by C McGivern
For many years he had filled his life making film after film and now, after finishing Brannigan, he rushed straight on to Rooster Cogburn which co-starred Hollywood legend, Katharine Hepburn. They first met when they were both working in London. She rushed across Piccadilly Circus to introduce herself, “Oh Mr Wayne, I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Katharine Hepburn and I’m looking forward to working with you in Oregon next month.” He was bowled over by her enthusiasm and instantly took a shine to her. Everyone who saw them together marvelled at the immediate and obvious chemistry. Rooster Cogburn threw the two great stars of the Golden Era together for the first time and Duke at least felt sad their paths hadn’t crossed earlier. Hal Wallis was responsible for teaming them in another production about the one-eyed marshal, and when he offered Duke another chance to wear the eye patch he said, “Asking me to play Rooster is like giving me a handful of chocolate bars.”
He couldn’t wait to start and after coming face to face with Miss Hepburn in London he was really excited, “Rooster was a character that fit my pistol. We felt the same way about life. He didn’t believe in accommodation, neither do I. But he was a delightful guy. When things weren’t serious he was usually half drunk, but he knew his job and straightened up and walked right when it was time. And no matter how drunk or rough he was, he always had some philosophy he pushed at you. It’s the best part I ever had. I never had anything else where I had such a chance to tear into a character… to really turn loose and know it will come out all right in the end. Rooster was a mean old bastard and that’s me. No one had to teach me to play the part.”
Poor Stuart Miller was the man chosen to try to tell Duke how to play Rooster Cogburn, to direct the two mighty legends, one who had spent a lifetime taming the West and the other who had conquered the East, one an arch conservative, the other a committed liberal. Everyone expected spontaneous combustion, sparked either by Duke’s temper or Hepburn’s outspoken politics. In fact the only trouble on set had little to do with either of the two stars who got on fantastically well. The fireworks only flared because Duke wasn’t prepared to be told how to play the “Mean old bastard.” He said, “Rooster was a little tired but he was a fighting man who had no intention of giving up the reins, a man still willing to use his fists and still willing to put his life on the line for what was right. I had known Rooster all my life. I knew the way he thought, lived, loved and looked from his gut to his patch.”
He was thrilled to have the chance to recreate the character and to work with Hepburn. He was fascinated by her honesty and she was equally charmed by him; like so many before her, she was surprised to find her leading man polite, sensitive, talented, and above all considerate toward her, “He is a real gentleman. I love working with him. But he tells everyone what to do on the set, and I normally get to do that.” Wallis consoled her, “The next time he starts doing that just mention The Alamo and The Green Berets.” Hepburn felt sorry for Millar who was working with three bullies, Duke, Wallis and herself.
Duke admired her rare dedication and was particularly impressed when she insisted on riding horses and doing the raft scene herself, because he knew she didn’t enjoy doing either, “I’d never met anyone like her. She’s so feminine-she’s a man’s woman… how lucky a man would have been to have found her.” When the last scene was wrapped he pushed up the eyepatch, gathered her in his arms and planted a huge kiss on her lips, then thundered, “Damn! There’s a woman!” The compliment left her speechless, but later tears welled up as she returned, “What an experience!”
He had arrived on location tired, irritable and generally feeling uncomfortable with life. And, too much the perfectionist, he was soon at logger heads with the director. Duke had no respect for him and when he felt Millar was not doing the job he was quick to jump, calling him a “six-foot-six sonofabitch no-talent!” Still, when Wallis offered to find a replacement Duke refused, “No, Kate and I will just do what we want anyway. There’s no point replacing him. We both know what we want to do.”
