Bill Longley (Steve McQueen), Jesse James (Hugh Beaumont), Sam Bass (Chuck Connors) and John Wesley Hardin (Lyle Bettger), always coming out on top. The historical fidelity of the scripts was more often than not suspect and most of the plots fairly routine and predictable given the limitations of the half hour format, but Robertson invariably made the proceedings enjoyable and fun to watch. In anyone else’s hands it could have been just another western but Robertson put his engaging stamp on the proceedings and it worked. Another thing that separated Hardie from other TV western heroes was that he had a regular profession, a ranch waiting for him when he retired and family members—parents and siblings—who occasionally appeared.  Hardie was no superman and he often made mistakes in judgment on the job, but he was honest, dedicated and a decent human being.

November 2009


My Life as a Former Child Star

By Richard (aka "Richie") Potter

For many years now, I've been leading a double life but the strain of trying to keep it a secret has finally become too much to bear.  So, I have decided to "come out of the closet" as it were and admit that yes, I am a former child actor.  I only made one movie, but it has become a cult classic to many.  That movie was originally titled, "The Love of the Banaras" and was filmed on location in northwestern Iowa during the fall and winter of 1962.  (As film historians know, northwestern Iowa was in its heyday during the early 1960's and vying for contention as the cheap alternative to Hollywood, sort of an early version of Bollywood.)  Set in the year 1949, the movie was supposed to be a musical about the Banara clan, a family of French-Italian immigrants who had moved to Hartley, Iowa, to open an orchid nursery.  Although it was a shameless attempt to cash in on the unbelievable popularity of The Sound of Music, the film's plot did offer the unusual twist that the Banaras were suspected of being Nazis by the town folk due to their thick German accents.  The story centered on the family's attempts to cope with the unreasoning hatred of the Hartley-ites and the fact that orchids don't grow in the brutal, 20-degree-below-zero winters in northwestern Iowa.  At the tender age of 9, I was cast as "Richie Banara".  I was chosen more for my ability to remember the lyrics than my vocal talent.  I only had one solo, "Orchids in December, Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" which was cut from the picture along with all the other musical numbers for reasons I am about to explain.

Unfortunately, as everyone who is familiar with this motion picture knows, when the artwork for the movie was sent into production, a typo was made and the poster for the movie came out reading: "The Love of the Bananas."  Rather than send the poster back to the art studio which had perpetrated this stupendous blunder, the producers decided to salvage the film by modifying the script to focus on bananas.  Several key scenes were reshot so that a family member was either holding a banana or eating a banana or speaking softly to one.  (The family name, by the way, was changed to "Windsor" and their ethnicity to Hispanic although the Nazi element remained.)  There was even a love scene added in which a banana whipped cream pie figured prominently.

I won't go into more details at this time—the story behind the ill-fated picture and its eventual rise to cult classic status were covered in the notorious book, "Peeled of Dreams," by the late James Montpelier, one of my co-stars in the film.  About the book itself, I have little to add.  I think it covers pretty well the aftermath of appearing in the only banana-centric film noir ever made.  About the author, I will say only this—contrary to urban legend, Jimmy Montpelier, who played my big sister "Julie Windsor" in the movie, did not die by throwing himself out of a window wrapped in a yellow blanket.  Jimmy was crazy, but there was more to it than that.  Jimmy's descent into drug abuse came a few years after "Banana Love" (as the film is affectionately known to its fans) had come and gone in the theaters, right around the time Donovan released his song, "Mellow Yellow."  As everyone who has seen the outtakes from this picture knows, Jimmy's wardrobe for the movie included a dress made of bright yellow saffron which he wore for one of his numbers, "The Pastures of Manure."  Because of this, Jimmy earned the nickname "Saffron" around the set.  Sadly, Jimmy became obsessed with the thought that Donovan was speaking to him personally through the lyrics of the song ("I'm just mad about saffron, Saffron's mad about me...").  In spite of all that, Jimmy's death had little to do with drugs and more to do with being stereotyped as "the Banana girl".  Fragments of Jimmy's performance, as well as the harvest scene in which I appear briefly riding in the back of the banana wagon, have surfaced on YouTube from time to time.

Growing up as a child star took its toll.  For years, I couldn't even walk down Main Street of my home town without being recognized.  My mother, who had been totally bitten by the acting bug and dreams of easy money, schlepped me to every audition she could find in northwestern Iowa and southern Minnesota.  But I was never again chosen to appear in another motion picture.  This caused a great deal of heartache for my mother and left me with a tremendous identity crisis.  It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I would never become a movie star.  After years of psycho-therapy, I was finally able to put it all behind me.  From that point on, I focused on music and became a singer/songwriter.

