Paul Colt's Blog, page 45
January 28, 2017
Gunfighters: It Depends on Who You Ask
After researching and writing about the rogues’ gallery of colorful characters featured in this series, a couple of observations jumped out to me. The first is the unbelievable amount of overlap in their stories. Many of them knew each other. At various times they rode on opposite sides of the law or teamed up to face common opposition.
We know the Earp brothers famously went to the gunfight near the OK Corral with their friend Doc Holiday. What isn’t so well known is that prominent gunfighters, gamblers and friends Bat Masterson and Luke Short played the Oriental Saloon in the weeks leading up to the legendary show down. Both left town on other business and missed the festivities.
Dirty Dave Rudabaugh along with “Mysterious” Dave Mather rode through the lawless side of New Mexico with what became known as the Dodge City Gang. Early in his outlaw career in Kansas Rudabaugh was pursued and arrested by then Sheriff Bat Masterson. Later Masterson was hired by the Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe to provide the muscle needed to defend AT&SF interests against rival Denver & Rio Grande railroad in a dispute known as the Royal Gorge War. Rudabaugh joined Masterson along with Doc Holiday, “Mysterious” Dave and Ben Thompson. Talk about a high profile posse.
Dodge City hosted a dust-up over Luke Short’s ownership interest in Chalk Beeson’s Long Branch Saloon. When the town’s political establishment decided to run Luke out of town, Short put out a call for help. Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Charlie Bassett and others answered. Short prevailed backed by a formidable assemblage of notorious gunnies, famously known as the Dodge City Peace Commission.
Ben Thompson and Phil Coe had their respective disputes with Wild Bill Hickock during the time they owned the Bull’s Head Saloon in Abilene. John Wesley Hardin was a regular at the Bulls head in those days. While the four of them strolled around town like competing roosters in a hen yard, they never really came to confrontation, other than Hickock killing Coe when Coe was too drunk to defend himself.
Which brings me to my second observation about all these coincidental acquaintances. The big reputations tended to give each other a wide birth. Big guns avoided throwing down on their peers. Call it healthy respect. So here are their stories, controversies and all. Take ‘em for what they’re worth; and enjoy. Hands-up, don’t shoot the messenger.
Next Week: Wild Bill Hickok
Return to Facebook to comment
Ride easy,
Paul
Photo-art by Jim Hatzell
https://www.flickr.com/photos/fiddler...
We know the Earp brothers famously went to the gunfight near the OK Corral with their friend Doc Holiday. What isn’t so well known is that prominent gunfighters, gamblers and friends Bat Masterson and Luke Short played the Oriental Saloon in the weeks leading up to the legendary show down. Both left town on other business and missed the festivities.
Dirty Dave Rudabaugh along with “Mysterious” Dave Mather rode through the lawless side of New Mexico with what became known as the Dodge City Gang. Early in his outlaw career in Kansas Rudabaugh was pursued and arrested by then Sheriff Bat Masterson. Later Masterson was hired by the Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe to provide the muscle needed to defend AT&SF interests against rival Denver & Rio Grande railroad in a dispute known as the Royal Gorge War. Rudabaugh joined Masterson along with Doc Holiday, “Mysterious” Dave and Ben Thompson. Talk about a high profile posse.
Dodge City hosted a dust-up over Luke Short’s ownership interest in Chalk Beeson’s Long Branch Saloon. When the town’s political establishment decided to run Luke out of town, Short put out a call for help. Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Charlie Bassett and others answered. Short prevailed backed by a formidable assemblage of notorious gunnies, famously known as the Dodge City Peace Commission.
Ben Thompson and Phil Coe had their respective disputes with Wild Bill Hickock during the time they owned the Bull’s Head Saloon in Abilene. John Wesley Hardin was a regular at the Bulls head in those days. While the four of them strolled around town like competing roosters in a hen yard, they never really came to confrontation, other than Hickock killing Coe when Coe was too drunk to defend himself.
Which brings me to my second observation about all these coincidental acquaintances. The big reputations tended to give each other a wide birth. Big guns avoided throwing down on their peers. Call it healthy respect. So here are their stories, controversies and all. Take ‘em for what they’re worth; and enjoy. Hands-up, don’t shoot the messenger.
