by C McGivern
The medical profession were happy he brought cancer out in the open and commended him for speaking out and the Press announcement turned him into the country’s most famous cancer patient. Public reaction to the news was extraordinary. Through 1965 he received over one hundred thousand letters from cancer patients and their families, “People have written from all over the world. Their letters are different… warm, personal, like letters from old friends. At first I had almost given in, but I had so many letters from fellow sufferers urging me to fight… and their courage… their hope… well they gave me the strength to fight for myself. Now I want to do something in return.” Given his nature, he pushed himself too hard in the attempt. He was invited by every cancer society in the country to sit on their board, he found himself in great demand on talk shows and he maintained a steady stream of interviews advising people to get checked out. He was always there supporting and encouraging, telling those who had cancer detected not to give up hope.
Inevitably public adulation and interest in his well-being led to incredible tension; cancer was rarely far from his thoughts, he had his own regular three-monthly check-ups to get through, and whatever he might say in public, he harbored a constant fear about recurrence, pain, suffering and death. Then suddenly his old friend Jimmy Grant died of lung cancer. He couldn’t forget what had happened, nor could he put it behind him, “The cancer societies want me on their campaigns. They’re welcome to use my case, but I don’t want to make a profession out of this. Before I know it I’ll be “The Man Who Had Cancer.” Thanks to the Man upstairs and my doctor I’ve got my life back and I want to go on living… that’s the whole point.” He didn’t want to dwell on the past, but found himself continually called back as his health became a constant talking point. He tired of it and became more determined to get on with making the next film.
Privately his doctors were not only amazed by his survival but by the fact that he was seriously planning to continue making a living riding horses at high altitude, fighting and doing his own stunts, and that he continued swilling a fifth of a bottle of tequila a day. They were inundated by letters from people suffering from lung cancer requesting John Wayne’s operation-they had seen him interviewed on TV and marvelled at how well he looked. Harassed doctors had to explain they were just NOT John Wayne, and they couldn’t make John Waynes of them. Biographer, Maurice Zolotow, wrote that he appeared to be supernormal; how else could he have gone on to make films at fifty seven, possessed of only one lung, always on location, many in faraway places, and requiring the greatest physical effort, “He could do it for he exists on another plane.”
Duke was now trapped in the legend and, no matter the cost, he found he had no choice but to carry on playing the part of John Wayne. It was a virtuoso performance, and whilst he might have existed on another plane to devoted observers, he was in fact an invalid who had difficulty walking, who still coughed heavily, and who frequently needed oxygen. He bought a golf cart to use around the grounds of his home so he could still go outside with his children. He was not prepared for outsiders to know the full extent of his disability, he only told them what he wanted them to know.
Apart from his physical weakness he also kept the severe and debilitating depression, another legacy of the operations and illness, well hidden. He had suffered several bouts of depression in his life but things took a drastic turn for the worse before he finally set out for Durango. He was emotionally drained and he wrapped himself in dark and sombre thoughts and refused to let anyone in to help, even the wife who had devoted herself to his recovery, and who was hurt now to be shut out. Duke knew she was angry with him but felt that, having given every ounce of strength to surviving, it was unfair of her to expect more from him. He didn’t want to talk to her about how he felt and he resented her probing his deepest wounds. He wanted to forget what had happened, wanted to feel strong again and, more than anything else, he wanted to be the man he had been before. Deep in his heart he already knew he never would be. The knowledge terrified him, left him quick to flare up, and they fell to arguing again at the time he most needed peace.
He told her he believed the only way forward was to put it all behind them, to make a new start in a new home far away from the sad memories, close to his beloved ocean, and of course, to get back to work as soon as he could. Pilar had her own thoughts about what he should be doing to get better but his plan for survival included getting back on a horse to fulfil promises made long ago, in a different life. Pilar said, “I was furious with him. He was in such agony but he simply couldn’t stop.” He didn’t need her to tell him he was being stupid, that he must be out of his mind to go back, painfully reminding him, as though he needed to be told, that he could hardly walk, that their children needed him, and that he would be killing himself if he went off to Durango. He was angry at his own weakness and even angrier with her for drawing attention to it. He ignored the pain and the weakness and he ignored Pilar’s entreaties; just fourteen weeks after his two operations he was back at work!
Somehow his miraculous survival created exactly the new image he had been searching for before disaster struck. Hal Wallis, the producer of Katie Elder, said, “In real life he’d now battled a deadly foe, beaten the odds and emerged victorious. Duke acted his part to perfection and his courage and fighting spirit made him an even greater hero than he’d ever been on screen. His fans were awed and he won a host of converts.”
He invited the Press to watch his comeback. His film sets had always been open and, no matter how desolate or isolated the location, they never failed to show up to watch Duke at work in his natural element. This time they turned out in droves to witness the efforts of a fifty seven year old who had lost forty pounds, whose right shoulder was immobile, who still suffered the painful effects of the ruptured disc in his spine, a man with only one lung and a tremendously painful fresh scar running around his left side, and on top of that, a man going through the agony of tobacco withdrawal.
