by C McGivern
When Larry Parks (Al Jolson in The Al Jolson Story) was told he would not be used again in Hollywood if he did not name names, the question of his blacklisting was put to Duke. He agreed to speak up on Parks behalf, “I wanted to say something good about him. This was a crucial issue. Parks was breaking not just with the Party but with all his friends. He needed our moral support so other witnesses would be encouraged to break.” Duke felt sorry for Parks, who had begged for forgiveness from the industry and he believed it should be freely given. He certainly felt the deepest unease over the naming names issue himself.
After speaking up for Parks he attended a meeting of The Alliance. He stood on stage before an audience of over a thousand motion picture workers to announce Hedda Hopper, the powerful right wing columnist. She rounded on him, attacking him without warning or mercy, “I was shocked as I read the statement of our president John Wayne; I’m wondering if the mothers and families of those who have died and the wounded who are still living will be happy to know their money at the box-office has supported and may continue to support those who have been so late in the defense of their country?” Duke made no reply. Her unprovoked and unprecedented attack caused uproar at the meeting, some defending the furiously blushing Duke, others supporting Hopper. As a body, The Alliance decided not to support him over the Parks issue, saying they didn’t feel it was safe to trust any person who had been a communist.
Duke was devastated, both by the unexpected ferocity and personal nature of the attack, and by the failure of the Alliance to support him. He trusted everybody, opposed the blacklist, and was uncomfortable about Hopper and even his friend Ward Bond, who clearly felt all communists should be run out of town. Now he also stood alone against his so-called friends, too tolerant for them, when he told the highly charged meeting that any person who co-operated with the HUAC should be free to continue working within the industry. The difference between him and Bond, and one member of The Alliance and another, seemed thin to the Hollywood Left, but over these issues the division was vast. Duke stood resolutely on one side, and Bond and most of the rest of The Alliance members on the other side of a line that separated the conservative from the reactionary, “You’d not believe this but at that meeting one member even suggested The Alliance recommend a “preventative war” against the Soviet Union! That was how strongly people felt about things back then. Back then, you’d have called me radical, ‘cause I talked them out of that one!” Duke later recounted with a mighty roar of laughter.
When Geraldine Page worked on Hondo with Duke and Bond in 1953 she said she was horrified by Bond’s attitude, “John Wayne would talk so sensibly and Ward Bond was just an oversimplifying bully-when I listened it seemed that John would wander out towards something that made sense to me and then director John Farrow would take what he had said and twist it into something else, Duke was a reactionary for all sorts of non-reactionary reasons… I swear that if John Wayne ever got transplanted out of this circle of people that are around him all the time, he would be the most un-reactionary force for good.” She had hit on the truth. Decency and human dignity ranked high on the code that Duke lived by. His politics were pure and simple-he felt an urgent, gut instinct to protect his country during the Cold War, it was under attack from the inside, he had not gone to its defense before, but he would not fail again, he had to protect the American way of life whatever the personal cost.
On a personal and professional level things could not have been more different. He was tolerant of the mistakes individuals might make, he had made so many himself after all, but he was much less tolerant of an industry that was busy producing films like All The Kings’s Men, the Oscar-winning film originally offered to him. He spoke openly and at great length about the movies that he found distasteful in the extreme. He could not forgive film-makers who criticized American tradition and institutions and, although he hated the idea of using movies to get over a political message because it was such a powerful medium, by the early 1950’s he re-thought his position, deciding that if it was OK for the radicals then maybe he should try it himself. He began making his own statements through the films that his company produced.
He disliked making speeches and found getting up on stage difficult, particularly after Hopper’s attack. He was uncomfortable in meetings and committee sessions, too restless an animal to sit quietly, waiting for his moment to come. He knew that saying what he wanted to in a film, his natural medium, was a much easier way to reach people and it became an obvious alternative. He was far happier saying the things that really mattered to him when he was removed from his audience, when he was up on screen, safe from sudden hostility.
He still had to make personal appearances of course, when he was expected to make statements, and difficult though he found it, as he got older, he became more adept. In 1972 he agreed to accompany Bob Hope to talk on the USC campus. Hope told Duke he would get a monologue scripted for his use. Duke replied, “Hell, no. I write my own speeches,” but when Hope saw what he planned to say he told him, “Duke, you just can’t say those kinds of things to students anymore.” He suggested changes, and tried again to get him to accept a script, but Duke stubbornly stood his ground and would not consider alterations. He strode out to centre stage and Hope took himself off to the safety of the wings where he hoped to avoid the textbooks and other missiles that he anticipated flying in Duke’s direction.
Wayne, ex-USC student, took a mouthful of tequila before starting to talk about the resentment he personally felt about the trouble being stirred up by radical students. He told them that a university should be a place of learning, a place to share intellectual maturing, and to enjoy socializing, a place to acquire a feeling of responsibility. He told them they should consider being respectful toward their teachers and the buildings and facilities they shared. He told them about his love for his own fraternity, Sigma Chi, and about how much USC had done for him. He explained that Californian taxpayers were tired of the damage that the students were doing at the university, and he reminded them that it belonged to those taxpayers, not to the students. At first he was met by loud booing, but gradually the students fell under his charm as they listened to what he had to say, and finally, mesmerized by his presence, they gave him a standing ovation.