Duke had always enjoyed working on an open set and liked reporters and fans around. Hepburn preferred a closed set. When this potential tinder-box of a problem was mentioned to Duke he laughed, “Relax, I’ll talk to her.” He ambled to her trailer and asked politely, all charm as the occasion demanded, “Do you really mind my having them around the set? I promise not to let them bother you.” And Hepburn fell for it but warned sternly, “So long as they don’t bother me!” In fact as soon as she saw him talking to someone she inevitably went across to join the conversation, later saying, “He always seemed to be having so much fun with them, and I’d never done that before. He always teased me as soon as he saw me approaching. He reminded me so much of Spencer Tracy, so full of warm affection. I fell for his charm, and I can hardly believe it.”
Whilst they were in Oregon Duke threw a party to celebrate Hal Wallis’s birthday. He sent an invitation to Miss Hepburn who explained that she never went out socially. Duke told her, “I know that, but I just wanted you to know that you’re invited all the same.” She asked if the invitation still held if she popped in for a few minutes. “You’re welcome however long you choose to stay. Bring anyone you wish with you too.”
“Well, I might bring my brother-in-law, who’s in town just now, but it will only be for a few minutes Duke. I don’t like parties.”
She was one of the first to arrive, “Remember, I’ll only be here a few minutes.” When she walked in, she turned a picture that she didn’t like to face the wall, and helped herself to a plateful of food. She had already told her host that she wouldn’t have anything to eat. She was almost the last person to leave that night and Duke happily told anyone who would listen, “She was an absolute delight, the highlight of the evening… also of my stay in Oregon.” He had heard on set that Miss Hepburn collected umbrellas and after that, whenever he saw an unusual one he bought it and sent it to her in New York.
He still enjoyed playing jokes on crew members and now even Pat suffered at his hands. All through filming in Oregon she wore trousers but on the last day she put a dress on. Throughout the day she noticed the crew didn’t look directly at her, though she caught a few of them sneaking a look at her knees from time to time. Duke had told everyone she had a false leg and warned them not to mention her dress or her legs. He was taken at his word; after all he was the man who never told lies! All day he walked around the set with a curious smile playing around his mouth. He was nearly bursting by the time he confessed. He added proudly, “Now you can see what a really good actor I am!” He was doing his very best to have fun on location and he wanted everyone else to have a good time.
Miss Hepburn laughed helplessly and in return for the fun and the gifts she later wrote, “From head to toe, he’s all of a piece. Big head. Wide blue eyes. Sandy hair. Rugged skin-lined by living and fun and character… A face alive with humor… and sharp wit. He’s quick, he’s sensitive. His shoulders are broad-very. His chest massive-very. When I leaned against him, (which I did as often as possible I must confess) thrilling. It was like leaning against a tree… And the base of this incredible creation. A pair of small sensitive feet. Carrying this huge frame as though it was a feather. Light of tread. Springy. Dancing. Pretty feet. Very observing. Very aware. A terribly funny man, always ready to laugh. To be laughed at. To answer. To stick his neck out. Outrageous. Spoiled. Self-indulgent. Tough. Full of charm. Knows it. Uses it. Disregards it… As an actor he has an extraordinary gift. A unique naturalness. A very subtle capacity to think and express and caress the camera-the audience. A secret between them. He’s an artist and he’s all male, and that’s a rarity these days. When you buy a cotton shirt, you want to get good simple long-lasting cotton. No synthetics. That’s what you get when you get John Wayne. That’s what I got. And as you can see, I liked it.”
She also pointed out to him that he needed to see a doctor as soon as he got back to California, “Duke, I’m very worried about that cough, it’s no ordinary cough, please pro
mise me you’ll get it sorted out. You’ve been using more and more oxygen every day we’ve been here.” He laughed her warning off, “No one can breathe up here, I’ll be alright once I get home. I’m probably allergic to something up here. Don’t worry about me.” Pat agreed with Miss Hepburn and they both harbored dark thoughts about what the trouble might be. Duke felt he was being nagged and the one place in the world he didn’t want to go was hospital. He would have ignored the cough, would have taken himself out to sea to recover, but he’d badly injured his knee shooting the raft scene. He had knelt on a cartridge shell and the wound had become raw and very painful, “I’d wrecked it so bad I could hardly bear it. It wouldn’t heal up. We managed to finish the film without causing any serious delays but once I got home I had to go straight to hospital. They said I needed surgery to repair the damage.” Whilst he was in hospital the cough developed and he was given another course of antibiotics. When the doctors wouldn’t release him he commented caustically, “Well, I guess the good thing is I’ll lose weight in here.”