Making The Sons of Katie Elder had become vitally important to that man, but his performance before the cameras of the Press was equally so. Old friend Henry Hathaway was directing the picture and he also took control and managed Duke’s re-entry into the public eye. He was sure that hard work was the key to ultimate recovery, “Don’t baby yourself,” he told him, “or you’ll become a psychological cripple. The way to get over what you’ve been through is to forget it ever happened and get on with your life.” It seemed like good advice from a fellow survivor of cancer and was exactly what Duke wanted to hear, and the words he heard from Hathaway allowed him to ignore his wife’s stern warnings, “Aw, what does she know?”
On the flight down to Durango he had to use the oxygen mask constantly, and when he emerged from the plane he was unable to catch his breath in air that was too thin for normally healthy people. He had ignored Pilar to his cost and was now forced to concede her wisdom, “I guess she was right all along.” He shouldn’t have gone until he was fully recovered and now he was about to fall flat on his face in front of the world’s gathered Press. Every painful movement let him know that he should have heeded her. His whole left side and arm ached unbearably, and the scar felt raw and stingingly new. Still, he was there, face to face with dozens of reporters and photographers who were waiting to greet his return. He knew they were also there to check out his every step, every wince of pain and every wheezy breath he drew.
When he had first walked away from Encino he had been determined that everything would go to plan, but as he stepped from the plane into the blast of flash bulbs exploding in his face he was hit by the unexpectedly frosty atmosphere of high altitude. He turned deathly white and the photographers caught his expression which was later described on every front page as “haggard.” The world wanted to know if he could still ride, fight and rid the world of bad man, if he was still John Wayne. If he faltered in front of the media now, the career he had built on the foundation of endurance and heroism in the face of pain was over. Somehow, dr
iven by that knowledge, he managed to stay on his feet and get through his initial arrival at Durango.
He was equally determined to get through the film, however tough things got, and Hathaway, who knew how important it was for the star to survive the ordeal, planned being anything but gentle with him. The director was well aware as soon as he saw Duke that he had made the effort too early, but now he was there he had to get through it or he would never try again and he would be finished. He should have been at home in bed, heeding his doctors, instead he was working in freezing conditions and fighting for his life against an increasing feeling of weakness, with the press watching his every faltering step. Their reports went not only into the entertainment pages, they hit the front pages too, his survival was big news, but if he died in Durango it would be even bigger news.
When he first arrived in Mexico he had a bad cold and kept his oxygen close at all times, but he felt happy to be back doing what he did best and was relieved to have found an outlet for the pressure that had been building up inside ever since his escape from hospital. He was particularly pleased to be working with Dean Martin again. Martin had the knack of making him laugh, he shared his zest for living, his love of alcohol and films, and he helped Hathaway bring Duke back to life. They spent most of their evenings drinking and singing their hearts out and Martin commented, “Anyone else would have laid around feeling sorry for themselves. But he just doesn’t know how to be sick … He’s recuperating the hard way.”
Duke believed in what he was doing; if he hadn’t been sure of himself, he would never have invited the Press to witness his comeback, “The operation hasn’t impeded anything except that I get short of breath quickly, particularly here at higher altitude … that slows me down. I still intend doing all my own fights and all that stuff. I’d probably do a bit more if I had more wind. I still do more than my share. Nobody else does anything more than I do, whether they’re young or old. I don’t have to assert my virility. I think my career has shown I’m not exactly a pantywaist. But I do take pride in my work, even to the point of being the first on the set in the morning. I’m a professional.”
Wallis said, “In Durango he amazed me. He showed no sign of weakness. He did all his own riding. He roped steers and did the fight scenes without a double.”
He was desperately trying to enjoy himself. He wanted to have some fun and forget the horrors of the last months. He laughed and joked with everyone on set, for long periods he even managed to suppress the cough, but those who knew him best saw the changes and noticed the distant look and the forced smile; Duke might be back in the saddle where he belonged, but he was not the same as before. There were fleeting moments when he couldn’t keep the act up, times when he was too tired to do anything but sprawl out on his bed, and times when the mask slipped. But his future happiness depended on how things went in Durango and he put every ounce of his energy into making Katie Elder.
