STAR OF THE MONTH: William S. Hart

Cowboy screen hero, William S. Hart

To borrow a saying: If the West hadn't existed, Bill Hart would have had to invent it. Some believe that is just what he did, at least cinematically speaking. The Western genre has been a part of American film culture since The Great Train Robbery of 1903, but it wasn't until William S. Hart hopped in the saddle  over 10 years later that the myth of the cowboy and his place in this strange and wild country took shape. Today, with Ford, Hawks, Wayne, Autry, Cooper, and Eastwood providing the well-known and celebrated vertebrae of this branch of filmic history, Bill is forgotten, underrated, and underappreciated. His performances seem hammy; his stories seem cheesy and cliched. It is hard for one to put him or herself into the theater seats of his early, avid fans-- a people who cheered when his sturdy, eagle face appeared on the screen. A William S. Hart film was a promise. You would be entertained, you would be thrilled, and you would take something away with you. Hart, in his iconic, giant hat, atop his trusty pinto pony, Fritz, was a solid guarantee to people living in a world that is anything but consistent. He did not enter the film business until he was nearly 50-years-old and only remained in it for but a decade, but he changed the industry and the American ideal forever. His specific place in celebrity as the quintessential Western hero-- a man of open plains, horses, and bravery-- was a surprise to everyone including him. You see, this rustic, earthy cowboy was born in New York.


William Surrey Hart was born on December 6, 1864 (most likely) to Nicholas Hart and Roseanna McCauley. He was the first son to follow two daughters, Mary Ellen and Frances. He would also be the youngest, despite the fact that his mother birthed another two daughters and two more sons. Only the eldest three would survive. This is perhaps the result of the hard living the family had to endure. Nicholas was what Bill would later refer to as a pioneer of white gold: flour. The patriarch was born with itchy feet, and his ill-adept entrepreneurial wishes to set up his own mill led the family all over the country, providing for Bill memories of life in desolate and under-populated towns throughout the United States: Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, South Dakota, etc. Roseanna's ill health, exacerbated by her difficult births and her mental and emotional struggles in the open West, resulted in her temporary hospitalization. Bill remained traveling with his father, helping out his sparse neighbors with plowing and thrashing, and made friends with the Sioux Indians, who taught him to speak in their tongue and use their sign language. With a limited to non-existent education, Bill learned early how to sustain himself in isolated conditions: he used his imagination. His memory of his boyhood days, where he and his father traipsed all over the map, was inflated and exaggerated in his mind. He had only fondness for these pure, adolescent days-- days of playing games with the Sioux boys, whom he came to love and admire, of riding horses, and of roughing it in general. His recollections always poeticized his life; that was how he survived it. In truth, life was hard, lonely, frustrating... but then he knew no different. Being dirt poor, being constantly uprooted, was normalcy. When he was brought back to New York to rejoin his mother and sisters, and when his father ultimately gave up on his own dreams of a Western lifestyle-- much to Roseanna's relief-- Bill missed the peace of the frontier and the blue skies.

Bill in an early theater role in "Ben-Hur" as Messala.

You couldn't blame him. New York, though exciting, was a big difference from the free West. He was a "country bumpkin" as far as his new school chums were concerned. He dressed weird, he spoke Sioux gibberish, and he was an awkward loner. A life of isolation doesn't prepare one for social graces. Bill lacked his father's gregarious personality, possessing instead his mother's shier demeanor, but he did have his father's guts. When he was picked on for his manners or for his "girly singing voice," Bill was known to throw out a powerful slug that would silence his naysayers rather quickly. Still, his sense of not belonging and his fear of judgement, his social paranoia, and his mistrust, would never leave him. He would build a wall around himself for protection and decorate it with pictures of wild horses and rolling plains. While he found time for himself, entering in and winning several speed-walking races at the Manhattan Athletic Club for example, he did his duty to his family. His father was a hard worker but an unreliable one, and due to his failed business schemes, poor eyesight, injuries-- his hand was caught in a conveyor at one point-- and his early death, Bill at 30 was left to be the breadwinner. As he wasn't educated enough to really make much of himself, he took what jobs he could. Entry at his desired West Point was off the table, so he worked as an errand boy, a horse trainer, a cashier, whatever paid the bills. What money he earned went toward the family, though he did find time for himself to take a few dancing and fencing classes and even a trip to Europe. It had been his loving father's suggestion that he polish himself off a bit in the old world. See, Bill wanted to act. This was but another example of the dreamer in Bill retreating into imagination over reality.


This was not the most prudent decision, considering the number of mouths he had to feed. While his sister Frances eased the family burden by getting married and decreasing the household by one, and Mary Ellen found work of her own, Bill was still taking a great risk in setting his sights on such a temperamental career. The pay was not good, work was scarce, and a reputation was hard to build. This perhaps exemplifies a collision between Bill's more rebellious self and his dutiful self. His father had left him with a Hell of a burden. He was a young man, after all, and he wanted to live! It may have been a slim chance for him to accomplish his thespian dreams, but the gamble was worth it to him. The pull he felt for the stage was one so strong that he could not deny it. The road he chose was rocky; they don't have the phrase "starving artist" for nothing. Somehow, Bill managed to get work with different acting companies and troupes, build up his resume, and also his reputation. Starting with Daniel E. Bandmann's theatrical company in 1888, he worked his way through classic and contemporary pieces portraying everything from Iago in Othello to Messala in Ben-Hur. He found that he liked the complicated, darker roles more than the typical, heroic ones. His reviews grew better with each performance, and by the time he started on The Squaw Man, he was a theater star. This show was a big hit and acted as a bit of foreshadowing. The audience responded best to Bill in a Western setting, and he himself would enjoy any role relating to the West above and beyond the others, if only because he got to demonstrate his first-hand knowledge of cowboys and Indians.

