by C McGivern
Duke and Pilar clashed again over a scene Hathaway was planning where he had to be pulled into a frozen lake and then stand fighting in the water for three or four minutes, soaked to the skin. Once again no double was to be used and he was determined to go through with it. Pilar refused to watch him film the scene, but three year old Ethan stayed on set with Mary St John to watch his dad. Hathaway, not wanting to risk more than one take, had multiple cameras set up to capture the action from every angle.
Thick ice had to be broken from the lake’s surface before Duke could be pulled into the water by his three co-stars; he later admitted sheepishly that he had been crazy, the water was much colder than he had anticipated, “My body went numb immediately, I landed in the water badly and couldn’t catch my breath as I surfaced. I felt panicked when I hit the air.” Somehow he managed to carry on, determined to finish the scene. He heard a frightened scream in the distance, but had no idea it was Ethan, crying “Daddy” in terror. Hathaway allowed the action to continue even though he knew the boy’s scream had been picked up by the microphones.
He knew Duke wouldn’t be able to get through a second take, and well-remembered his fury after the fire scene in Circus World. When he finally clambered out of the lake his body was shaking uncontrollably, he was gasping for air and his mouth was turning blue as his good lung started to collapse. He was aware of the press corps advancing toward him. This was exactly what they had come to see; not his success, not his effort, not his recovery. Hathaway and Martin were immediately at his side, pushing the photographers away. Oxygen was produced, a blanket was thrown around his shoulders, and the crisis passed quickly.
Mary, watching the scene, holding Ethan’s hand, said, “I had always thought of Duke as indestructible, but I guess lung cancer had been something out of his control. He was in the greatest pain after they cut it out, there was no way he could avoid it, every time he coughed or moved. His recovery was slow and painful. When he decided to carry on making the film he told me, “I’ve got to learn to live without that lung, the sooner I start the better.” Making Katie Elder was just terrible for him. With normal lungs in good condition it was hard to breathe. When they dragged him into that icy water what they wanted of course was to catch Mr Wayne’s expression; that was why no double could be used. They did the scene but it nearly killed him, he came up gasping and it was caught on camera, and they kept it in, they never cut that!” Mary understood his determination better than anyone, “I watched him strive over so many years, and I knew that nothing would stop him, no matter how badly he hurt. He had to prove himself to the people around him, the people that mattered.”
Once the director wrapped everything up there was nothing left for Duke to do but go home and wait to see if the public would accept him, wait to see if the moguls would offer him any more parts. And in the meantime he planned to get back into shape, to work even harder after a reporter irritated him by commenting on his spare tyre, “I admit I’m balding, I admit I got a tyre around my middle. What man of 57 doesn’t? Big news!” He began lifting weights and tried to go back to scuba diving and swimming but found it difficult and frustrating to exercise at all. When he went diving he couldn’t inhale enough oxygen from his tank to enable him to go very deep and he was forced to re-surface after only a few minutes. He ripped off his mask and screamed his fury, “Goddammit! I’ll never have any more fun.”
By the time The Sons of Katie Elder premiered in August 1965 America was under the cloud of Vietnam and its people were again living in a threatening society. Many were desperate for their old heroes, symbols of their traditions, and they were longing to see John Wayne back in the saddle. He offered comfort and protection from the fears of their normal lives. They loved Katie Elder, the Duke was safely back in a world where there were no doubts or uncertainty, where men could make their own rules and live by them. He wasn’t finished; he was only just starting.
At home too, he was looking for a new start. Even before going off to Durango he had told Pilar he hated living in Encino. His bedroom with the green bottles and austere bed reminded him of his ordeal and, with so many of his friends gone, he no longer saw any reason to stay so close to Hollywood. Pilar often found him forlornly wandering round the house or staring sadly into a room, haunted by the ghosts he saw there. When the estate was broken into by a fan he decided the time had come to get out. He saw it as a positive move, the final part of his recovery and he was sure that getting closer to the ocean would do him good. Pilar was weary of Los Angeles and the movie colony herself, tired of his world and the unfair demands it made on every member of the Wayne family. Together they chose Newport, where he already moored his boat, as the ideal place to go to.
They talked about moving for months, but two days before Christmas 1964 he walked in and stunned Pilar, announcing he had sold the estate to Walt Disney’s daughter. His sudden and unexpected action, taken without a word to her, reduced her to heartbroken tears. He didn’t have a clue why she was so upset; she had already agreed she wanted to move, he never dreamed of consulting her about accepting a good offer for the property. She was angry about his high-handed action, upset that she seemed to have no identity of her own, she was Mrs John Wayne and he made every decision in their lives. She had allowed him to dominate her life, now the worm was about to turn, things had to change. She was swift in exacting her revenge.
When he was away filming in Durango, she bought a new family home in Newport Beach, without even telling him about the purchase. She expected fireworks from him when she confessed but he took her news calmly enough, apparently happy about relinquishing some responsibility, “I’ve always liked Newport Beach. I’ll be happy there if you are.” Illness had definitely changed him.