Next Week: Wild Bill Hickok
Return to Facebook to comment
Ride easy,
Paul
Photo-art by Jim Hatzell
https://www.flickr.com/photos/fiddler...
January 21, 2017
Creative Abstractions
The screen plays for both True Grit films are abstractions of the original work; but generally less so than might otherwise be the case. The reason is because both scripts use Charles Portis’ dialogue from the book almost word for word. It is a tribute to Portis and it should be. He wrote a great book.
Why is the Portis dialog so important to both films? Along with my practice of not viewing or reading both movie and book, I’m not a fan of writing the brand. Writing the brand is the practice of having one or more authors continue to write a popular series under the name of the original author after that author passes away. It seldom works. One of the authors who influenced my writing is Robert B. Parker. He wrote the Hitch and Cole series of Appaloosa fame. Hitch and Cole may be the best pair of literary characters to come down the western genre since Lonesome Dove, largely because of Parker’s gritty dialogue. That series continues following Parker’s unfortunate passing. I never thought it would work. It does because the ghost writer, Robert Knott, wrote the screen play for the film Appaloosa. He can carry Parker’s dialogue. The True Grit screen writers for both films were smart to stick with the dialogue as Portis wrote it. The screen plays get their creative abstraction from the second source, the directors.
Of the two films, the Cohen brothers remake stays closer to the book. The remake retains the poignant last scene from the book where a one armed, adult Mattie Ross searches for Rooster Cogburn only to find he has passed away. Hathaway’s original film ends with Rooster saying his farewells to young Mattie as she tends her murdered father’s grave. It’s not a bad ending; but having read the book it struck me as a pointless change that weakened the story. Score on for the remake.
Once the directors get done with their work, next come the actors. Here again the original and the remake depart from one another. Jeff Bridges is a fine actor. John Wayne owns Rooster Cogburn. Not Bridges fault. Score one for the original. Next comes Hailee Steinfeld. Her Mattie Ross carried the remake. My opinion, she should have won an Oscar. Kim Darby couldn’t do fourteen. Matt Damon and Josh Brolin made a stronger supporting cast in the remake than the original. Score two for the remake.
One of the most interesting aspects of researching this post came about from reading the book after having seen both movies. As I read the Portis’ dialogue I could hear the characters in my head. John Wayne as Rooster, Hailee Steinfeld voicing Mattie. Score one for each movie.
All that creative departure from an author’s original work can be painful for some authors. I’ve never had a book cross the chasm. Chances are, I never will. If I ever do, at least I know the answer to the question: What is the intrepid author crossing the chasm to do? Cash the check.
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
Why is the Portis dialog so important to both films? Along with my practice of not viewing or reading both movie and book, I’m not a fan of writing the brand. Writing the brand is the practice of having one or more authors continue to write a popular series under the name of the original author after that author passes away. It seldom works. One of the authors who influenced my writing is Robert B. Parker. He wrote the Hitch and Cole series of Appaloosa fame. Hitch and Cole may be the best pair of literary characters to come down the western genre since Lonesome Dove, largely because of Parker’s gritty dialogue. That series continues following Parker’s unfortunate passing. I never thought it would work. It does because the ghost writer, Robert Knott, wrote the screen play for the film Appaloosa. He can carry Parker’s dialogue. The True Grit screen writers for both films were smart to stick with the dialogue as Portis wrote it. The screen plays get their creative abstraction from the second source, the directors.
Of the two films, the Cohen brothers remake stays closer to the book. The remake retains the poignant last scene from the book where a one armed, adult Mattie Ross searches for Rooster Cogburn only to find he has passed away. Hathaway’s original film ends with Rooster saying his farewells to young Mattie as she tends her murdered father’s grave. It’s not a bad ending; but having read the book it struck me as a pointless change that weakened the story. Score on for the remake.
