by C McGivern
He never forgave himself for missing his opportunity, for living a lie. The foundation was false, he had played the hero people wanted him to be, giving form to the values the free world cherished, showing the rock-like image of America that defeated all evil. At no other time had so many Americans gone to the cinema and at no other time had John Wayne made so many films. Richard Schickel wrote, “For some of us who have grown up in his shadow, measuring our changing personalities against his towering constancy, Wayne has become one of life’s bedrock necessities. He reminds us of a time when right was right, wrong was wrong, and the differences between them could be set right by the simplest of means.”
And Andrew Sarris years later, “Wayne confronted evil directly with ruthless, unblinking violence. Civilization must eventually sweep before it a class of men, its own precursors and pioneers, so remarkable both in their virtues and their faults, that few see their extinction without regret. He is the very last cowboy saint. Year after year nothing changes, Duke, like the Christmas tree, always comes out looking the same.”
His private turmoil, his inner self-knowledge was unimportant, his draft status immaterial, affairs and divorces meant nothing to anyone but himself. Because his intentions were honorable it tore him apart every time he heard himself described as a hero, but it was only what he appeared to be that mattered to everyone else, it was only his image that America was interested in. By the fifties he had become more comfortable with his place in the industry, he was more mature and better able to make choices he had shied away from before. He finally saw that as an honorable man he had a duty to speak up about the things he held dear. After the war he allowed everything he had come to represent spill over into his own life and as the Communist threat developed he saw an opportunity to stand up and be counted at last. He willingly threw himself into that arena of conflict. He had missed one opportunity to be a hero, he could not afford to miss another, and through the fifties he began attempting to live his life according to the screen image, becoming deeply involved in the political minefield of The Cold War. After the war others were longing for peace and wanted only to get on with their lives, but Duke saw communism as a threat to all their hopes of a secure future. America had won its battle with its external foe, he was haunted now by a vision of an attack from within. He sat firmly at the top of his profession and now he began to live his life according to the image. He would let no subversive element spoil everything he had worked so hard for.
At the same time, the Second World War was again becoming big business in Hollywood. In 1948 Edmund Grainger saw a newspaper article about the battle for the sands of Iwo Jima accompanied by the famous photograph of a group of marines raising the American flag at the summit of Mount Suribachi.
He asked Jimmy Grant to prepare a treatment. The story line was basic, about a tough sergeant who has to turn a group of diverse individual soldiers into a crack Marine unit. Grainger didn’t have far to look for his harsh, abrasive leader; Duke had also seen Grant’s script and said, “It was a beautiful personal story. I wanted the part so badly I could taste it. I would have begged on my knees for a chance at it.” Grainger never had any doubt about who he wanted to play Sergeant John Stryker, even though he also wanted to make a realistic movie with no one being called upon to perform acts of great courage, or self-sacrifice as in most of Duke’s other war films.
It was an important role and Duke grilled technical advisors for hours about the movement and attitude of warrant officers. Mary St John said that for a while he became Stryker, and John Agar who played his convert in the film said the part was right up his street, showing all his toughness and his softer side, “Stryker was very much how he was in real life. His eyes conveyed such conviction, that when I was talking it was as if I was talking to sergeant Stryker, and as usual he was completely encouraging.”
When the film was premiered at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, Duke was to put his foot print in the cement of the famous pavement outside. Despite his size, he had a pair of dainty size 9 feet, and the boot print looked like that of a dancer. To lay such a notion to rest he firmly jammed his massive fist into the wet cement next to it.
His performance in the film was so powerful that he received his first Academy Award nomination. He didn’t win but felt some gratitude and said, “I don’t care about the critics or their acclaim, what I really care about is the money!” Sands of Iwo Jima earned $3,900,000 and was a huge success for both him and Republic, and on its back he was officially listed as Hollywood’s most popular star. Timing had been everything! Wayne and America emerged from the war years together to reach the height of their power, and throughout America and the rest of the world, the two were seen as synonymous, with Duke the handsome symbol of American power.
His personal strength in films of the west and the war assumed iconographic proportions, “Not until John Wayne created the role of Sergeant Stryker in Sands of Iwo Jima and then merged his own personality with the character did Americans find a man who personified the ideal soldier, sailor or Marine.” Other actors portrayed military characters but it was John Wayne who symbolized all the American ideals of duty and service to country. He was still living in the shadow of his own creations. From the billowing flags of Fort Apache to the flag raising ceremony at the end of Sands of Iwo Jima, John Wayne was tied to America’s destiny. He had created the image and now could do no better than live his destiny out.
Although he had offers stacked up he still jumped eagerly when John Ford offered him the chance to work on his next film, Rio Grande, the last of the cavalry trilogy. The picture paired Duke and Maureen O’Hara for the first time. She was just the kind of woman he would have chosen for himself; tall, beautiful, strong and opinionated, she was his perfect screen match and the film became a huge romantic success. He had also found another true and loyal friend who would be there for him all the rest of his life, “She is a terrific girl, warm, nice, talkative. One of the guys. Oh, how she loves to tell stories.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE POLITICAL WARRIOR
The Approach of Crisis
“You may disagree completely with what I say, but I will defend to the death my right to say it.”