Whilst he had accepted the house purchase, Pilar had become increasingly worried about the other changes she noticed in him. He was less open, more withdrawn and his temper, always fiery, became almost uncontrolled as his frustration with life and death built up. Her concern led her to discuss his outbursts with his doctor who explained that patients who had suffered as he had, sometimes did undergo a complete change of personality. Whatever the cause, she found the changes hard to swallow, “Before the operations he was the strongest, kindest and most loving man I had ever known, with the sweetest, gentlest disposition.” When he left hospital he was unreasonably angry and irritable, and their warm relationship was badly affected. Still, whilst the problems between them grew, they were only part of a complex web of emotional and personal difficulties that beset the lonely Duke.
The children were growing up, bringing all the trauma of adolescence into his life. They no longer wanted to spend all their free time on location with him; they saw no great privilege in being dragged halfway round the world to sit in a dusty motel waiting for him to appear. They wanted to stay home with their friends, they wanted to play at the beach, they wanted to be like other children, and Pilar sided with them, “I had no desire to watch him punishing himself, always trying to prove himself, knowing he would fly into a rage the moment I made any comment.” During one of their more fraught moments she screamed at him, “What’s the matter with you? Have you lost your mind as well as your lung?” He stared at her, stunned, not understanding the woman in front of him, a woman who had never questioned him throughout ten years of marriage, and he was suddenly scared. He felt a lot older than her. He was sick and struggling. He wanted the old Pilar back, not this woman who had become a stranger to him. It hit him hard that his adored wife seemed lost to him when he needed her most.
In a six month period he had battled cancer, sold his home and made another film. During those months life had been chaotic for the whole family but Pilar struggled the most and she felt she had undergone an ordeal as great as his own. She thought he should have been more tolerant of her needs. She hoped that in time he would revert to being his old loving self and that their lives would settle down as he began to accept the many changes he faced after moving to Newport. She was whistlin
g in the wind and whilst she and the children settled in and soon made new friends, he felt more and more isolated there.
Pilar began building her new independent, adult identity once she escaped the pressure of Hollywood. She took up tennis, launched her own business, the Fernleaf Café, and she left the Roman Catholic Church to convert to Christian Science. She all but excluded him from her new life and, in so doing she destroyed all his hopes for the future. That he should survive cancer and save his career after such a mighty struggle, only to find he had lost his most prized possession at the last moment seemed ironic, and entirely typical.
Newport Beach, that rich, upper-class area of Orange County, should have been the perfect home for John Wayne, and he certainly loved the new house that Pilar had chosen on Bayshore Drive. It was less private than the Encino estate, but his new patio faced the ocean, providing a perfect view of Balboa Island out across the bay. He sat out there whenever he could, often for hours at a time, watching the sea and the boats sail past the end of his garden. The stretch of water soon became a favorite haunt for tourists but they never troubled him, and he often waved happily for their cameras and shouted out hearty greetings to passing fans. He should have felt contentment; instead he was full of all the old familiar restlessness.
Alterations to the house had started and he had always enjoyed big remodelling projects before. Pilar hoped things would return to normal once he became involved in her plans. She was excited about the house and he joined in, trying his best to be who she wanted him to be. He said nothing about his feelings but nonetheless he feared for their future, he was scared he had already lost her, despite his best efforts. When he returned from filming Katie Elder he hardly ventured away from her side, he huddled close and listened to her ideas for his future, “I want you to take life a little easier Duke.” He did what he could because he wanted to keep her. He sat still as long as possible although inevitably, on occasion, his restlessness broke through. Pilar expected it of him and tolerated the nervous tension because it was so much a part of his character. Still, it pleased her to see him relaxing out on the patio instead of pacing fretfully around it. He liked to please her and went to great lengths in his effort to hold onto his prize, even agreeing to attend a few dinner parties in Newport with her. In his heart he knew the strained peace wouldn’t last, it was too difficult for him to sit around the house, and although he had signed no new contracts he could sense the urge to work welling up inside, even if his wife failed to spot it.
He began exhibiting all the signs of a caged animal with increasingly frequent outbursts of frustration and temper; Pilar admitted, “Almost dying hadn’t altered his priorities.” They both stared at defeat. Even if the man she had loved had gone forever, this man’s need to work had not diminished with him.
There was no way he could take things easy whatever else had changed for him. And things were different; his voice had altered, seeming harsher than before, friends noticed the faraway look in his eyes, he was more withdrawn, more guarded. The changes were hardly surprising; it would have been more surprising if he had emerged unscathed.
Pilar didn’t much like the man who had survived, and she couldn’t understand the anger that burned in him; he had nearly died, but he had recovered, why was he still so bitter? Many years later, when it was too late for them, she came to realize that he had been angry with himself, not her, unable to forgive himself for not being the superman everyone expected him to be. His brush with death had forced him to face the fact that he was only human, and that he shared all humanity’s frailties.