Filming at Inceville

Despite his success, Bill always struggled between jobs. Though he had managed to support and buy a house for himself, his mother, and Mary Ellen to live in, the long breaks between gigs was at times terrifying. Not unaccustomed to poverty, Bill didn't fear the meager lifestyle, but he was not a young man anymore and needed more stable income to protect himself and the women in his life. Fatefully, he saw his first Western film. A light-bulb went on over his head. This was it! He would make motion pictures about his favorite thing, if only to correct all of the obvious blunders and inaccuracies he noticed in the genre. Bill was picky. He considered himself an authority on the West, as brief as his adolescent experiences on the plains had been, and he was personally affronted when stories didn't add up, costuming was wrong, or behaviors were inconsistent with his personal experiences. He was on a mission, and when the Klaw & Erlanger Co. went to California on tour with "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine," Bill went with them and stayed to check out the growing film scene. Fortunately, he had what every actor in Hollywood needs: a hook-up. No sooner did he arrive than he discovered that his old friend Thomas Ince-- whom he had met while traveling with "Heart's Courageous" in 1903-- was running the California branch of The New York Motion Picture Company, known as "Inceville." Tom was against the idea of making more Westerns. Being a shrewd businessman, he saw the fading audience reaction and tried to persuade Bill to pursue other projects. But Bill was stubborn. He returned to New York briefly, but came back West by the spring, determined in his agenda. After making a couple of two-reelers, he tirelessly coerced his pal to let him star in a feature-length motion picture, which Hart had developed and expanded from an original short. Tom finally conceded, and The Bargain hit theaters in 1914. It was a smash success! Hollywood had its first cowboy star.


William S. Hart as a cowboy hero is far removed from the icons we recall better today. He possesses the boyish bashfulness of Gary Cooper but lacks his seduction. He possesses the tough love moral compass of John Wayne but lacks his more intimidating masculinity. Bill was more of an experiment, though he claimed to be as authentic as authentic can be. Over time, his reputation as a real cowboy became exaggerated by his own publicity stories and his friendships with men like Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson. There is disagreement about just how much of a "cowboy" he truly was. Some said he was an ace shot with a gun; others said that he couldn't hit a bull's-eye if it were inches away from him. Some recalled him as a great rider; others said that he was afraid of horses. In Bill's own estimation, as presented in his biography My Life East and West, he was a salt of the earth, true blue, prairie man, but this was probably more wishful thinking than fact. But, as embellished as his reputation may have been, his affection for the lifestyle he projected was never false. Hart's heart was the West. In the end, people bought him as a fact because he was real in his intention. He was no rhinestone cowboy; he was an every man. His stories of a conflicted, anti-hero turned good guy would speak to audiences who were both thirsty for Western nostalgia and looking for answers and direction in a topsy-turvy world. Bill's movies were moral lessons. He always found God. He always did the right thing. He always fell for the pure woman who taught him right from wrong. Parents wanted their children to go to Bill's matinees-- it was just as effective as sending them to church. And so, from Inceville to Triangle to Famous Players, Bill brought vivid and exciting stories to an America eager to witness a reproduction of their not so distant history: a day when saddle and spur were the order of the day, and rugged, rough, but conscionable men helped build the country into the more comfortable place of steam engines and flicker shows that they currently enjoyed.

Bill brings two swindlers to justice in Tumbleweeds.

Bill's career soared as he starred in The Aryan, Hell's Hinges, The Tiger Man, and The Toll Gate,  but his personal isolation remained. Middle-aged when he became a star, Bill was still a bachelor. After burying his mother, his sister Mary Ellen was his only consistent companion, and their loving but co-dependent relationship was comforting and suffocating to both of them. Bill found himself unable to open his heart to anyone, so set was he in his ways, and Mary Ellen was loathe to let him go. Because she acted as his business advisor in many respects, Bill took care of Mary Ellen, mostly because he had no one else. His affection in life was devoted entirely to animals, particularly to horses and dogs, and he would contribute to charities that practiced the prevention of cruelty to animals. He had an unfulfilled love affair with one time fiance Jane Novak, wed once for 6 months to Winifred Westover, (their lengthy divorce would drag on for several years), and allegedly fell in love with and proposed to nearly every leading lady he ever had. Yet, he remained a lonely man, cut off from the world and living only in his dreams and illusions of boyhood fantasy. He put all of his time, energy, and passion into his work, and his cowboy persona did not stop when the cameras ceased cranking. Harry Carey, Jr. would describe Bill as being always "on." The insecure youth seemingly had matured into an uncertain and thus affected man, who often read as phony to his contemporaries. The real Bill remained hidden behind a mask of his own creations. While friends like Harry Carey, Sr. and the light-hearted Will Rogers left their work on set, Bill didn't seem to know how to relax and unwind. His work, building his Western empire in celluloid, was his life. And he had many followers. Fan mail poured in, big names like artists James Montgomery Flagg and Charles M. Russell considered his friendship an honor, and soon his name was in the same ranks of fame as his heroes Doc Holliday and Buffalo Bill Cody. He was a living legend of his own creation.


But, times change. Soon, Bill found himself rejected by the very studio that he helped build-- despite his loyalty to the men in charge, like Adolph Zukor-- and saw his films losing money instead of gaining. His stubborn refusal to alter his style or stories hampered his career, while new hot shot film stars like Tom Mix started riding away with box office receipts. Bill felt abandoned, betrayed... and though he had often spoken of retirement, he didn't want to leave until he was ready. After a final break with Paramount, Bill made his swan song, Tumbleweeds via United Artists, but it failed to draw in the crowds he had hoped. It was  fairly well-received, and his fans still loved him, but with no studio backing its promotion, that ship sank as soon as it left the dock. With this, aside from a later cameo in Show People, Bill rode away from film forever. He spent his retirement writing his biography and books for boys, such as his Injun and Whitey series, and building his dream house-- "La Loma de los Vientos"-- in Newhall, CA where he had at first operated out of a small ranch. He entertained guests like Maurice Chevalier and Pola Negri, showed his old films, rode his trusty horse Fritz, and made occasional personal appearances. When Mary Ellen was bedridden and then restricted to a wheel chair after a car accident, her dependence on Bill only grew. He grew increasingly despondent, melancholy, and perhaps even bitter about an unfulfilled dream: a castle in the sky that never became a home. He had had success, but not a life of depth that true love could provide. He died a lonely man in June 23, 1946 leaving behind one son, William S. Hart, Jr, and a legacy that could not be surpassed but was indeed expanded upon by a new generation of filmmakers.

Bill and Fritz-- who was a small Pinto Pony, but strong as an ox.