As some of you may recall, back in 2006 I released my tribute song, "Oh, George," in honor of George Reeves, the star of the 1950's TV show Adventures of Superman.  The song caused a minor sensation, and as a result, I began to receive invitations to appear at movie and TV memorabilia conventions, where I sat besides legends of Hollywood who had faded from the scene but not from the memories of their devoted fans.  Every time I participated in one of those shows, sitting there at my table selling my CDs and my original artwork in honor of George Reeves, I felt like a has-been who never was.  And I feared that someone would come up to me and yell, "Hey, it's Richie Banana!"  Fortunately, that never happened.

Then a year or so ago, I thought the cat was finally out of the bag when my friend and fellow web-master Carl Glass started referring to me as "Richie" on some of the discussion boards where we shared our thoughts on the life and legacy of George Reeves.  However, it turned out to be a mere coincidence—Carl had simply thought the nickname was "cute" and had no idea how close he'd come to exposing my dark secret.

It wasn't until Turner Classic Movies decided to run a series called "The Worst Movies That Were Ever Made" that the Banana saga reared its ugly head and I was forced to confront my past once again.  Somehow TCM put two-and-two together and realized that Richard Potter, the well-known singer/songwriter, was also the former child actor from the "Banana Love" movie.  They even contacted me to appear on the show and provide commentary for the picture.  But I declined.  Even though I am ashamed of just about everything in this movie, I have to admit that it's probably a large part of the reason why I'm a songwriter today.  Once you experience that high of being in a motion picture, the entertainment world is sort of in your blood forever.  But as I explained to TCM, I have moved on.  Or at least I would like to think so.

September 2009


ALAMO GHOSTS

By Bruce Dettman

When I recently learned that an old friend of mine had moved from the street we had both grown up on some fifty years ago, I knew I had to go back one last time...to walk down that familiar avenue and perhaps sneak a look at the place that had been ground zero for much of our magical childhoods—his backyard.  With his leaving, not a soul remained on that block who had recollections of the street when it was young, when the voices of Jack Benny or Sid Ceaser, Marshal Matt Dillon or Sgt. Joe Friday could be heard coming through unlocked screen doors on hot and still summer nights, when people burned leaves in the gutter, had Fourth of July barbecues, tossed footballs, talked about Eisenhower’s heart attacks or a few years later gathered on front lawns to share thoughts of that tragic weekend in Dallas. New people lived here now, younger, more nomadic people who bought and left only after a few years. In the nearly two decades I lived on that street—from the age of two until nineteen—only one family ever moved away. It was once a place to establish roots. It was a place to stay.

Still, for all these thousands of memories and impressions, it was my friend’s backyard, unkempt, overgrown now, waiting for whoever would come to clear it of its onetime identity and remove all suggestion of what it had once meant to two young boys a half century ago.

The backyard had been many things to us. It had been the main street of Tombstone Arizona, the slate grey side of the garage serving as the OK Corral where, as the Earps, we had battled the Clantons.  It had been the ashen battlefield of Iowa Jima where, wearing the aging WW II helmets and canteens of our fathers and uncles, we had taken on the Japanese. It had served, with some modification, as the submarine Nautilus from Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea (the huge tree in the corner doubling as the giant squid which we attacked with metal bars left over from a dilapidated swing set). A picnic table had once served as a keel boat. A high hedge was just the thing for us to fire behind when we were American patriots knocking down Redcoats.  It had been all these things and much more, for more than a decade.

But mostly, more than anything else, it had been the Alamo.

It would be hard for me to imagine, to try and count or tabulate how many time the battle of the Alamo had been fought in that backyard. Never mind that on occasion a load of wash might be swaying in the breeze just feet away from where Davy Crockett made his last stand. Forget the fact that a great tree sat in the corner where Jim Bowie met his end. Ignore that we battled behind a row of picket fences, not great adobe walls, or that next door we could sometimes hear the sound of neighbors tinkering with cars or playing badminton. The wonderful thing about being a kid is that none of this mattered, none of it in anyway detracted from our intense and unpunctuated imaginary focus. To us it was not the back kitchen door with a few steps but the Alamo Chapel, the walkway lined by some tall apple trees the main gate, a small patch of dirt in the center of the rose garden the spot where Travis drew his controversial—though certainly not to us—line in the sand. All of this based, at least in the early days of our role playing—on the Walt Disney/Fess Parker series that had so captivated (perhaps obsessed would be a better word) the youth of America. In our early versions of the Alamo we pretty much stuck to the Disney scenario, even including Thimblerig and the Indian Busted Luck in our plotline. But Mike was two years my senior, more bookish and interested in history, and as the years went by and he discovered Lon Tinkle and John Myers. With Myers, and most importantly Walter Lord’s version of the event, our depictions became a bit more elaborate and sophisticated. I was just interested in the final battle, of course, of shooting those hordes of imaginary Mexican soldiers who would charge across a small apple orchard just beyond my friend’s long picket fence, but he began to add details and some historical fidelity to our backyard battles. Bonham became a character, so did Dickenson. We saw The Last Command on TV whenever it aired, and went together to see the first showing of John Wayne’s Alamo when it hit our town’s theatre. Once we even attempted the unthinkable and it turned out to be a grand failure. We tried it from the Mexican point of view, charged across that orchard and (thanks to some strategically placed boxes) scaled that picket fence with rods tied to our muskets to simulate bayonets but it was just not the same. What was the fun in attacking Crockett and Bowie? There was none.