His distinctive voice took on a strange cragginess in the thin air. He couldn’t sit his horse properly and he was well aware he looked awkward and uncomfortable rather than tall in the saddle as in the past. Every movement was agony but Hathaway refused to pity him or make any allowances. He had always been hard on his crews and stars and he knew Duke would soon realize if he was given any special treatment, so he resorted to Ford’s tactics of being especially tough on him. Perhaps he hadn’t been fair, but he believed it was the best way to get Duke through what he faced. The film was full of action and Duke had known when he first accepted the part that he would be required to perform several difficult stunts, of course he hadn’t been ill then, but he had given Hathaway his word and now, however bad he felt he had to go through with things. Many of the shots could have been given to a double, but neither man had any intention of using one for even the toughest scenes, despite the fact that Duke had a long history of getting injured doing his own stunts. He never complained about his aches and pains but he did find one sequence particularly rugged. He had to jump off a wagon into an icy river whilst manacled to another actor and carry out a long gun battle in wet clothes from under a bridge. Chuck Roberson, Duke’s stunt double, pleaded with Hathaway to use him, he saw no sense in killing the star, but the director refused every entreaty. He wouldn’t even permit him to wear a wet suit under his costume like the rest of the cast, “You’re too fat Duke and it will be noticed.” Poor Duke was occasionally heard laughing feebly as he pretended all was well and as he tried to prove, perhaps to himself, that he was still the man he had always been. He did everything in his power for Hathaway but it was also an attempt to forget what had happened, it was his own way of getting his life back on course. It took five cruel days to produce shots that satisfied Hathaway but Duke managed to joke with newsmen who caught him warming up after one icy take with a drink of what locals called la gaselina, a 120 proof liquid, “Goddamn! I’m the stuff men are made of!” They watched in awe as he threw his head back and, closing steel blue eyes, shuddered against the cold.
He was standing proudly bare-chested, his spare tyre exposed, displaying his scars for the entire world to see and photograph, “That’s it boys, that’s where they cut me up to get the Big C.” It wasn’t his style to talk openly about what had happened to him, but they had presented him with a golden opportunity, and they could do him and other cancer sufferers a service, “I decided that if I continued saying something about cancer, showed them what had happened to me, it might stop some poor slob putting a gun in his mouth.” He told the gathered pressmen the very things he refused to talk to Pilar about, showing the livid scars he would rather have kept covered, so others might benefit, but also to prove the point, “I’m the stuff men are made of!” The story they wrote after his dazzling display in Durango made him the stuff of legend. When they caught him in that one off-guard moment he was quick to seize the chance, convinced his future depended on them and the image they printed.
Only a few days later a photographer took a picture of him gasping and struggling to breathe as he held his oxygen mask to his face. Duke exploded with rage and furiously demanded the film. He knew the instant he blew up that his reaction was a big mistake; the last thing he had wanted was to appear desperate. After cooling down, he wandered over to the motel dining room where the crew and press were gathered. He approached the group of photographers and said in a loud voice so everyone could hear, “I’m a grown man. I ought to be able to control myself better than I did today. I’m sorry. I know I came back too early, but I had to. I can’t stand being idle. I have to work.” Hathaway offered his own explanation for Duke’s unusual behavior, “It knocked him to be sick. He suddenly found out he was vulnerable. The humiliation has been the hardest thing for him to recover from. It’s not his image that’s been hurt, it’s his pride.”
Everything had been planned for his comfort in Durango, he had his own make-up man, his own trainer to massage aching muscles with foul smelling oil, causing Hathaway to joke, “Old actors don’t die, they just smell that way!” No one dared smoke around him, though he never asked anyone not to. He had an unlimited supply of cough drops, chewing gum, and he cleaned Durango out of his favorite peppermint wafers. Then, as soon as he stepped back in front of the camera, his mood brightened perceptibly. He was back in control and able to push every worry about his physical condition to the back of his mind, it was business as usual.
Pilar hadn’t gone to Durango but she was so worried about him that, two weeks into production, she flew down to join him. To the Press he appeared much as he always had, “What went into his mouth might be different, but what came out wasn’t noticeably so.” The prying eyes missed the odd grimace of pain when he pulled himself into the saddle, but his wife knew he was far from well, far from his best, and she knew he would push himself too hard, knew he was likely to die giving this performance. Even so, when she arrived in Mexico she was shocked by his appearance.
His condition had deteriorated rapidly since she had kissed him goodbye in Encino and he had obviously
not kept his promise to look after himself. At first he was overjoyed to see her, grateful she was there to support him through his toughest ever assignment. Then she began nagging him, “I trusted you to do the right thing. This can’t be right Duke. I’ve never doubted you or your ability until now. You’re being crazy. You’re too old and ill to be staying in a seedy hotel room with bottles of oxygen for company. Nothing can be worth what you are doing to yourself, to me and the children. I just want you alive and home, safe with us. Your image isn’t worth dying for.”
It was the last thing he wanted to hear; he wanted her strength to lean on. He didn’t want her to remind him about his weakness, he wanted reassurance that he was still the man he had always been, the same father, lover, and most importantly, the same star he had been. He had gone to Durango to prove that and he snapped, “Mind your own business, you take care of the children and I’ll make the movies.” She didn’t think the image was worth dying for, to him it was everything. Having a wife and children he idolized and a film star’s lifestyle had never been enough for him. He had to find a way to get his life back, or die looking.