It is a tragedy when someone so worth remembering and honoring is so easily forgotten. While his steadfast fans remained true during his lifetime-- begging him to return to the screen-- the generations that followed would be less familiar with his work, which had acted as the foundation for the entire Western film genre. Acting in, writing, and in effect directing many of his own pictures, Bill was able to define what honor, manhood, and the freedom of open country represented to him, and in turn these things became the representations that America would hold onto and cherish as their own truth. Of course, particularly in film, it is often the integrity of the subject matter that is more beneficial than its authenticity. Bill may not have been the cowboy archetype that he pretended to be, but he presented to his fans an idea that was as necessary as their life's blood. We need heroes, we need sinners, and we need saints, to sometimes paint our realities in broader strokes and inspire us to dream, to have faith, to fight. We chose Bill as one of our favorite idols at a time when a fast-moving and fast-approaching future made us want to look back at a simpler era that was no less complicated by man's eternal struggles. This is a time that is every time. But in the early part of the twentieth-century, our leader wore a large hat, two guns, and a stone face. He delivered us from evil again and again and rode off into the sunset, leaving us only in his warmth. He gave us respect for ourselves, our land, our triumphs, and made us feel safe. A world where William S. Hart was in the saddle was a world that need not fret. Bill would protect us. Let us do him the same honor.

HOT SPOTS in CA: The Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum

In the old west you had to be "in it to win it." Could you stand days on end 

in this cramped space?

Marlene Dietrich is most remembered for her seductive roles in top and tails, but the German vixen was also a surprising hit in Westerns. Her most popularly remembered role is that of Frenchy in Destry Rides Again, but she also starred in The Spoilers and Rancho Notorious. Her co-star in The Spoilers just so happens to be last month's L.A. La star, John Wayne. So, in honor of both, here is further tribute to the Western via the delightful and very informative Autry National Center. Giddy up!

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Located in the seemingly infinite space of Griffith Park, this gem is housed right across the parking lot from the Los Angeles Zoo. Inside, there are both permanent displays that commemorate the very harrowing, inspiring, and sometimes violent roots of our nation's past and westward movement-- as well as the manifestation of this history in our cinematic past-- and temporary, rotating displays that showcase different artists, craftsman, etc, which are evidence of our still adherent yet evolving culture from these early days. The museum itself is named for Hollywood's favorite singing cowboy, Gene Autry, but gunslingers aren't the only faction of our culture that are examined: the American Indian, women, Chinese immigrants, Mexicans, etc. are all showcased, and the interrelations between these many peoples are thoroughly investigated.

Gene greets his guests.

The navigation of the fairly large building begins, as always, at the beginning. The front entrance is encased in a courtyard, smack in the center of which is a sculpture commemorating Mr. Autry. Behind him is a movie theater, which occasionally plays, of course, Westerns or other educational programs, and across from this is a small eatery. Attached to the main building is the gift shop, in which one can purchase anything from the usual cheesy knick-knack, to old movie posters, to American Indian crafts like the "secret box"-- which is a very intricately detailed and beautifully designed box that an unskilled person will have an incredible amount of trouble opening. Luckily, this wasn't my first rodeo. (BTW, if you're interested, I particularly like Heartwood Creations, which can be found here).

Alberto Valdes's "Christmas Child."

The inner sanctum is divided into an upstairs and a down. The upper left is dedicated to two rotating displays. When I attended last, I was fortunate enough to be able to view "Art Along the Hyphen: The Mexican-American Generation," which obviously honors the "Chicano" artists in our nation's history. All of the portraits and sculptures were very vivid in their perspective of Mexican-American life, from the beauty of to the struggle of the Mexican immigrant. The greatest surprise to me was my introduction to the artist Alberto Valdes whose provocative paintings were composed of such vibrant colors that they literally seemed to glow. His palette and use of shapes produce the most amazing emotional effects and equally stimulate the eye and mind. A few of his pictures were very specific in the images that they were trying to relate, while others were more intricate and subjective-- surreal but not bizarre. Forgive me, I'm not an art major, so I don't know the correct terms. In layman's terms, they were pretty and pretty cool.

Just a few strands of entwined grass. No biggie.

The next showroom possessed a collection of American Indian basketry. I know what you're thinking: "Baskets... Riveting." Well, it kind of was. In the center of the room was a large circular map of the entire country, and the locations of different tribes were delineated by examples of their particular weaving "style." It was a truly interesting thing to see how the different techniques and artistic penchants varied based on the separate tribes and their regions. As for the baskets themselves, which came in all shaped and sizes, these things were intricate! There were some jaw-dropping videos playing that showed modern weavers at work, and to say that their fingers are nimble is an understatement. I'm still not at all certain how they are able to make all of those delicious little patterns with the wicker and sweetgrass and whatnot, but my lack of awareness did not hamper my aesthetic enjoyment.

The gang's all here: Hollywood's favorite cowboys decorate

the downstairs wall in a jaw-dropping mural.

Moving downstairs, I was immediately hit in the face with an exquisite mural depicting early man's emergence in the west transitioning to the cowboy movie star. The portrait is literally a panorama of visual history. It begins with the hey-day of the American Indian, moves to the collision of natives and white settlers, and ends with movie and television stars like Gary Cooper, Tom Mix, and William S. Hart. It was at this point that I realized non-flash photography was allowed and all of the covert pics that I had been taking were unnecessary. I thought I was being stealthy; turns out no one cared. After taking some shots of the astounding painting, I turned directly behind me and ventured to the outdoor exhibit that tried to bring to life the physical environment and vegetation of the old west. A small space composed of a mini-waterfall and pond, there really wasn't much to look at, but a couple of kids were having a heck of a time "sifting for gold" at an educational exhibit.

One of many reasons I am proud to be a (modern) American-

better medical care.

Thus I re-entered and began my investigation of the historical portion of the museum. This turned out to be my favorite part. I have been to history museums before, but it has admittedly been awhile, so perhaps that is why I was so enthralled with all of the archaeology, or maybe it was the specificity of the subject matter that I found so fascinating. In any case, what I was about to witness was a thorough, moving, and surprising tribute to America's early expansion. The bottom level is divided into three portions: Opportunity, Community, and The Cowboy. I started in "Opportunity," and found myself looking at typical odds and ends of civilian life now made atypical due to their antiquated state. I was most impressed with an early medical kit, perhaps because I have two family members in the dental profession, and I found myself grabbing my jaw and thanking God that medical science has progressed. Much of this section was dedicated to the story of early militia or lawmen, and several compartments honored their efforts toward the establishment of order in the Wild West-- not an easy task as people continued to make their move into the unknown and ungoverned territory. Old uniforms, still in incredible condition, were showcased, as well as weaponry. Other items typically found on the long stage rides-- remember this is pre-locomotive-- were also on display, including luggage, toiletries, and an old coach in toto. Looking at the size of the thing, I was at once impressed by how much larger it was than I had imagined and also was in awe of the fact that, despite this, it still seemed far too small for so many people to be packed inside for such long travels. Our forefathers and mothers were certainly patient.