We continued to recreate the Alamo when others might have thought us too old to be “playing guns”—as it was often called back then—but each time we read a new book on the subject or learned some new facts we could incorporate into our story we rushed out and recreated the 13 days of glory. For the record, Mike was always Crockett and Travis while I was Bowie and assorted others. We both doubled for both the Texicans slowly mowed down during the final siege and the Mexican soldiers killing them.

Nothing that I can ever recall from that period of my life—and admittedly there was a great deal of competition from movies and TV shows to be emulated—came  close to measuring up to the joy and enthusiasm we had in recreating the battle of the Alamo.

All of this came back to me as I sat in that deathly quiet backyard with the overgrown grass in the spot where my Jim Bowie had made his last stand, by the partially collapsed picket fence Mike and I had defended a thousand times from those advancing hordes of Mexican infantry, from the peeling back porch, now littered with trash, where Crockett, Mike’s Crockett, swinging his rifle, had made his last heroic stand. For perhaps a few seconds the fifty years separating me from those times disappeared and I could see that backyard as I had once envisioned it, as the Alamo compound, detailed in every way that my mind could make it.

Then reality returned and I saw the place for what it now was, forgotten, unkempt, shoddy and ready for the bulldozer, but most of all I saw it hiding its secrets, its memories of two young boys many years before and how they had unleashed their fertile imaginations on this magical place and turned it into the Shrine of Texas Liberty.

Then I heard someone, an unfamiliar neighbor from next door stop by the garage and look my way.

“Sorry, no one lives here anymore. Can I help you?”

“No." I said moving by him. “I used to know this place. Spent a lot of time here.”

“Really?”

“Fought the battle of the Alamo here on a regular basis.”

He looked at me kind of funny but I didn’t add anything.

No point really.

June 2009

“Alamo Ghosts” originally appeared in The Alamo Journal, Issue #153, June 2009


2009 Festival of the West

with Mike Goldman in Scottsdale Arizona

The 19th annual Festival Of The West, which is held right here in Scottsdale, Arizona, literally just minutes away from me, presented it's latest edition - this weekend, March 19-22, 2009.

There were quite a few stars of yesteryear appearing...
Robert Horton, Robert Fuller, Denny Miller, Buck Taylor, and Whitey Hughes to name a few.
But due to time constraints, I was there early, and all the celebs were not there yet. Stella Stevens was at a panel discussion that was already in progress. Another fellow, who was  in a rush like me, and came this close to knocking me over, turned out to be...Peter Brown!

There was the delightful Beverly Washburn, of course. Beverly says hello to all of you from the Memphis event last year.

This is Ed Faulkner.  I must admit, that at first, it didn't register, until I saw this:

 

...then I remembered Ed.

 

Ty Hardin - Bronco...(little blurry...sorry)

...Clint Walker - Cheyenne
His table had the longest line, by far. He was there with his wife, Shirley.  And at 81, he looks great!
 

And then there was...Hugh O'Brien...Wyatt Earp.

I thought he would be the one with the really long line, but he was set up away from most of the others. It turned that he was quite accessible, very approachable...and thoroughly charming.