Once the directors get done with their work, next come the actors. Here again the original and the remake depart from one another. Jeff Bridges is a fine actor. John Wayne owns Rooster Cogburn. Not Bridges fault. Score one for the original. Next comes Hailee Steinfeld. Her Mattie Ross carried the remake. My opinion, she should have won an Oscar. Kim Darby couldn’t do fourteen. Matt Damon and Josh Brolin made a stronger supporting cast in the remake than the original. Score two for the remake.
One of the most interesting aspects of researching this post came about from reading the book after having seen both movies. As I read the Portis’ dialogue I could hear the characters in my head. John Wayne as Rooster, Hailee Steinfeld voicing Mattie. Score one for each movie.
All that creative departure from an author’s original work can be painful for some authors. I’ve never had a book cross the chasm. Chances are, I never will. If I ever do, at least I know the answer to the question: What is the intrepid author crossing the chasm to do? Cash the check.
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
January 14, 2017
The Chasm
The euphoria attended to having your book made into a film starts with an option. Film maker’s purchase the right to make a film based on your book. As an author, you get paid. How good is that? Really good if it happens. For most of us, it doesn’t. For the fortunate few, reality comes later.
A few years after that first convention a non-fiction book titled Blood and Thunder by Hampton Sides won a Spur Award. The book, something like five hundred pages, recounts the life and times of Kit Carson. It is an excellent book. I read it. Kirk Ellis optioned it. Very exciting. I asked him how you make a film out of a book of that length. His answer surprised me. “You don’t” he said. You make a film out of one chapter; or some other combination of highly condensed excerpts. You mean they are going to cut up My Book? Yes they are. Well, maybe they are. It’s ‘maybe’ because, come to find out, only about one option in twenty actually get made into film. Ask Hampton Sides.
For purposes of these pages, let’s assume our book is one of those that actually gets made. Next come the abstractions. The abstractions are best understood in terms of examples. Let’s use True Grit. The book was written by Charles Portis. It crossed the chasm to film twice. The original, directed by Henry Hathaway, starred John Wayne, Kim Darby and Glen Campbell. The remake, produced by the Cohen brothers with Steven Spielberg starred Jeff Bridges, Hailee Steinfeld, Matt Damon and Josh Brolin. We could actually do a post series on remakes. In some cases they work and in others they don’t. Maybe we’ll do that series one of these days.
True Grit makes the best illustration I can come up with for the abstractions you get crossing the chasm. As a rule, if I read the book I don’t see the movie and vice versa. In the True Grit case, I’d seen both movies. For purposes of this comparison, I broke the rule and read the book. The experience was enlightening. The abstractions are easy to spot because all three interpretations have one thing in common. They all used author Charles Portis’ excellent dialogue. That makes a great jumping off point for next week.
Next Week: Creative Abstractions
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
A few years after that first convention a non-fiction book titled Blood and Thunder by Hampton Sides won a Spur Award. The book, something like five hundred pages, recounts the life and times of Kit Carson. It is an excellent book. I read it. Kirk Ellis optioned it. Very exciting. I asked him how you make a film out of a book of that length. His answer surprised me. “You don’t” he said. You make a film out of one chapter; or some other combination of highly condensed excerpts. You mean they are going to cut up My Book? Yes they are. Well, maybe they are. It’s ‘maybe’ because, come to find out, only about one option in twenty actually get made into film. Ask Hampton Sides.
For purposes of these pages, let’s assume our book is one of those that actually gets made. Next come the abstractions. The abstractions are best understood in terms of examples. Let’s use True Grit. The book was written by Charles Portis. It crossed the chasm to film twice. The original, directed by Henry Hathaway, starred John Wayne, Kim Darby and Glen Campbell. The remake, produced by the Cohen brothers with Steven Spielberg starred Jeff Bridges, Hailee Steinfeld, Matt Damon and Josh Brolin. We could actually do a post series on remakes. In some cases they work and in others they don’t. Maybe we’ll do that series one of these days.
True Grit makes the best illustration I can come up with for the abstractions you get crossing the chasm. As a rule, if I read the book I don’t see the movie and vice versa. In the True Grit case, I’d seen both movies. For purposes of this comparison, I broke the rule and read the book. The experience was enlightening. The abstractions are easy to spot because all three interpretations have one thing in common. They all used author Charles Portis’ excellent dialogue. That makes a great jumping off point for next week.