The integration of the American Indian into typical eastern ways was not 

smooth nor welcome. But here is an example of such 

assimilation-- native law adapts to "foreign" 

government to protect their own.

In the next section, I came across examples of every day life in the West. The most intriguing portion was dedicated to dissecting all of the different factions and how they operated independently from and also in relation to each other. Racism was an issue that certainly came to the forefront, and it was amazing to see even in these early days how many different religions and ethnicities co-existed and at the same time sought their own individual spaces from each other. Mormons, Chinese Immigrants, African American, Italians... You name it. in these early days, birds of a feather flocked together to produce some sort of stability amidst the chaos that came, not just from the danger and suspicion of the nature around them nor from the Native Americans observing them with equal puzzlement and frustration, but from each other. The color of one's skin, the religion he practiced, or the nation from which he had come, became defining factors that tied him to his own people and divided him from all others. As this co-mingling slowly merged into a (slightly) more civilized combination of communities, prejudice gave way to abundance. But along with the daily laundry and cooking, there too was need for fun, which is why the saloon room was one of the highlights of the exhibit for me. With an actual bar complete with ancient liquor bottles and beer advertisements, poker tables, and a roulette wheel, I could almost smell the tobacco. If there is one thing that brings all mankind together, it's liquor.

Can ya' smell the whiskey?

The final portion was completely dedicated to the life of the cowboy. In addition to a display depicting the famous shoot-out at the OK Corral featuring Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, there too was a Colt gallery with some of the most amazing pistols I have ever seen: jewelry for men. Further down, several displays replicated the daily life and toil of the authentic American cowboy, and it was nowhere near as glamorous as the movies portray it, lemme tell ya'. These men worked hard, sweated, fought steers, tangled with barbed wire, and drove cattle across the country, not so much in the name of progress or money-- excluding of course the cattle baron-- but to survive. For the authentic cowboy, the lifestyle possessed no glamour and little respite. It was simply a job-- a way to make a living. Strange how the memory of these pioneers has evolved into perhaps the most romanticized piece of American mythology. However, our continuing appreciation is a good thing. Without these fellows of spur and saddle putting down roots, we wouldn't be sittin' so pretty in our ivory towers, now would we?

A couple of the prize Colts on display. Purty ain't they?

Which brings me to the final portion of the museum: "Imagination." This section was dedicated entirely to the cowboy as a cultural icon and the way he has manifested himself in several mediums, including music, television, and-- of course-- movies. From the silent heroes, to the rhinestone cowboys, to the singin' Gene Autry, every brand of Western celebrity was investigated. Movie buffs will be pleased to see costumes from some of their favorite films as worn by their favorite performers, including Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, and Betty Hutton. Because the Western genre has become somewhat buried in present cinema, it was nice to see so much of it revived for public viewing, and the true impact that it has had on this country and its descendants was blatantly identified. Perhaps because this is a history that only we as Americans possess, do we cherish it so greatly. Of course, the power of the cowboy and the Western has drifted into other countries and affected other filmmakers and other film goers, but it is a past that is undeniably in our bones and a part of our souls. There is no cowboy but the American cowboy, which is perhaps why the stars of the silver screen who adorned their heads with ten gallon hats remain some of the most revered in the history of film.

The costumes of Duke and Kate from Rooster Cogburn.

My voyage of the museum over for the time being, I reluctantly departed. As I drove through the winding roads of Griffith Park in the luxury of my Mazda, I found myself grateful for the fruits I had been gifted after a hard won progression of others' labors. But too, I found myself envious of a rugged life of sweat and determination-- a life earned every day by the mere cost of living it. Though the history that I encountered at the Autry Museum is, indeed, history, I don't feel that what I witnessed there is dead. I think every American and every man, woman, and child who ever has or ever will come to American shores for a better life, possesses within him the same inexplicable need to carve out a niche for himself in an open space wherein he can toil, battle, and finally thrive as the keeper of his own destiny. With crowded cities and cement everywhere, it is hard to see the forest without the trees, but our personal adventures of stakes and claims continue. The Wild West, therefore, will always grow and expand within us, for we carry it in our hearts.

A few of Chuck Connors's belongings.

To visit The Autry Museum:

Griffith Park

4700 Western Heritage Way
Los Angeles, CA 90027-1462
T: 323.667.2000
Tuesday–Friday, 10:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m.

Saturday–Sunday, 11:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m.
Closed on Mondays.

$10 for Adults.

$6 Seniors and Students

$4 Children 3-12 years-old

Free for Children under 3.

Free Parking.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VIII

Loretta Young, whom old pal John Wayne always called Gretchen, would help

 him in his early Hollywood career by getting him roles in  The Life 

of Jimmy Dolan and Three Girls Lost (above).

Football was a big part of John Wayne's life. Not only was it an important part of his close relationship with his father, but it also helped him get to college. Ironically, it would also bring him into the world of Hollywood. John was no stranger to the world of film, having grown up in Glendale and witnessed first hand actual location shoots. But, while focusing on his law degree, he had little time for the make-believe games that he had enjoyed in his youth-- when he had played "movies" with his friends. Nonetheless, the creme de la creme would seek him out, or more particularly his football team, when he began playing college ball for USC. John would later come to emulate the more authentic cowboys of William S. Hart and Harry Carey, but it was the flashy rhinestone cowboy and buckaroo Tom Mix (left) who had the most immediate affect on his life. Tom was a huge football fan, and he used to come to the games to cheer the Trojans on. In return for getting his own private box at the field to entertain guests, he made a promise to coach Howard Jones to "help out some of his boys" by giving them summer jobs. A man of his word, Tom soon had John and a handful of others working as prop boys on the Fox Studios lot. In addition, John worked up close and personal in the Tom Mix hit The K&A Train Robbery. It is possible that he even appeared in it as an extra, playing one of the thugs Tom shoots early in the film.