I got this photo at Hugh's table, which he most graciously autographed:

" Mike - a Top Gun"  But...I think Hugh meant to say...pop gun!!  LOL  

March
2009

WAGON TRAIN:

The Television Series

By James Rosin

Autumn Road Company, 2008

Reviewed by Bruce Dettman

Although the video landscape of the 1950s and 60s was once heavily marinated in westerns, up to over thirty a week at one point, the majority of these have long been forgotten save by trivia experts or those whose business it is to chronicle the history of the medium. Many of these shows lasted only a season, sometimes less, and their impact, if any, was minimal to none, particularly as the public and industry gradually lost interest in the once beloved genre. There were exceptions, however, shows which today, some forty to fifty years later, still resonate with us, a fact borne out by the recent successful packaging of certain old shows on DVD such as the classic Gunsmoke and Have Gun Will Travel, series which have also been documented in books. Another show that stood out from the rest and which both cried out for DVD distribution as well as a historical evaluation is Wagon Train, one of the finest westerns ever to grace the small tube. Fortunately, writer/historian/actor James Rosin was up to the task, the result being his latest tome, Wagon Train: The Television Series. Rosin, whose earlier media histories successfully detailed the production of Naked City and Route 66, serves up a richly detailed appraisal of the popular series which ran from 1957 though 1965 and delivers a most entertaining and lively read in the process.

While Wagon Train, which told the story of the pioneering trek from St. Joseph Missouri to California and Oregon via covered wagon during the late mid 1800s, relied on a cast of strong regulars including Ward Bond, Robert Horton, John McIntire, Terry Wilson, Frank McGrath, Robert Fuller and Denny Miller, it differed from many of the other action-oriented oaters of the period in its interest and attention to character-driven storylines which focused on the lives and challenges of those individuals heading west, characters weekly portrayed by some of the best actors in Hollywood including Ernest Borgnine, Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis and Linda Darnell.

Rosin tells the story of this superb series by punctuating his narrative with fascinating interviews with many of those directly affiliated with the show, both in front and behind the camera, a technique which produces a particularly intimate and satisfying feel for what it took to make Wagon Train the highly successful and well remembered series that it is.

Wagon Train: The Television Series should be in the library of any fan of video history in general and the TV western in particular.

Wagons Ho!

October 2008


A SUPER COLLECTION

I've been a fan of Superman for about 10 years now, the same number of years the Superman Super Site has been around.  The site started as a small fan site to help fill a void on the Internet for information on the Man of Steel.  Over the years, the site has continued to grow and change more than I could have ever imagined possible back in 1998.   

My collection of Superman memorabilia has grown dramatically over the past 10 years as well.  What started as nothing more than a black bagged issue of the Death of Superman has grown to a collection of well over 500 items.  Everything from statues, action figures, posters, vintage items and even the occasional comic book now comprise the whole collection.   

The Superman Super Site exists strictly as a source of news and information for all fans of the Man of Steel.  If not for the fans, the site would cease to exists at all.  With 10 great years running the site now behind me, I can only hope and pray for another 10 or even more.  As long as there are fans of Superman, there will always be a Superman Super Site!  

Sincerely,
Neil A. Cole
Webmaster—Superman Super Site

August 2008

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

To see another Super Superman Collection: Go to Jamie Reigle's Page


Chicago Ray Courts Hollywood Collector’s Show

By Ralph Schiller

This last weekend I attended the Ray Courts Hollywood Collectors Show which took place on March 15 and 16 at the O’Hare Marriott Hotel in Chicago, Illinois near O’Hare airport.  

This was the first Ray Courts show produced in Chicago since 2005 which was held for the first time at the Marriott Hotel.  I have been going to the shows for 10 years and I have never before seen such record-breaking crowds in attendance.  I arrived shortly after the 10:00AM opening time and the giant convention hall was already packed with hordes of movie and TV fans.  I was supposed to locate my pal Dave but gave up after the first 20 minutes.  Later we bumped into each other purely by chance among the cast of thousands.   

Many celebrities attended this Ray Courts Show and the big attraction was supposed to be actor Val Kilmer but he cancelled out at the last minute.  Mr. Courts himself was not happy about Kilmer’s ‘no show’ but he was delighted to see a long line of fans surrounding Erik Estrada, who had starred in the hit NBC television series “CHiPs” (1977–1983).  Other stars in attendance were Katey Sagal and David Faustino of “Married With Children” (1987–1997), Kathy Garver who starred as ‘Sissy’ on the CBS series “Family Affair” (1966–1971) with Brian Keith and Sebastian Cabot, and Antonio Fargas who played ‘Huggy Bear’ on the ABC smash “Starsky And Hutch” (1975–1979).  In addition to the stars were nearly one hundred sellers of movie/TV memorabilia peddling posters, lobby cards, 8x10 glossy photos by the thousands along with hundreds of rare DVDs and books.  My friend Dave bought a title lobby card from a forgotten Abbott & Costello movie “The Noose Hangs High” (1948) which completed his collection of lobby cards for all 36 films starring Bud & Lou. 