Next Week: Creative Abstractions
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
January 7, 2017
Crossing the Chasm: The Journey from Print to Film
I was a western writer wanna-be when I attend my first Western Writers of America convention in Cody Wyoming back in 2006. As a first time attendee, I took advantage of the opportunity to have a WWA member assigned to mentor my convention experience. I was fortunate to have Steve Lodge assigned as my mentor. As we soon learned Steve had a background in screen writing.
At the opening reception, Steve led us to a table where we were introduced to Kirk Ellis and Andy Fenady. Fenady was there to receive the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement. He created The Rebel TV series in the late 50’s and worked on a few of John Wayne’s western films. Kirk was there to receive a Spur Award for his Hell on Wheels episode in Steven Spielberg’s miniseries Into the West. You may also remember Kirk from the Emmy Award winning HBO miniseries, John Adams. I was there hoping to break into western writing. I knew nothing of making western film. That was about to change.
Kirk Ellis has become a friend over the years attending WWA conventions. He currently serves as WWA President. At one point during that first convention he made the statement, “If you think you have a screen play in you, write the book.” I didn’t understand why he said that at the time; but over the years I now recognize that statement as the foundation for this series of insights.
The first insight came later in the week of that first convention. One of the items offered at the WWA Homestead Foundation auction was a set of scripts for Into the West, complete with Spielberg’s marginal notes. I was able to buy it without mortgaging the ranch and thus began my introduction to the creative chasm one crosses on the journey from print to film.
Readers tell me my writing is very visual. I work at that. It starts with the setting for each scene in a book.
Scenes are set by describing physical surroundings and circumstances in sufficient detail to allow the reader to imagine they are there. What’s the weather like? How does the landscape, building or room look? How do the characters appear? What are the sights, sounds, scents, textures and utensils? You get the picture. It is a picture, a verbal picture. You get that with every scene in a film too, be it big screen or TV. That was my first insight into the differences between writing a book and writing a screen play. Here’s the setting Kirk described for one scene in his award winning script: “Indian encampment. Night.” The camera does the rest.
Next Week: The Chasm
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
At the opening reception, Steve led us to a table where we were introduced to Kirk Ellis and Andy Fenady. Fenady was there to receive the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement. He created The Rebel TV series in the late 50’s and worked on a few of John Wayne’s western films. Kirk was there to receive a Spur Award for his Hell on Wheels episode in Steven Spielberg’s miniseries Into the West. You may also remember Kirk from the Emmy Award winning HBO miniseries, John Adams. I was there hoping to break into western writing. I knew nothing of making western film. That was about to change.
Kirk Ellis has become a friend over the years attending WWA conventions. He currently serves as WWA President. At one point during that first convention he made the statement, “If you think you have a screen play in you, write the book.” I didn’t understand why he said that at the time; but over the years I now recognize that statement as the foundation for this series of insights.
The first insight came later in the week of that first convention. One of the items offered at the WWA Homestead Foundation auction was a set of scripts for Into the West, complete with Spielberg’s marginal notes. I was able to buy it without mortgaging the ranch and thus began my introduction to the creative chasm one crosses on the journey from print to film.
Readers tell me my writing is very visual. I work at that. It starts with the setting for each scene in a book.
Scenes are set by describing physical surroundings and circumstances in sufficient detail to allow the reader to imagine they are there. What’s the weather like? How does the landscape, building or room look? How do the characters appear? What are the sights, sounds, scents, textures and utensils? You get the picture. It is a picture, a verbal picture. You get that with every scene in a film too, be it big screen or TV. That was my first insight into the differences between writing a book and writing a screen play. Here’s the setting Kirk described for one scene in his award winning script: “Indian encampment. Night.” The camera does the rest.