Duke recovered slowly and spent Christmas 1975 aboard The Goose, with Pat, his younger children and some friends. After seven straight months of filming followed by his enforced hospitalization he finally took the well-earned rest that Pilar had wanted him to take for so long. He sat in the sun, played cards and enjoyed being out on the boat which was “as lit up as old Duke.” Throughout the summer of 1976 he travelled, tried to relax, and visited old friends. And the Press were hard on his heels too. They had smelled a story at last, noticing that everywhere he went, on business or pleasure, Pat accompanied him. Duke refused to rise to the bait and simply smiled. He had no premonition that here was the calm before the storm.
All year he had been planning his upcoming picture, The Shootist, a story about an aging gunfighter who was dying of cancer. He attended several script conferences and pre-production meetings to discuss a concept that both excited and frightened him. He was a little uncomfortable about the story which he said was too graphic. He called for many changes before finally accepting the part of JB Books. Don Siegel, the director he had missed working with on Dirty Harry, went along with most of his demands to soften the character. The two men got on surprisingly well during the meetings. Siegel was an articulate and witty gentleman who had worked with second unit at Warners for most of his career, now he was working on a John Wayne picture and acknowledged, “It gave me the chance to establish myself and to paint some tender, sympathetic scenes as well as brutal mayhem. The opening premise of the picture could have ended it right there, unless we did it brilliantly. I thank Duke for the fact that it didn’t bomb, for the fact that the humor in it worked so well. And actually I would say that he got on with me better than with ninety five percent of the other directors he’s worked with. Duke happens to be extremely knowledgeable about the making of movies, and he had many excellent ideas… of course he never hesitates to tell you about them! But he was perfect for the part… no one else could have played Books. I also know he was badly affected by the picture. He found it harrowing, an emotional strain.”
Duke had never really got over the many psychological aspects associated with his own close call but the part he was to play now intrigued him, “I knew I could play John Bernard Books from absolute personal experience. When I found out I had cancer I can tell you it was something of a shock, like someone hitting me as hard as they could in the solar plexus. This picture gave me an opportunity to talk about that. Naturally, the fact about cancer and my own background drew me to it … it has a lot of things in it that I went through. I thought a lot about death and how I wanted to go, obviously. We don’t all get the same chance to go out on both feet that Books gets though.”
By the time he set off for Carson in the winter he was full of enthusiasm for what he expected to be a great movie, even if he still harbored some personal reservations, “My previous pictures all carried certain messages about how men should live with dignity. This was all about going out in style.” He never, at any stage, planned The Shootist as his last picture, but in it he effectively buried his own persona, he later reflected sadly, “Sometimes the irony of that gets to me.”
As was his custom he arrived in Carson City some days ahead of schedule. He had only just begun to recover his strength after the bout of pneumonia and his knee surgery but he made a point of going into the local coffee shops and talking to residents so they would get used to seeing him around, “Oh sometimes I feel a little tired, but people come up to me in a friendly manner. I have to let them know I appreciate their continued interest.” Once again he was back working at altitude and almost immediately began suffering the consequences. On several mornings he was unable to catch his breath and the haggard look he needed for the film soon turned out to be more authentic than he would have liked, “I got the damned flu. I tried to keep working, but by the end of the first week I could barely hold my head up. I had to take ten days off; the doc called me an old bastard and told me that I was killing myself.” A physiotherapist was called in to pound his back in an effort to dislodge fluid that was rapidly building up in his lung, “Jeez, my life was one misery. Those weeks were some of the worst I ever suffered, worse even than during Katie Elder. The smallest exertion caused me to rush back to the trailer where I kept my oxygen… the tank had to be refilled several times during shooting. To make matters worse, my goddam ear infection returned. The pain was constant and affected my sense of balance. It was one of the only times I ever disturbed production. It’s so damn irritating to feel bad when you haven’t felt bad all your life. I have been abnormally healthy. Even when they told me I had cancer, I hadn’t any pain… nothing… But this year it’s been one thing after another… that’s the worst thing about getting old…having to use your will power to drive yourself instead of natural physical energy. Before it all came so easy, now I have to push it.”