“We built a nation on the past... it can’t have been that bad. Our yesterdays tell us that we have to win not only at war, but at peace. I hope that in our anxiety to have peace, we remember our clear and present dangers and beware the futility of compromise.”
...John Wayne rushed headlong, like a child, to answer the door, excited, his face wreathed in smiles as he pushed Pat playfully out of his way.
“Duke, I was trying to tell you… it’s only a delivery of extra champagne… it’s no one…”
“Well, it’s sure someone, see, it’s a kid with a crate of champagne… Hi kid!” he bellowed at the top of his voice before relieving the boy of the crate, turning and putting it carefully down behind him. He pulled a roll of notes from his pocket, peeled one off and handed it to the delivery boy who was still standing hopefully in the doorway. He was impressed, not so much by the size of the bill he had been given as by the enormous man who had placed it in his hand.
“Thank you, Mr Wayne… I…” and he lapsed into the speechless state that Duke recognized as a mark of respect, almost of reverence. He looked down at his feet, laughing softly, and feeling as usual, embarrassed by such scenes, and wondering as always why he had that effect on people, wondering why he had never got used to it. Still the boy stood there, not moving, seeming as though he were suspended, frozen, his eyes staring up in wonder.
“Well kid… Happy Christmas…”
“Mr Wayne?” there was a note of desperation in the voice,
“Yes?”
“My Dad, he loved all your films; loved you; he was a real fan, he used to tell me that if I wanted to be a man, just be like John Wayne, and I couldn’t go far wrong... he used to follow you to appearances, get your picture and then you’d always sign it for him next time he got to see you. His
name was Bob…”
“Yeah… I remember… I haven’t got around so much lately, haven’t seen him …”
“He died last year. He would have been so thrilled to know I delivered to your home. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you… I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother. Hey, did you want to come in, sit and jaw for a while?”
“Duke… the kids’ll be over…” Pat began but already knew that nothing would shift him, for he was about to engage in what he loved doing best.
“Got half an hour to talk about your old man, son?” he asked as he threw a massive paw out toward the boy to drag him in over the threshold of his home, “Let’s go get comfortable in the den.” He poured two glasses of lemonade and handed one to the shocked delivery boy.
“No alcohol son, not when you’re driving, always remember that.”
“Yes sir. Mr Wayne I didn’t want to disturb your evening… I just wanted you to know…”
“Yeah, I do know… What’s your name?”
“I’m little Robert sir.”
“OK, tell me about your dad, little Robert.”
“Well, the first time he took me along to catch a glimpse of you was around Christmas time, 1973. You were being presented with some Pro Football Hall of Fame Award at the Waldorf Astoria. He wanted me to see you so much that he had already planned how he would crash the security surrounding President Ford who was supposed to be there that night. We hung around your hotel, The Pierre, I think, all afternoon, but you didn’t come out until it was time for the dinner. We followed your car to the Waldorf. There were thousands of fans when we got there, and I still didn’t get to see you. Dad started to talk with some other guys, they were plotting their strategy for the evening. We stood around for maybe four hours or so, talking about your films, that kind of stuff. Then, on some kind of signal, we rushed toward the elevators, and I got carried right along. We were past security, no one there was interested in the President anyway, and you had no security. You just stood there, smiling and waving, not troubled at all. You couldn’t get an elevator because they were all full of fans trying to get to you, so one lung and all; you took to the stair well…”
Duke was laughing at the vivid memory so suddenly and unexpectedly recalled, and brought back to life. He had been with his sons Michael and Patrick, and the three of them had trotted down the stairs followed by a few of his more determined fans. He recalled that the chase came to an abrupt end around the fifteenth floor when he had come across some guys shooting dice in the hallway, and he had joined the game. Eventually an elevator had stopped at the floor, and when the door slid open to let a hotel guest out, he had rushed straight into it, followed by the boys, and a couple of others, Bob, and little Robert here.
“Yeah… I remember.”
“Dad asked you to sign some of his collection of photographs; you laughed and asked him where he’d got them. You posed for a couple of shots with your sons. Then when we arrived in the lobby, you shook hands and went off to some club.”
“It was the 21 Club, and you guys all beat me there I think. Every time I turned around you were right there.”
“That’s right. That was where we wanted to be. Near you. You were my dad’s hero and that night you became mine too. After that, whenever one of your films was on TV, I watched. I started reading everything about you… Mr Wayne you were, and are, my hero, even more since my dad died. I can’t explain how I mean… I don’t mean in any weird way or nothin’”
The boy was emotional. Duke wanted to divert him, “I bumped into you both on more than that occasion you know. I guess you guys think we don’t notice, but I sure always did. Mostly I enjoyed all that stuff, course sometimes it got a little out of hand, but mostly it was fun. I probably needed you more than you needed me you know. Can you remember the next time?”