The youthful rebellion was touched by that something that was special about him, by that same something that made his conservatism attractive to so many, something naturally pleasing about his individualism and strength and the students warmed to him as they listened and appreciated what he told them that day. Bob Hope couldn’t believe that Duke emerged with his scalp intact, much less that the kids actually cheered when he finished.
Whilst he continued to make public appearances he now preferred putting his message across on film. Through the fifties in particular he made a string of uninspiring movies, all carrying his personal message of duty and loyalty, and a warning to guard against internal subversion. He might do his career untold damage by running from the political platform into the film world and yet strangely, despite the poor quality of the films he turned out, he continued to be America’s leading box-office attraction. Nothing, not poor films, nor lousy scripts written for him by his friend Jimmy Grant, not his presidency of The Alliance touched his popularity at box-office, and he remained on top of his world. He understood the power of the business and because his fans continued to flock to see anything he made, he was increasingly convinced it was time to put his own dreams out into the theatres.
All the people in his life had their own unfulfilled dreams. John Ford wanted to return home to make a film about the mythical land he imagined was Ireland. Yates wanted to create a new profile for Republic. And Duke dreamed of making a film that talked to Americans of their past, present and future, talked about patriotism and about what was right with America. The three men, whose lives had been interwoven for so long, walked separate paths, but they all arrived at the crossroads together. The dreams that had brought them to this place became the
ones that drove them apart.
John Ford had first seen the short story, “The Quiet Man” in 1933. In 1935 it was expanded to become the best seller “Green Rushes.” It occupied his mind for well over a decade, and as early as 1944 he had spoken to Maureen O’Hara about making a film based on the story. She had agreed to make herself available whenever he was ready. He had handshake agreements with Duke, Victor McLaglen and Barry Fitzgerald, but financing his dream proved far from easy. He pleaded and badgered RKO, Warners and Fox with determination but none of them had any interest in a light story set in Ireland that couldn’t make money, no matter who he had lined up to star in it. Seventeen years flew by and Duke said, “Each year Maureen and I held our summer open and each year there was no money to make the film.” But Ford refused to abandon the vision and between 1947 and 1950 he made five Westerns under his company banner always with the stars he wanted to use in The Quiet Man.
Finally Duke gave him the chance to make his dream, putting together Yates the cash register and Ford the creative genius, “As long as I was stuck at Republic, I thought I might as well try to get Jack to come out there too. I knew Yates wanted to start making A-pictures. I told him he should get Ford to come and make pictures at Republic. If he got him, then other big directors would come too.” Yates asked what he would have to do to get Ford to agree, Duke replied, “Let him make a property he owns called The Quiet Man. Give him fifteen percent of the gross and tell him no one checks his budgets.” Ford would be given his chance to make his dream, and Yates also saw his opportunity. He nodded his head, wrote a contract out there and then in pencil, signed it and handed it to Duke to give to Ford next time he saw him.
Duke rushed straight around to see Pappy that night. Ford read the contact carefully, screwed it into a ball and threw it into the fireplace. He didn’t say a word to Duke, who recalled, “He never said, Duke that’s a hell of a deal, but I don’t trust Yates; he never said another word about it! I thought he was mad at me for buttin’ into his private affairs where I had no business.” Once more he was mystified by his mentor; he had given him his chance to make his picture, he had given Yates his chance, had agreed to work on the film cheap, and it had all been thrown back at him. In fact the mentor probably resented the power his star pupil had acquired and didn’t like being handed out favors by him.
But no one else came forward, no other opportunity arose and eventually he signed his own deal with Yates who insisted, “I’ll finance The Quiet Man on one condition. I want you to make a western with the same cast, same director, same everybody, to make up some of the money I’m going to lose on the Irish story.” And the Ford Stock company immediately went to work on Rio Grande, the masterpiece made very much on the cheap in Utah in 1950. It was a huge box-office hit, and on the back of it, Ford was given permission to go ahead with The Quiet Man that summer.
Rio Grande teamed Duke and Maureen O’Hara for the first time. There was an immediate and obvious chemistry between them. She was not only his perfect physical match, he also liked her very much, “Maureen O’Hara is one of the most delightful, charming women that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I enjoy every minute of working with her. She is a professional and she comes ready to work.” He could treat her as an equal, she presented no threat, he could talk to her easily because she spoke her mind in the honest and forthright manner that he respected. Whenever he lost his temper on set she was one of the few who could ever control him as she pointed an accusing finger in his direction, and shouted, “Go and sit down for a while until you cool off.”
Many looked at him and considered him a simple cowboy, a man who personified the rough, macho male-bonding professional. He was consistently shown as clumsy around women, treating them all with a wide-eyed innocence, even fear, but he was steadfastly uncomplicated and honest in his intentions toward them.