Our slave-driving GHP editor Carl Glass ordered me to cover the convention because the honored guest was going to be none other than our very own Noel Neill.  Noel had more fans crowding around her table buying autographed photos and books than any other star in attendance with the possible exception of Erik Estrada.  Noel Neill was seated with her biographer and author in his own right Larry Thomas Ward.  Sitting to Miss Neill’s left was Christopher Reeves’ Lois Lane of four ‘Superman’ films Margot Kidder! Ms. Kidder starred in many films and her leading men include Robert Redford, Gene Wilder, Rod Steiger, Michael Sarrazin, and Richard Pryor.  But even she couldn’t match the long line of fans that formed in front of the original Lois Lane, Noel Neill!  When the crowd temporarily diminished around her table, I went up to Ms. Neill and introduced myself.  Both Larry Ward and Noel remembered my name as the guy who bought the first copy of their black & white book (“Truth, Justice & The American Way: The Life and Times of Noel Neill, The Original Lois Lane”) back in 2003 at the Ray Courts show!  I handed Noel a small bag of her favorite candy, bite size ‘Tootsie Rolls’ sent by her friend Colete Morlock, and she took it from my hands with super speed!  Larry Ward was kind enough to take a photo of me with Noel, and so did my friend Dave using my camera.  I bought a copy of her latest book with Mr. Ward “Beyond Lois Lane” which contains many rare color photos from both her long screen career and private life.  I would have loved to have spent more time visiting with Larry Ward and Noel Neill but another wave of loyal fans appeared intent on meeting the Lois Lane in person!  It was my time to say good-bye for now to this elegant, beautiful, intelligent but loyal friend of George Reeves.  Maybe another time I’ll get to ask her about starring in the last ‘Charlie Chan’ movie with Mantan Moreland in 1949, or co-starring with comedy king Leon Errol in one of his classic RKO short subject films that same year. 

Across the aisle was film star Hugh O’Brien who starred in “The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp” (1955–1961) on ABC for 226 episodes.  He also made scores of films, TV movies and guest shots but he’s still Wyatt Earp for generations of Western fans. I bought a color photo of O’Brien as Earp when he appeared on the Western segment of the “ABC Network 30th Anniversary” special in 1978.  Also in the same group photo are Jack Kelly of “Maverick’, Clayton Moore as “The Lone Ranger”, Michael Ansara as Cochise from “Broken Arrow”, Clint Walker as “Cheyenne”, Chuck Connors as “The Rifleman”, “David Carradine in “Kung Fu” and the ‘Duke’ himself John Wayne!   

I was able to get an autographed photo of Erik Estrada for my brother Pat. Erik Estrada is an actual police officer between acting jobs, and we engaged in some real interesting conversation, in particular about George Reeves. 

I bought an autographed photo from lovely Lauren Chapin who starred as Kathy ‘Kitten’ Anderson on the beloved ABC series “Father Knows Best” (1954–1960) with Robert Young.  She was excited about her old series finally being released to DVD. 

My last visit for an autographed photo was with the still-beautiful, former Hammer Films actress and ‘007’ Bond girl Caroline Munro.  She starred with Christopher Lee in “Dracula A.D. 1972”, in Ray Harryhausen’s “The Golden Voyage Of Sinbad” (1974) with John Phillip Law, and in “The Spy Who Loved Me” (1977) with Roger Moore.  She also made two classic horror films with Vincent Price, “The Abominable Dr. Phibes” (1971) and “Dr. Phibes Rises Again” (1972) which I said were among my favorite films.  Miss Munro laughed and said “Oh boy! I did a lot of work in those films!”  Actually she played the good doctor’s deceased but perfectly preserved, breathtakingly gorgeous young late wife, Victoria Regina Phibes whose tragic death sets off a vendetta of revenge! 

Sadly the photos I took with both Noel Neill and Caroline Munro didn’t come out, and this cub reporter apologizes for not capturing the images of these two wonderful actresses who are as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside.  The next Ray Courts Chicago show is scheduled for this September, and I’ll be there with a new camera this time. However, I do want to thank Larry Ward for his generosity in making sure I got a photo he took of the “Original Lois Lane” and me for display here on “Glass House Presents.” (Larry sent Carl a photo of Ralph and Noel) 

Celebrity Comments & Opinion on “TAOS” and George Reeves

Noel Neill: I mentioned a recent posting on a web site to Noel that George Reeves was in an earlier accident in 1956 where his car was sandwiched between two large trucks, and I asked if she had ever heard of this before? Noel looked me straight in the eye and said, “No, of course not!” “George never said a word about it ever!” “I know these people...Now they’re going to say it made him feel depressed.” She shook her head in complete disgust with these armchair detectives who never knew, met, or worked with George Reeves but claim they have all the answers to this baffling Hollywood mystery and tragedy. 