But, perhaps more interesting on another level was the USC connection John made with Clara Bow (above), who too loved coming to the local games. Of course, she was probably more interested in looking at the young fellas in their uniforms, but who could blame her? There is no doubt that the tall and handsome Duke caught her eye, but she didn't play favorites. In fact, she used to invite the whole team up to her house on Saturday nights after the home games for dinner. Later, such behavior would lead to scandalous rumors-- all complete BS-- that Clara was sexually working her way through the entire team. These allegations were published in salacious rag mags like GraphicC. As the prototypical "flapper" of the 1920s, Clara's free-wheeling and uninhibited ways onscreen and off ruffled feathers and caught her a lot of flack. Sadly, she was too often misconstrued and publicly ridiculed, as in this instance, where her kind intentions to share her wealth and hospitality with starstruck youths backfired on her in the press. There was never any "funny business" to speak of between her and the team, and Duke would never forge any kind of relationship with her other than one based on the memory of a beautiful actress who acted like a kind sister to a bunch of tongue-tied, starry-eyed bucks. By letting them hang out at her palace, she must have made them feel like kings!

Another team member that may have been present at these casual soirees is Ward Bond (above). Turns out that Ward also wore the Trojan jersey and played as a lineman on the team with Duke. Strangely enough, the duo did not originally get along. Outwardly, they were as different as two men could be. Duke was charismatic, yet somewhat bashful, well mannered, educated, and noted for his classic good looks. Ward, on the other hand, was gruff, abrasive, openly promiscuous, arrogant, and constantly getting into trouble. Ward's behavior would annoy Duke... at least at first. Later, after Duke had started working for John Ford, Ward would come back into the picture. Ford wanted to use the famed football team in his film Salute, and he assigned Duke the task of recruiting some of the players as well as his Sigma Chi brothers. Much to his chagrin, Ford gave Ward one of the prime spots, having taken a liking to his "ugly face." Knowing the two didn't get along, Ford took great pride in bunking Duke and Ward together on the train to Annapolis. Perhaps because he found his behavior so shocking and amusing, Ford latched onto to Ward. His brazenness and inability to be intimidated by the notorious director intrigued the senior party, who would both take him on as a friend and cast him in several of his films. Duke too softened after sharing a bunk with Ward. His caustic manners, at first irritating, surprisingly became endearing... and somewhat reassuring. The two became lifelong friends and got into several drunken shenanigans together, often with Ford too in attendance. Not everyone would cozy up to Ward as easily as Duke and Ford did, and he irritated them from time to time over the years. But, as Ford would say, "Ward is a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch."

Loretta Young also knew Duke when he was a USC boy. It turns out that Duke and ol' Gretchen Belzer (as she was known then) went way back, again to his football days. While attending college his freshman year, Duke was set up in the conventional way on a slew of blind dates. He and his friends would pick up a girl or two and go out dancing and whatnot. It was never a serious thing; just a group of friends having fun. One of Duke's dates was with Loretta's sister, Polly Ann, which in turn must have initially introduced him to Loretta. He and Polly Ann never became more than chums, and she set him up with another friend, Carmen Saenz. Again, Duke kept things casual and wasn't too interested... until he dropped Carmen at home and was introduced to her younger sister, Josie. Here, Duke fell head over heels. Thus commenced a 7 year courtship-- the result of Josie's much opposed family. Not seeing anything bright in Duke's future, the Saenz's weren't an easy sell, being upper crust "Hispanic blue bloods." They were against the match-- particularly after Duke lost his scholarship when he injured his shoulder, and even moreso when they discovered that Duke was not exactly a steadfast Catholic. Nonetheless, he and Josie suffered through the ups and downs, and he finally received her parents' consent. In addition to helping Duke in his career-- helping him land a role opposite herself in films like Three Girls Lost-- Loretta stepped in and  offered up the gardens at her parents' Bel Air estate as a wedding place, since the duo's conflicting religions would not allow them to marry in the Catholic church. Loretta was present at the wedding (above with the happy couple), as were George O'Brien and Henry Fonda, but despite the fact that Duke was already working in Hollywood, he was not yet big enough of a star to demand more media attention. The nuptials were barely noted in the press, and when they were, Duke's fraternity brothers and USC teammates-- who served as groomsmen-- received more press than he. Six more years would change that. Still, he always honored his days at USC.

STAR OF THE MONTH: John Wayne

The Duke

John Wayne. The name alone conjures countless representations. John Wayne is the eternal definition of the masculine identity. John Wayne is the absolute embodiment of the perfect cowboy. John Wayne is the unequaled, unparalleled standard of the movie star-- and he is all these things 32 years after his death. How did a shy, insecure, average-American boy become one of the most famous people who ever lived? Because he was just as equally composed of determination, integrity, and-- of course-- "true grit." The Western hero has nearly become a mockery in modern cinema-- lampooned, caricatured, and misconstrued. He is a great fiction that we no longer comprehend, at least not popularly. Explain then why in the latest poll, which tallied young America's favorite movie star, John Wayne is still listed as #1? Because, young, old, male, female, black, white, liberal, conservative, John still represents the heart of this great country, and our hearts are still with him.

Marion Mitchell Morrison as a young

football player.

Such limitless greatness was not apparent in Marion Robert Morrison's early years in Winterset, IA. Born to a charismatic, loving father, Clyde-- who worked primarily as a pharmacist-- and a harsh, detached mother-- who was never satisfied with either her eldest son or her husband-- Marion had few thoughts of grandeur in his youth. A repeating mantra in his head was that he simply wasn't good enough, at least not where mother Molly was concerned. In fact, Molly showed her displeasure by depriving Marion of his middle name, her father's, and giving it to her second born-- Robert Emmett Morrison. Marion became Marion Mitchell instead-- one of many events in his childhood that left him feeling ashamed and outcast. His one salvation was Clyde, who adored his son and taught him to play football, live right, work hard, and above all, be honest. These early life lessons would stick with Marion until the end. In life, he would trust and forge great friendships with men, and always remain wary of women, whom he could never fathom. Kind, gentlemanly, and respectful, he would fall in love rarely, put women on a pedestal, and leave them there, never able to completely surrender his heart. From the beginning, he was a "man's man." Though endowed with a natural tenderness and empathy, the home was not where he would find solace. He found his peace through work, beginning even in childhood where he became a very focused, model student. Garnering straight "A"s, he too accrued a great number of friends, surprising his mother by becoming popular with fellow students and-- especially after moving to Glendale, CA-- drooled after by co-eds who were lining up for a date with the tall, handsome teen. By this time, he was known as "Duke," a pet name derived literally from his pet Airedale. Locals had called the dog "Big Duke" and Marion "Little Duke." (One wonders if this influenced the Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade writers. You know what I mean)? Because he found his given name "girly" and was equally tired of being picked on, Marion welcomed the change. For the rest of his life, he insisted that friends call him by his nickname.