His temper was only one of his many weaknesses and in 1965 Pilar was not willing to put up with them. She wanted her husband back whole, the way he’d been, but in fact she wanted more than that, she wanted to develop her own identity, so recently discovered. She had been happy to play the role of Mrs John Wayne whilst he remained happy and strong, but now, on top of his acquired aggression, she found his sadness and weakness a huge strain. He wasn’t fun anymore and she was dissatisfied with the position she held in his life. Just as he was restless and quick tempered, Pilar was unhappy and distressed by the way things were turning out. She felt cheated and directed the displeasure she felt with the man he had become against his most treasured possession, The Wild Goose. She began skipping the sailing trips whenever she could and when she did go with him they argued all the time. He was once overheard angrily whispering, “Well, you don’t have to make it so goddamn obvious to everyone that you want a divorce.” She moaned at him, “You don’t know how to treat a woman.” He just moaned. He had heard the complaint so many times before; he accepted the truth of it. Each of his wives had felt deserted by the man they loved, and he felt equally let down, first by Josie, then Chata and now by his adored Pilar.
When she refused to go on location with him, refused to sail with him and went out playing tennis or to church instead, he took it as a sign of disloyalty rather than recognizing her unhappiness. He loved her but took the changes he saw as lack of interest in him. He was filled with dread, afraid she was about to leave him for a younger, healthier man, and now he was no longer fit, the age gap seemed to make a big difference to their marriage. He assumed her coolness meant he no longer satisfied her.
The insecurity he felt was shown in small and unusual ways; he had never been vain but he began wearing his toupee whenever she was around and when she asked him to stop smoking the occasional thin cigars he had taken to, he gave them up straight away. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, but he was sure she was slipping out of his grasp, “Damn it, I bend over backwards to please her, but no matter what I do, she just doesn’t seem to care anymore. I really don’t know what the hell to do.” He had been the one who had suffered the ravages of cancer but she had emerged the more damaged and he didn’t know how to make her feel better. They blamed each other and neither understood why they were being driven apart. They both wanted things back the way they had once been but could do nothing about the changes that had occurred in their developing personalities. The very things they had each loved in the other had evaporated; they were left little more than strangers. They both stubbornly refused to give up hope and when Pilar converted to Christian Science she managed to persuade him to go to church with her. She wanted him to see for himself why she had become so deeply involved in religion. He went with her but sat fidgeting throughout the service, just as he had at his mother’s side a lifetime away, and when he finally escaped the torture he moaned, “I can’t sit still that long Pilar!” She knew he hadn’t heard a thing, nothing had reached him, he was far too strong minded to need to go to church, “I believe in God. I don’t need to go to church to prove it or to hold a conversation with The Man Upstairs.” Church was off the agenda.
He missed the old Pilar but still enjoyed playing with his children when they consented to go sailing with him. He turned to them for the excuse he needed to have fun, he enjoyed playing Monopoly or cards with them, and was happy to spend an entire day fishing off the back of the boat with Ethan and Marisa. Not too far below the surface he had retained something of the child about him and the skipper of The Wild Goose, Bert Minshall, said, “His enthusiasms were big and his pleasures many. The simplest things gave him the greatest amusement.” He kept live anchovies for bait in a salt water tank on the deck and he could often be seen with his arm in the tank manoeuvring a rubber shark in a Jaws-like attack on the tiny fish, laughing helplessly. He also enjoyed swimming with his children and he taught them all a healthy respect for the sea. In some ways he taught them too well; for years they refused to enter the water unless he led the way, working on the theory that if there were sharks around they would go after him first. When he entered the water he glided around, completely submerged for some time, then broke surface to bellow at the top of his voice, “Jeeezzusss Christ!!!! It’s COLD!”
The kids giggled at the ritual before diving in to show their frail father how warm it really was. His general comment, “You kids are t
oo tough for me,” left everyone laughing before they began their favorite game, trying their best to drown him. They scrambled onto his shoulders and pushed his bald head under as each of them endeavored to become king of the floating mountain. Frequently he laughed so much he nearly did drown as he choked on a lung-full of salt water. He rigged a make-shift diving board to the bow of The Goose and all the crew and family took it in turns to show off. One day when the skipper stepped onto the board in front of his boss, there was a loud crack as it snapped under his feet, sending him splashing into the water. When he surfaced it was to the roar of Duke’s laughter, “Gee, Bert! I wish I could do that.”
Bert agreed that the changes in him were obvious after 1964, “He was more volatile with a temper quick to erupt,” but he added, “He was just as good natured as before, still full of fun. He wasn’t one to hold grudges. He could and did blow up with a fury that was sometimes surprising… but once he calmed down it was as if someone had pulled the burning fuse from a bundle of dynamite.”
Pilar rarely went along to join in the fun. Duke missed her company badly, but in spite of the difficulties in his personal life, surviving the onslaught of a sure-fire killer had turned him into a legend of mythic proportion. He had been a high-flying Hollywood star for many years, but his stardom accelerated rapidly into superstardom as the story unfolded. As the image grew and burned more brightly, those closest to him disappeared deeper into the shadow he cast and were left far behind as he was turned into an icon by the media. All seven of his children were aware he was special, they had always understood that the time he could give them was limited, but now even those times became fewer as public demand for him grew. His wife and children had difficulty coming to terms with this super-being who had little in common with the husband and father they had known before cancer struck. John Wayne had survived to ride the range stronger, more powerful than ever, but the last remnants of Marion Morrison seemed to have been lost to those who cared about him most.