Hugh O’Brien: Since O’Brien was a TV star during the same time period as George Reeves, I asked him about the star of “The Adventures of Superman.” Hugh O’Brien said that Reeves was “a really nice guy.” “Oh, back then we heard rumors that he was murdered!” 

Erik Estrada: “He was great… I loved that show and I always watched it!” I asked him if he thought Reeves committed suicide and without batting an eyelash he said, “I doubt it.” 

Lauren Chapin: I asked her about George Reeves since she worked in Hollywood throughout the 50s. Lauren replied, “Oh he was wonderful…and it’s great that Lois Lane’s right over there…” pointing to Noel Neill. I asked her if she thought he committed suicide in 1959 and her emphatic response was “Of course not!”

April 2008

 


Late Last Night
Late last night
The table shook
Inside George Reeves "is" house
I asked permission to have a peek
And spied a tiny mouse

A box of 'Nilla Wafers
Was being torn to bits
The mouse and I
Saw eye to eye
And shared our Hissy Fits

There was no REAL vanilla listed
Upon the ingredients panel
I saw the mouse start shivering
And dressed him in red flannel

George appeared
And then we cheered
As he tossed the box outside
The mouse bemoaned the artifice
And George just said "They Lied"

Generous George The People's Friend
Began to make some cookies
He produced a bottle of " Vanilla Real "
(The mouse and I were Rookies)

With such a grace and balance
We watched him as he worked
I brewed a pot of coffee YES !
"G" whistled as it perked

"Behold My Vanilla Wafers" he said
"The best that I can make"
"I'm Honest George The Mouse's Friend"
"No better can be baked"

© July 10 2007 Stargazer (and friends)


Miss Noel Neill

Noel likes to travel
She does it very well
Sit and have some coffee
There are many tales to tell

The stage became her playmate
And courage did abound
You'll remember her as Lois Lane
And yes she's still around

A pretty Sagittarian
With a smile that never stops
She dines with famous people
And other days she mops

The greatest car companion
A soul could ever want
She'll try a new adventure
Or share a favorite haunt

You can stick her in an airplane
Or a boat and trailer too
She'll swing in a jungle hammock
And sing a song for you

She cheered up all the kiddies
On Black And White TV 
In tailored suits and quirky hats
A lovely sight to see

But when the show was over
And George Reeves went away
Noel took another path
Then lived from day to day

She re-emerged from time to time
And shared her smile once more
Keeping alive an era gone by
As she walked across the floor

Her clothing wasn't quite the same
Our decades saw to that
But thanks to her devotion
She wore a baseball hat

Lois Lane in a baseball hat
And a shirt with a Giant "S"
Is Noel Neill our Super Friend ?
The answer will be yes

So keep your eyes opened
For a beautiful girl
With a smile just like the Sun
Sparkled hair and empathy
And on the road to fun

©  January 27 2007 Stargazer


THE ETERNAL MISTER REEVES

Hey ! Don't you know I'm Superman?
I fry up food in an iron pan
With multi talents
I do what I can
Sure you know I'm Superman !

 And don't you know
My Name's George Reeves?
I sew my cuffs and press my sleeves
Look at me ! I AM George Reeves

 Did I also mention
That I'm a film director ?
Actor Writer and Child Protector
Spent some time with a famed Inspector

Yes ! I am a film director

 Have you heard me play
My mean guitar ?
We'll forget that I'm a movie star
My dog and I will serenade
And rustle up

Some lemonade

 Tonight I pretend
That I'm a poet
In khaki pants now
Don't you know it ?

 What was I saying ?
I'm a wee bit tired
But you're my guest
And I'm inspired

 I died one night so long ago
Not very painful
And not too slow
But when I "came to"
It was "on with the show"
This Universe

Is BIG you know !

 Don't forget
Your brown bag lunch
My cookies are a joy to munch!

And do come back
As soon as you can
Please rest assured...
I'm Superman !

Stargazer

© January 2007


Every Monday and Wednesday morning for the past two years,  I have looked forward with much anticipation to my email communications with Bruce Dettman.  We have developed a very special relationship and at times have shared the core of our very lives.  We both love to travel and read.  Bruce is always recommending books and articles that would catch my fancy.  He made sure I was supplied with some reading material for two flights I made last year.  One thing I love about Bruce's writing style is that he has a special way of tapping you on the heart and pulling you into a story.  It is my pleasure to share with you my favorite "Bruce Dettman" story about his canine pal "Rocky."  After you read this story, chances are you'll wish you had a pal like the liver spotted "Superdog" ROCKY!                                                                                         --Carl Glass--


He was the greatest thing since Captain Midnight’s Secret Squadron,

Bosco and Silly Putty.