John's good looks helped him land the lead in The Big Trail, 

but ironically he would not achieve fame until he had 

weathered a bit into the "man's man" ideal.

After earning a scholarship to play football at USC and enduring the break-up of his parents' marriage, Duke began studying for a law degree. Always a hard worker, he masterfully balanced his studies, football, social life, and several jobs to earn his keep. Disaster struck when he injured his shoulder while showing off for the girls at the beach in a body-surfing stunt gone wrong, which cost him his scholarship. Unable to afford the school that had no more use for him, he dropped out and went to work at Fox Studios where he had already been putting in some time as a prop boy and sometimes extra during the summer. Fate wanted Duke in the movies. After witnessing some of his childhood idols like Harry Carey and Tom Mix in action, Duke would get his own shot at fame. He would meet director John Ford, one of the most important people in his life, in 1926. Ford noticed the kid at work, heard he was a football player, and decided to play a prank on him. He asked Duke to get into position, then kicked him over. Though sweet-natured, Duke also had a temper and a willingness to fight. He challenged Ford to try his trick again, only this time, Duke tackled him. A lifetime friendship was born. Duke would work with Ford, continuing work as a prop boy where he learned to properly dress a set and give it as much character as the actors in it. He occasionally would stand in as a stunt performer, and sometimes Ford would even assign him small roles. However, another influential figure would give Duke his first break. Raoul Walsh would see the 6'4" youth unloading a truck and joking around when he decided that the Duke had the right combination of brawn and charm to be his leading man in The Big Trail. When offered a screen test, Duke replied with a "Sure, why not?" At the premiere, he invited both parents, but Molly refused to come unless Duke dis-invited his father. He refused, and Clyde and his proud step-mother attended what Duke hoped would be a life-changing moment. The role brought him a great deal of critical acclaim but failed to boost him into the mainstream. Despite his hopes, he would languish in B-movies for another 9 years. Yet, he had discovered himself as an actor, and he would throw the same amount of gusto into learning that craft as he had into everything else.

John was frequently miscast in his early cinematic attempts, 

including this bit part opposite Barbara Stanwyck 

in Baby Face.

The greatest tragedy of The Big Trail was losing his relationship with John Ford, who was both mentor and slave-driver. A sado-masochistic relationship, Ford supplied Duke with another father figure but was also harsh and critical like Duke's mother. Unlike Molly, however, Ford could be pleased, which is perhaps why Duke worked so hard to impress him. Yet, when Duke took on The Big Trail, Ford gave him the cold shoulder, perhaps feeling betrayed that his protege had wandered off to another director or perhaps just jealous of the younger man's success. The fracture in their relationship had its benefits, for Duke got one Hell of an education making B-Westerns for poverty row studios like Republic Pictures. Fast-paced, poorly-written cliffhangers and serials, John became a low-level star to the thousands of young boys and more rural clientele who enjoyed the simple, uncomplicated nature of low-budget flicks like Riders of Destiny and Rainbow Valley. Duke slowly lost his uncertainties and insecurities, learned how to think fast and keep up. He too started building a character: one with which he would be identified the rest of his life. The graceful beauty of his youthful good looks slowly began to harden into the more mature, macho adult that would make him a "real man" and not just a heartthrob, as he had originally been publicized. He copied the stilted and poignant line delivery of his hero Harry Carey-- creating that signature drawl with meaningful pauses-- friend Paul Fix would help him develop his rolling walk, and Yakima Canutt helped him perfect his stunt work and fights scenes. His cowboy was not clean and polished, nor flashy and cocky. He was a real guy. Comfortable on a horse and handy with a gun, the B-Westerns molded Duke, now known as John Wayne, into an actor but even moreso into the most important cowboy in cinematic history. John Ford was ready to forgive.

John finds stardom and his signature persona in Stagecoach, 

one of the greatest Westerns ever made.

Stagecoach was one of the many movies that made 1939 the biggest year of Hollywood cinema. It too would mark a turning point in Duke's life. Having already been in Tinsel Town for over a decade, he had worked long and hard for the great opportunity Ford now laid at his feet. In Stagecoach, his turn as the Ringo Kid would forever seal him into the American mind as our favorite cowboy. With a mixture of diligence and innocence, raw power and grace, he became a sensation. This film kicked a door open that would never again be slammed shut in his face. John went on to star in film after film, cementing his reputation and crafting his John Wayne character, which would harden over the years. As he aged as a man, his characters aged with him. Red River, The Searchers, Rio Bravo, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon-- they all came to define the masculine image. Embodied in Duke were the sacrifices man made for his country and countrymen. Justice, righteousness, and the risks and stakes in upholding these virtues were displayed in his persona. When America went to war, so too did Duke, who rotated between the saddle and the army when ideals of patriotism were the most needed. Critics started taking notice of his acting as he continued to prove himself through They Were Expendable, In Harm's Way, and The Sands of Iwo Jima, the latter of which earned him his first Academy Award nomination and also his place in cemented history at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. He represented to men the man they wanted to be and to women the man who would protect them, whose seemingly impenetrable heart made him all the more alluring. Though romance was never the most important thing on the agenda in his films, he proved to have great chemistry with Marlene Dietrich, Gail Russell, and most importantly Maureen O'Hara, who matched him step for step in strength, courage, and gumption.

John Ford had trouble getting financing for the little Irish film

The Quiet Man, but the electric chemistry of Duke and Maureen 

and the comedy of Barry Fitzgerald warmed America's heart. 