“You went to Philadelphia to promote The Shootist. We lived in New York then, but travelled across with a couple of other fans. None of us knew the town so we couldn’t follow you around so much, and we just hung outside the hotel. You were really friendly this time, it was better than before, you let us take lots of photographs, signed autographs every time you went in or out of the hotel. You went to some art gallery and me and dad followed. You suddenly turned round and asked us how we always knew where you were going to be, you walked over to talk some, until we were shown out the door.”
“And you were still there waiting when I got out!”
“There were lots of us by then but you chatted to everyone, signed all the books, had pictures taken with anyone who asked. You were a king that day Mr Wayne,” little Robert had warmed to his subject and was less in awe, “The very next time you were in New York, for a TV Special I think, I camped outside The Pierre in pouring rain waiting to see you in person again. People don’t ever get tired of seeing you; they need to be near you after they have met you once. That evening there were hundreds of us, all soaking wet. When you came over I asked if you would sign the pictures we had taken in Philadelphia. You were on your way out to dinner I guess, and it was wet,”
“Was I a miserable son of a bitch that night?”
“No… not exactly.”
“It’s OK, I was a son of a bitch… I’d had some kinda argument, nothing much. I didn’t sign them did I?”
“Not then you didn’t, but we followed you to the Paramount Building to see if we could get near you, it was hopeless so we went back to The Pierre, just to wait... you looked real tired when you got back, and we didn’t want to bother you... but you noticed us. We’d been standing around in the rain all night and you didn’t go into the hotel, you came over to us. There were newspaper photographers pushing you around, and us too, and you were getting soaked through now as well, but you still tried to oblige everyone there.”
“Was I still miserable?” he laughed, trying to remember.
“No you were a hero. The hotel staff kept trying to push us away, and drag you inside, but you wouldn’t have it, and you signed every autograph book put under your nose. You laughed and waved as you left. That was the last time I saw you until tonight.”
“What happened?”
“Once my dad was too ill to trail you I kinda lost interest. Then he died, and I left New York, to move out here, I thought about trying to get a job in Hollywood, but it’s so tough, I’m doing deliveries down here until something turns up. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to talk to you, I could never have imagined this would happen to me tonight, I thought I might get a glimpse of you if I was real lucky, but I never dreamed… I still watch any movies they show Mr Wayne, some send a shiver down my spine, they remind me of my dad …”
“I’m sorry about your dad Robert, but I’m glad my films make you think about him. Keep watching them won’t you?”
Pat stuck her head round the door and coughed.
“Well, that’s my call, I’ll see you out. You’re right about it being tough out there Robert, but never give up, if I made it anyone can, just you keep working at it.”
As Robert walked away through the elegant Japanese front garden, both he and Duke were full of memories of the good old days. He was reassured that as long as prints of his films existed he would live on in people’s hearts. No matter what happened in the future his place in the world was assured, his screen image, if nothing else, was indestructible.
In recent years he had stood firm against a flood of ridicule, as a film star, an unfashionable patriot, a political dinosaur; he had been under constant attack. He withstood all of it simply because that was his way, and because of the fans like little Robert and his dad who had given him the confidence to speak openly about his own private beliefs. It was an unwritten rule in Hollywood that its stars didn’t stick their necks out. Such foolish action was to run the risk of alienating half a potential audience. In his early days he would have hesitated to do it but once his career was well and truly established he felt more able to express himself. He had the power to ignore the unwrit
ten rules …
… The Motion Picture Alliance for The Preservation of American Ideals was founded on 7th February 1944 at a mass meeting held in the grand ballroom of the Beverly-Wilshire Hotel. Fifteen hundred people from all walks of the motion picture industry and representing every union were there. The director, Sam Wood, was elected president. The group came to be known simply as the Alliance, and members included Walt Disney, Gary Cooper, Ginger Rogers, John Ford, and Cecil B. De Mille. Duke was relieved to find others had finally recognized the danger that communism presented to the American way of life, but he was still too busy, and perhaps he was not really interested enough either, to attend Alliance meetings. Despite the fact that many of his friends joined he still held out against signing up and called it, “My period of listening.”
He sensed rather than understood the political undercurrents swirling around Hollywood after the war, was vaguely uncomfortable about the Left, but still considered himself a liberal and voted for the Democratic Party. He was far from being the right wing extremist that he was later painted. His politics were unformed and remained that way until he started work on the film Back to Bataan when he had his first close up encounter with communism. It was a confrontation that changed his life, ended the “period of listening,” and led him into the political arena for the first time.
The film told the story of General MacArthur’s return to the Philippines to recapture the land lost to Japan in 1942. Robert Fellows, RKO producer and friend of Duke’s, intended making an authentic tribute to the American and Philippino fighting forces. Fellows had an agreement with the army to provide the best technical advisors available. He had already signed Duke as his star, and wanted the director, Edward Dmytryk, to work with him. When it was being planned, the war was still raging and Fellows intended to have a film ready for a release that coincided with the actual re-taking of the Philippines. There could be no delay; it had to be shot and ready in ten weeks. Production speed never bothered Duke and, compared to his schedule at Republic, ten weeks seemed like a leisurely pace.