Three Legs Were Enough

 By Bruce Dettman

In the official annals of dogdom, he probably would pose no serious threat to the hallowed reputations of Lad, Rin-Tin-Tin, Lassie or Thurber’s Muggs.  Perhaps not even Benjie.

More than 30 years ago, as a gift for my 7th birthday, he set my folks back a whopping $7.00, selected from a caged litter at the local SPCA simply because he happened to be the sole male in an extremely vocal family of six.  My mother, who harbored deep suspicion of all four-legged creatures, was the one responsible for naming him.  Handing him to me through the window of our ’55 red and white Buick Special, she happened to comment that his markings were the nicest of the litter and that they reminded her of rocks.

Rocky was a liver-spotted Dalmatian weighing 7½ pounds.  (I immediately carted him to the bathroom scale.)  He had the large puppy paws and disproportionate head, and in my mind at least, he was the greatest thing since Captain Midnight’s Secret Squadron, Bosco and Silly Putty.  He was also to be my best friend for 17 years.

When he was barely 6 months old, a serious injury occurred to his right rear leg.  No one ever knew what had actually caused this.  All we knew was that he came in one morning from his normal constitutional with a severe limp.

We immediately took him to a new vet who didn’t even bother x-raying him.  He immediately announced that Rocky was suffering from a rare canine hip disorder.  Not being experts in dog pathology, we took the guy at his word and paid for a series of unorthodox treatments, with no improvement.

Later we visited and older vet we’d occasionally consulted.  One quick x-ray and the damage was obvious.

“Three breaks,” he said holding up the pictures for us to examine.  “Too late now to do anything about it.  He’ll have to live with it.”

In time, the leg shrank, withered and came to resemble something like a fur-covered monkey wrench.  The vet advised against amputating:  “He’ll still need it for balance when he scratches.”  The leg stayed.  Rocky was sensitive about it, of course—and defensive to anyone who came even remotely near it.  You could roughhouse all you wanted, but woe be it to the individual who dared place a hand on that desiccated limb; at least if he or she favored said hand.

Nevertheless, it was this leg that made him a kind of celebrity around the neighborhood.  Everyone, from the postman to a gregarious hobo I once shared several root beer jawbreakers with, wanted to know what happened to Rocky’s leg.  If I was bored, I said that he had tangled with Big Foot or was run over by a tractor.

He never seemed to have experienced much difficulty in adjusting to his handicap.  In fact, with one possible exception, it wasn’t a handicap at all.  Rocky could run as fast as any other dog in the neighborhood, hurdle hedges with the best of them.  He chased rabbits—but caught only one that I ever witnessed and didn’t know what to do with it.  He watched, somewhat befuddled, as it sprinted off.

That one exception, however, was fighting.  When another dog and he locked horns (and in all honesty, he provoked most of these confrontations), he usually got the worst of it.  With only three legs touching the ground, it was pretty easy for the other mutts to get him off-balance and topple him over on his back.

Many times I had to come to the rescue’ and save him from a bullying German shepherd or a brutalizing boxer.  Not that he ever reciprocated or seemed in the least grateful.  On the contrary, on those several occasions when he happened upon my tangling with some adolescent rival, his immediate response, rather than charging for my attacker as loyal dogs of the silver screen have always done, was to fasten his teeth on my ankle, and act I found (I think quite understandably) not only peculiar, but somewhat of a betrayal.

His so-called handicap never seemed to interfere with his love life.  He had several lady friends in the neighborhood he periodically took out for a night on the town, but he remained fairly loyal to Duchess, a brown and white Springer Spaniel who lived next door to us.

Duchess, being rather aggressive and somewhat ahead of herself in the pre-feminist 1950’s, would brazenly approach our front porch each evening at 8:00 and tap at the screen with her nose until we let Rocky out to join her.  It never occurred  to anyone to have her fixed or keep the two separated.  Just like most everything else in those days, the world was a looser, less rigid and structured place.  Even for dogs.  I stopped counting after the 21st offspring.

I suppose there was nothing particularly remarkable about Rocky.  He never rescued orphans from a burning building; never chewed through the ropes of a kidnap victim; never pulled a drowning person to shore.  Eventually I taught him to sit, lie down and roll over when there seemed a legitimate need for it (when I bribed him with treats), but he never could seem to get the hang of heeling.