Duke worked hard to protect his screen image and to see that his ideals and sense of integrity were passed on in all of his roles. When he thought of testing the waters and entertaining more variety, Ollie Carey reminded him of the importance his solid presence dictated to audiences, and how much they relied on him-- like the rock of Gibraltar-- to remain their strong and steady savior. He remained faithful to this ideal, but it came at a price. He suffered through three failed marriages, though the last did not end in divorce but separation. He tried all kinds of women, wedding first the Virgin (Josephine Saenz), then the Whore (Chata Baur), and finally the Lady (Pilar Pallete), all of whom were "exotic," Spanish women who adhered to old-fashioned principals of a patriarchal family life. But because Duke grew up fearing the domestic lifestyle, he was never able to completely give himself over to any of the women that loved him. He regretted his broken family and the effect it had on what would grow into his brood of 7 children. In retrospect, he would wish that he had stayed with Josie-- who had proved to be the perfect mother and wife-- and was always guilty that he had unintentionally crafted the same unsavory home life for his children that he had had for himself. Though he always remained a good father, constantly bringing his children to set, and even working onscreen with son Patrick and producing with son Michael, he couldn't deny that his life was his work, and he found more solace with his team of men, "The Young Men's Purity and Total Abstinence and Snooker Pool Association" (of which John Ford, Ward Bond, Henry Fonda, Johnny Weissmuller, and Robert Preston were a few of the drunken members) than he ever did at home. He was too itchy, too bored, too anxious. Life was outdoors, on a film set, or on his yacht: the Wild Goose. He knew well how to live. Loving, on the other hand-- as tender and kind a friend as he was to so many, both male and female-- was a craft too deep for him to fathom personally.

Always more cozy with the fellas: John, Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson 

and Howard Hawks on the set of Rio Bravo, another triumph.

And he was adored, even when his politics began to chafe the majority. A Republican in Hollywood is never popular, particularly in the Vietnam years when Duke was currently at odds with the young, mainstream liberal movement that made a fossil out of his ideals. But while his convictions were strong, his agenda was not selfish. He made decisions based not on what was right or left, but what he felt to be right or wrong. An educated man who had spent a majority of his youth with his life buried in books and studies, his judgments-- whether one agreed or disagreed-- were based on sound reason, and he did from time to time ruffle the feathers of his own "party." For example, he tried to lighten up on the HUAC witch trial refugees who were looking for work, while others were less willing to forgive. Though Duke took a firm anti-communist stance, he also believed in forgiveness, and above all he didn't want to rob a man of his desire to work. His opinions were declared loud and clear, but what is less remarked on was his ability to listen. He did not judge a man for having an opposing view, and preferred it to someone who was by nature a "yes man." While his name was constantly dragged through the mud by people with more liberal sentiments, he never returned the favor. Jane Fonda publicly ridiculed him, but-- as he was friends with her father-- he only kidded her about it in public. Nancy Reagan would remember him as one of the gentlest men who ever lived, which is no surprise; but he too had the great respect of Katharine Hepburn-- as much a Democrat as he was a Republican. Kirk Douglas too enjoyed his company despite their vastly different outlooks, and he earned Barbara Walters's undying respect when he paid her a kindness early in her career. Despite any negative publicity he garnered for his views, still nothing could sully his reputation. People still loved him and looked up to him, from Bertolt Brecht to Emperor Hirohito.

Duke's diligence pays off at the 1970 Academy Awards, 

with Barbara Streisand.

Duke's popularity may have waned slightly from time to time, but it was always present. This is because he represented something beyond politics that every American could relate to, which was America itself. A man who loved his country and paid homage to the men willing to fight for its freedoms, he never let social agenda or controversy cloud this truth: that he lived in the greatest country in the world. When all the world had gone mad, when everything seemed to be going to Hell, Duke and his films could always be depended on to light the way to the simplest and purest of lessons in eras of even the greatest confusion. All a man needed was bravery, loyalty, and decency. While others were lost in the gray or seeing red, Duke always painted things in black and white. There is a hero; there is a villain. There is a right; there is a wrong. You do what is just, not what comes easiest. You take the path that leads to honor, not the one that is less rocky. His understated acting, where everything was relayed through his eyes, is often submerged beneath the caricature history has made of him. It would take him years, over forty in the business, to finally earn his Academy Award for Best Male Performance for his portrayal of Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, and this he only earned by creating a character with great humor and mocking. But those who worked with him knew his genius long before, including Monty Clift who continually tried and failed to upstage him, never fully comprehending why he couldn't overshadow the Duke. Because... no one could. Burt Reynolds once said that John Wayne was "the only movie star [he'd] ever met that was not only exactly what [he] thought [he'd] be, but more." He remains our pillar of strength, our moral compass, our father, our leader, our friend. The last great American model, it seems, shall never crumble. Nor should it, even if it is to remind us of our great blessings. Left, Right, or Wrong, patriotism and love of country have no side. But they do share a face: a rugged, battle-worn one with thin blue eyes that can either freeze an enemy or warm a heart. God Bless America, and God Bless Hollywood for giving us John Wayne!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Rollin' in the Dough

Ginger Rogers, head to toe in gold, in Gold Diggers of 1933.

Movie Stars and Money. Moolah. Bread. Gravy. Greenback... Whatever you want to call it, it always seems like celebrities have it. And lots of it. While many of us have to count every penny before going on an edited shopping spree to the ever glorious Target (Tar-jay to the upper crust), the exorbitant expenditures of modern entertainers with their private jets, sprawling mansions, and golf-ball sized engagement rings makes one both a) fiscally insulted and b) green (as cash) with envy. But whatever new car Diddy's rolling in or whatever designer gown is draped over the elegant Ms. Kidman at the latest awards show, today's divas have nothing on silent film spenders. Even in those early days, it was all about the Benjamins. Moreso, it wasn't the size of the bank account, but how one used it to advertise his or her own fame and stature. The early flood of cha-cha-ching and the resulting birth of American royalty created the still present trend of glorious, outrageous, unapologetic, economic narcissism. Here are a few of the earliest examples:

Cecil B. directs yet another lavish scene in Cleopatra- 

(Claudette Colbert stands center stage).