He soldiered on through earache and flu, but his cough demanded constant retakes and he became angry, “I felt unprofessional, and there wasn’t a goddam thing I could do about it. I was obsessive about finishing on schedule. People who caused delays annoyed the hell out of me, I always hated anyone who caused difficulties, weaklings who delayed work and cost other people money. Now it was me causing a fuss, me who was weak. All I cared about was getting a good job done the best way I could.”
The signs that all was not well were clearly visible and Dave Grayson, his long-time make-up man, said, “It was as though an entire decade had gathered like an ocean and swept over him all at once.” When he first decided to tackle the film he had been excited about it, now he was there on location he was less sure. Suddenly it all seemed too close to home and, had he been anything less than a complete professional, he would have backed out by the end of the first week. To make matters worse he was having unexpected problems with Siegel.
They had struck up a close working relationship during early script conferences but once filming got under way they seldom saw eye to eye, they even argued about who was hired to take the publicity stills. Duke’s mood swung from tired and irritable to slightly better, but tension might have eased sooner had he not seen a Press release from Siegel, “I know John Wayne eats directors, but I’ll give him indigestion.” He was hurt by the comment because he thought they were friends. Siegel knew he had caused offense but didn’t know how to bring Duke out of his sullen mood in the way people who had known him for longer did. When Duke raged at the photographer that he had insisted on hiring, “I bust my ass to get you this job and you take a picture with a roof growing out of my head!” the reply came back swiftly, “Yes, you’re right it is a roof, I thought it was your head.” Onlookers were horrified at the flippant remark, but Duke, caught off guard, just laughed.
In the film he played the archetypal Wayne tragic hero as JB Books reaffirms the dignity of the individual in a world that has outgrown his personal code. In the dramatic countdown to the blaze-of-glory shootout in which he rids Carson City of evil, he manages to mel
t the icy heart of his landlady and save her son from a life of crime. From the opening credits to the final steps of the hero’s journey, he is a man shown in terms of violence and action; not for that old man a sedentary death; Books could no more give in to the ravages of disease than he could to a man who had wronged him. His death befitted the life of a man who was the direct descendant of The Ringo Kid, it was also the conclusion to Duke’s own legend. The fact that he was brutally shot in the back in what turned out to be the last of “The John Wayne Things” lent it a dreadful finality and many found the experience too painful, “It was like watching an old friend die.” Even at its first release audiences were deeply disturbed after fifty years of the familiarity, friendship and safety they had known in Duke’s hands. They felt the bitter irony just as keenly as he did himself.
Perhaps intentionally, the film made no clear distinction between Books or Duke, and here was the final coming together of the image and the man. That made the role the toughest of Duke’s career and when his character talked about religion and death, saying his soul was what he had made it himself, Duke was making a personal connection with his audience. In his final days Books prepares to meet his maker in the glare of publicity, so too, when his time came, would Duke. He knew that, just like the character he played, he would be granted no peace in which to die and whilst he might never have intended it to be his last film, he used it to say his own very public goodbyes. In it he laid to rest his vision of the Old West and, at the same time, put the final flourish to his wonderful career. There would be no more last stands and he could have made no finer eulogy. The Shootist became a beautiful and perfectly timed piece of Hollywood.