What he did shine in was responding to the commands of stretch and yawn, shake (a must after one of our monthly treks to the shower) and most important, the sound of the cookie drawer—his particular strong point:  We had two identical drawers in the kitchen, one for bread and one for sweets.  To the human ear, pulling out those drawers created what seemed to be the identical sliding or scraping sound, like a shovel being dragged across a sand beach.

If he was in the living room fast asleep in front of the fire and that bread drawer was opened, there would be no response.  On the other hand, if I were to sneak in and ever so quietly attempt to get at one of his beloved Oreos, his eyes would open, his ears leap to attention like a West Pointer on review, his three legs practically moving even before he had even fully stood.  Only later, when he became deaf, did the cookie drawer elude him.

Then there was the great fence war which raged for nearly a decade between my father and him.  Rocky, who hated nothing so much as to left alone on the patio (he had nothing but contempt for the redwood doghouse we had built him, preferring, with transparent obstinacy, to fake sleep under the rosebushes), early on figured out how to unlock the gate by flipping up the brass latch with his nose.  And if that didn’t work he would support himself with that one good leg and patiently gnaw through the pickets.

Over the years, he must have chalked up more escape attempts than John Dillinger.  At first this angered my father, but in time, I think he actually enjoyed coming up with ways to curtail Rocky’s escape plans.  Finally, a plate of aluminum wrapped around the catch put a stop to his breakouts.

Boyhood days eventually ended.  We spent less time together in the hills or in the creek.  We didn’t wrestle out in the back yard so often.  At his best, he’d been quite good at impersonating everything from Krypto, Superman’s dog, to bears when I was playing Davy Crockett, or lions when I was in a Tarzan mood—but the days were soon over when he’d sprint after me as I bicycled around town.

We did continue with our traditional Sunday walks to the old high school where a certain Mr. Jasper would be out on the track field chipping golf balls.  Mr. Jasper wasn’t all that crazy about me or any kid, but he was rather fond of Rocky, who would retrieve his golf balls, being careful not to mar them with excessive tooth pressure.  Mr. Jasper always had a cookie for Rocky and one for me too.  I think he would have preferred giving both to Rocky but his wife, a broad-shouldered, Amazonian type, insisted.

“A fine boy,” he would say, petting him before we left for home.  He never meant me.

We went through a lot, alright; the Cold War, the Kennedy assassinations, most of the Viet Nam War, race riots and Watergate.  He watched me moon over my first real love, flunk algebra and buy my first jockstrap.  He saw me the first time I was drunk.  He was my only friend and confidant when my parents were having marital troubles and I was sure they were going to divorce.  On those awful nights as they battled from their bedroom, he and I would silently leave the house, sneak down to a nearby creek bank and try to figure things out.  My parents ultimately healed their difficulties and saved the marriage, but I don’t know what I would have done without my dog on those lonely, confusing evenings.  That dark creek would have been a far more intimidating place without him to talk to and hold.

I never really noticed him aging.  It was almost as if one day he was full of life, chasing rabbits, having families, and attacking his number 1 enemy, the lawn sprinkler—and the next day he was laconic, sleeping most of the time, grouchy and out of sorts.  Then his hearing went.  Next his sense of smell.  Then they discovered a cataract in one eye and sometimes he didn’t even seem to recognize me.  I would carefully carry him to bed like a baby.  His teeth gave him problems and I mashed up his food extra fine.  Especially his Oreos.

Eventually, I went off to college and only saw him a couple time a year.  He lacked the old bounce to give me the enthusiastic welcome I craved, but after dinner he would slowly limp to my side and with considerable difficulty, crawl up on my lap and quickly nod off.  The old times, I told myself.  He still remembered.

I wasn’t there when he died.  I’ve never really forgiven myself for that.  He became so debilitated that it was mutually decided he had to be put to sleep.  I tried to convince myself it was the humane thing to do, but what I really wanted to do was kill the vet who was going to murder my dog.  Only a second ago he had been a puppy and I a small boy.  It just didn’t seem possible.

I was going back to school on a Sunday and had to catch a bus.  I put it off as long as I could, then went to say goodbye.  He was sleeping in a corner by the washing machine, a place he was particularly drawn to because of the warm air currents.  I knelt down, ran my hands through that familiar spotted fur, hugged him for several minutes then broke down as I hadn’t since I was a small boy.  I choked on my words as I tried to tell him something, I don’t remember what.  He licked my neck and his tail moved a couple of times like a weary metronome.

I never saw him again.

I still miss him.  Probably always will.  If there is really only one true love in life, the same can probably be said of a person’s dog.  I’ve had others since, but good as they were, they were all just substitutes.  No dog to equal him ever came along and after a while, I gave up thinking one would.  In that, nothing has changed.

(Article first appeared in Good Old Days magazine)

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