It should come as no surprise that Cecil B. DeMille be counted as one of the Kings of Coin. His films themselves were so lavishly produced and luscious to the eyes that one can only imagine the coronary Adolph Zukor must have had each time he looked at a budget estimate. In fact, despite the money that CB's movies earned at the box-office, most of them were still considered failures because they couldn't recoup the production costs. But with an eye for detail and an unwavering loyalty to (exaggerated) authenticity, DeMille spared no expense when it came to his films. He wanted what he wanted, believing that his audiences deserved the best, and that is what he gave them. In The Affairs of Anatol, for example, Wallace Reid had the distinct pleasure of filming a scene wherein he got to destroy $30,000 worth of furniture, including original Louis XVI chairs and a grand piano. CB wouldn't accept cheap props; it had to be the real deal. He also added strange, costly mandates to his productions. Anne Baxter would recall that Cecil had all of her necklaces specially "heated" before they were placed on her skin during The Ten Commandments (left). This was not a stipulation she required, but one that Cecil saw to on her behalf-- he wanted her treated like a Queen since she was playing one. Between Gloria Swanson's submergence into an expensive tub in Male and Female and Claudette Colbert's illustrious milk bath in The Sign of the Cross, CB too started a craze for opulent bathrooms. However, his own house guests were often disappointed to find that his private bathroom was rather plain.

Anne Baxter in one of her temperature controlled necklaces 

in The Ten Commandments.

But CB was not always modest in his private life. Granted, he was not as extravagant off screen as he was on, preferring to spend his down time at his vacation home, Paradise, where he could hike and feed the animals. But he did have a few flashy quirks to show off just how wealthy a man he really was. For example, male guests to Paradise would be offered color-coded silk shirts-- red for a regular Joe, white for producers, and purple for directors, corporate big-wigs, or government officials. The gents also received Gold or silver chains to spice up their look. CB also enjoyed splurging on jewelry, offering women whom he was pleased with in some way a choice of his own private collection of gems. In addition, female guests were given Cecil B. DeMille's own concoction of "Paradise" perfume. For all this, Cecil still lived fairly simple compared to some of his contemporaries. Sure he had a yacht and several real estate investments around town, but his monetary swagger was tactical more than anything else. While it could be said that he enjoyed spreading the wealth and bringing a little beauty into life, he committed grand financial acts more to stake his claim as one of Hollywood's major hitters, so people would know who was boss. It worked, for "DeMille" and "Decadent" remain pretty much synonymous.

But Cecil wasn't the only power player with cash to burn-- literally. With money comes power and thus the ability to pay for pretty much whatever you want. It naturally followed that certain celebrities were able to produce custom made products or add their own special innovations on different every day merchandise. The tiniest thing would require some specific attention in order to differentiate one's belongings from every one else's. Thus, star vanity even lead to the creation of custom made cigarettes. For his part, ill-fated director William Desmond Taylor smoked only his personally designed black cigarettes with golden tips-- that's genuine gold, folks. Actor and Mr. Muscles himself, Francis X. Bushman (right), also insisted on creating his own stock of lavender colored ciggies.

Bushman let this innovation follow him over into the realm of automobiles. When driving around town in his fancy Rolls Royce, also lavender, it wasn't enough for people to merely notice his expensive wheels. He wanted them to know that it was he who was behind the wheel. Thus, he had a special light affixed into the interior, so that at night, a bright aura would shine over his face and people would know that the famous star of Ben-Hur had just sped by. Cowboy star Tom Mix (left) followed suit. For his car, he specified that the tires be produced with his own personal "crest," which was essentially the compilation of a "T" and an "M." When his car rolled down the then dirt roads of Hollywood, his insignia could be seen in the tracks. He basically left his initials all over town, an effective way of saying "Tom  Mix was here, yeehaw!!!" Gloria Swanson too had a dream car. In fact, her earliest ambition as an actress, or as anything, was to be able to afford a heretofore unseen orchid-colored automobile. People told her she was crazy and that such a thing didn't even exist. But once she became the grande dame of silent cinema, she got her fantasy car-- and then some!

The Tom Mix Bar Brand, also present on his tires.

Or course, in these days, many celebrities were chauffeured around town in their glamorous automobiles. After all, in the caste/cash system, a higher echelon personality was going to make his or her status known. Thus, wealthy vixens like Pola Negri provided extra jobs to various servants who would accentuate their prestige. Pola (right) had a chauffeur who drove her everywhere in her white, velvet upholstered Rolls, but there was an added stipulation: he was to wear white on sunny days and black on rainy days. She too had servants who were in charge of cascading rose petals into her path so that her precious feet-- adorned with toe nail polish, which was not yet popularly worn-- would never be sullied by making direct contact with the floor. Just to add a little more oomph, she too paraded around town with her pet tiger, who often accompanied her on jaunts down Sunset Boulevard. Why, who knows? She did it simply because she could, and Pola was a definitely a drama queen on and off camera.


But perhaps the most well known example of Hollywood grandeur is that of Pickfair. The fairy tale wedding of the swashbuckling hero Douglas Fairbanks to the Golden Goddess of the Screen Mary Pickford captured the attention and affection of the American people when they were united on March 28, 1920-- despite the fact that they had essentially ditched their other spouses to make such a dream come true. It didn't matter. To the general public, they had escaped unhappy lives to reach the unbelievable culmination of true love, fame, and fortune. Of course, in order to rule on high in their fantastical splendor, they needed a Kingdom, which they dubbed "Pickfair." Situated in the hills on Summit Drive above Benedict Canyon, Mary and Doug lived in what appeared to be an oversized cottage. Its ornamentation wasn't overly glamorous, but its amenities were: a seashell shaped swimming pool, big enough to fit a canoe and complete with a slide, a tennis court, and stables. Their life together at this mansion on a hill was the ultimate American Dream. Of course, one must always wake from even the best of dreams, but while Mary and Doug's marriage may have hit the skids, the memory of their plush palace remains forever entrenched in our memories.

Doug and Mary take a row in their oyster pool.

These early celebrities didn't live in a world of "what could have been," they created worlds that were. Worlds that were as outlandish, flamboyant, unrestrained, and yet impossibly possible. When America entered into the economic crisis of the Great Depression and the film world was engulfed but the crisis of the new talkie era, the fawning awe of celebrity expenditure would give way to the public's love/hate relationship with their stars. No more would we find it completely palatable for these cinematic souls to throw cash around so nonchalantly; we would let them get away with it only if they seemed like one of us-- coming up the hard way. But, for a brief moment in time, we adored our movie stars for being larger than life, or perhaps even larger than larger than life. While their splendor may make one wrinkle his nose or perhaps erupt only in a cynical guffaw today, at the time, it was all in day's work. At least, in Hollywood...