Whilst he was regarded as an inept lover, directors always set him opposite women of charm and spirit, and over the years he became expert at portraying passion, loneliness, and world-weariness as his own romances faltered. Ford in particular loved the way he unfailingly underplayed his feelings, preferring Duke’s sad expression of loss to the false tears shed by so many other actors. Rio Grande gave him ample scope to express loneliness in a story of lost love. He and O’Hara leaped off the screen and into the hearts of the audience, and it was then that they practiced moments of tenderness and bitterness, losing and later rediscovering love and happiness, in preparation for The Quiet Man.
Altogether, the stars, director, and even Yates were pleased with the outcome; it was the perfect film to precede The Quiet Man, which was the first Republic picture shot outside the United States. Because Ford insisted on using Technicolor, it also had the highest budget of any Republic film to date, and Yates was still far from enthusiastic about the anticipated outcome, calling it a film that no one would pay to see. Late in the day he called Duke into his office to spell out the on-going dangers he saw for the studio, insisting that the part of Sean Thornton was wrong for him and that it would harm his career. His constant complaints and obvious lack of faith rattled both Wayne and Ford. Between them they agreed to cut some of the production costs and Maureen and Duke starred in the film for well below their standard rates. Whilst Duke was vacationing in South America Ford cabled him “After much fuss and feathers, much wrangling, fist fights and harsh words the budget is set excepting, of course, for your salary.”
When they all eventually got to Ireland everything should have been perfect for Ford, but although many of his family and friends went on location with him, he remained far from happy. He worried about the politics of the story and suddenly jettisoned much of the script, deciding that the atmosphere of heavy IRA politics didn’t mix well with the comic love story that he was personally more concerned with. The politics went, and then he was fretted that perhaps Yates had been right, perhaps a simple love story wouldn’t stand up on its own, with or without Duke and Maureen. Then, a third of the way through filming, he became ill, or rather, too drunk to continue directing. He and Duke had made a pact not to drink whilst they were working in Ireland, both broke it from time to time; Duke discovering a lasting passion for Irish beer and the social life of the village pubs, but Ford was in bad humor and took to his bed to drink alone. He was used to working where everything was geared to getting the best product, now he was with Republic, where the only thing that mattered was getting the cheapest. Duke said, “In all the years I knew and loved Jack Ford, I never saw him so down and so willing to admit his fears.” He was deeply worried about the director and told him to get some rest and that he would oversee everything himself.
Their relationship was severely tested and they had several huge blow-ups on location. One was caused when Ford, in an attempt to cut costs, refused to allow Duke’s personal make-up man to travel to Ireland with them. But his skin was sensitive to make-up and his face was soon swollen and sore after an allergic reaction. So much for saving money, production was delayed as they waited for Web Overlander to arrive in Ireland. Again, Ford’s economies led to Web doubling up as an extra when he wasn’t attending to the star. Other arguments arose daily because Duke had become such a perfectionist that if he thought he could do a scene better he demanded a reshoot, much to Ford’s annoyance, who still preferred using the first take.
Duke described one major confrontation, “It was a scene where Maureen goes and slams the door and locks me out. The way they had written it, I go over, pick up my boxing gloves and throw them into the fire. Well, shit! They had me kow-towing and saying “Yes Ma’am” and “No Ma’am” all the damn time. I was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to let me show some balls! I brought this up with Pappy and he just gave me a dirty look. But he did later change the scene, “Duke I’m going to let you do what you always do when a broad locks you out. I’m going to let you kick the fucking door down.” It was a goddamn hard script for me. For nine reels, I was just playing a straight man to those wonderful c
haracters, and that was really hard. I had to fight for my place in it.” Fighting for his place was just business as usual for Duke, and confrontation no longer bothered him as it had once done, perhaps that was one reason Ford drank alone in Ireland.
Duke had taken Chata along on the trip even though they were in desperate trouble. He enjoyed the time he spent with her there. He was in expansive mood, happy and relaxed. He fell in love with Ireland and when shooting finished ahead of schedule he stayed behind long after the others had all returned home. He and Chata went on a protracted pub crawl, drinking heavily in celebration. He, in particular, was in no hurry to go home, he was enjoying the time with his wife, far from the pressures of Hollywood. She rarely went on location with him, they had spent so little time together, but in Ireland they enjoyed each other’s company again… for the last time.
Ford’s casting of Duke and O’Hara for The Quiet Man was a stroke of genius. One critic commented, “The Quiet Man pairing becomes one of the highest evocations of passion-suppressed on film. Wayne is seen as unmanly by O’Hara because he won’t fight for her dowry, no one but Wayne, the epitome of masculinity, could have played the role with such conviction. Because O’Hara plays the Irish prude it falls to Wayne to play the erotic role, though he has no dominance over her.” In fact he found the suppressed love scenes very difficult, “It was tough … really uncomfortable filming the scene in the churchyard where we are both soaking wet. Jack wanted me to hold her so close! It was what he wanted to do himself of course.” His expression of lonely frustration was put to full effect.