Next Week: The Chasm
Return to Facebook to Comment
Ride easy,
Paul
December 31, 2016
"Oh, Cisco . . . " The Cisco Kid
The Cisco Kid was famously portrayed in movies and on TV by Duncan Renaldo. Partnered with Leo Carrillo as the jovial sometimes bumbling sidekick Pancho, the pair dashed across the American west mounted on Cisco’s signature black and white overo, Diablo and Pancho’s golden palomino, Loco. Cisco and Pancho righted wrong wherever they found it. That’s the character we fondly remember; but that’s not the character that got Cisco his start.
TV promotions attribute the Cisco Kid to an O’Henry character that appeared in the story The Caballero’s Way. O’Henry’s Cisco Kid was a cold-blooded Anglo killer with the boyish charm of Billy the Kid and the social graces of a rattlesnake. Take your choice. Somewhere between O’Henry’s pen and the film and TV portrayals of the same name, the Cisco Kid morphed into a charming, handsome, heroic Hispanic figure, dressed in black, silver and pearl. It was the perfect part for Duncan Renaldo.
Like his character, Duncan Renaldo morphed into his part. When I dug into his biography, I started wondering where I could go with this post. An orphan, the precise date and location of his birth are uncertain. His earliest recollections were of Spain. He reached the U.S. aboard ship working as a seaman sometime in the early 1920’s. He entered the country temporarily. When his ship burned at the dock, he never left. He tried to support himself as an artist. Failing at that, he found his way into films until he was arrested as an illegal alien in the early 1930’s. Facing deportation, Eleanor Roosevelt, one of the few people who ever purchased a Renaldo painting, interceded on his behalf. FDR pardoned him and he returned to film work from 1937 to 1944.
In 1945 Renaldo was paired with Leo Carrillo in the role of Cisco Kid, now characterized as the dashing “Robinhood of the old west”. They made four films before taking the character to the small screen in 1950. The series ran successfully through the spring of 1956, spawning a popular Dell comic book series that remains the object of collector interest to this day.
In the golden age of the western in the fifties and sixties many other TV cowboys would follow the stars profiled in this series; but few would reach the iconic stature of those we remember here. Several of those who came later are worthy of profile on these pages. We’ll visit with them somewhere down the trail.
Next Week: Crossing the Chasm
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
TV promotions attribute the Cisco Kid to an O’Henry character that appeared in the story The Caballero’s Way. O’Henry’s Cisco Kid was a cold-blooded Anglo killer with the boyish charm of Billy the Kid and the social graces of a rattlesnake. Take your choice. Somewhere between O’Henry’s pen and the film and TV portrayals of the same name, the Cisco Kid morphed into a charming, handsome, heroic Hispanic figure, dressed in black, silver and pearl. It was the perfect part for Duncan Renaldo.
Like his character, Duncan Renaldo morphed into his part. When I dug into his biography, I started wondering where I could go with this post. An orphan, the precise date and location of his birth are uncertain. His earliest recollections were of Spain. He reached the U.S. aboard ship working as a seaman sometime in the early 1920’s. He entered the country temporarily. When his ship burned at the dock, he never left. He tried to support himself as an artist. Failing at that, he found his way into films until he was arrested as an illegal alien in the early 1930’s. Facing deportation, Eleanor Roosevelt, one of the few people who ever purchased a Renaldo painting, interceded on his behalf. FDR pardoned him and he returned to film work from 1937 to 1944.
In 1945 Renaldo was paired with Leo Carrillo in the role of Cisco Kid, now characterized as the dashing “Robinhood of the old west”. They made four films before taking the character to the small screen in 1950. The series ran successfully through the spring of 1956, spawning a popular Dell comic book series that remains the object of collector interest to this day.
In the golden age of the western in the fifties and sixties many other TV cowboys would follow the stars profiled in this series; but few would reach the iconic stature of those we remember here. Several of those who came later are worthy of profile on these pages. We’ll visit with them somewhere down the trail.
Next Week: Crossing the Chasm
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
December 24, 2016
Ghost Crossing, Hopalong Cassidy
Doubleday suggested a number of suitable authors to ghostwrite the proposed Hopalong Cassidy novels. Mulford chose a struggling young writer from Los Angeles for his treatment of the Cassidy character in a manner consistent with his original interpretation. The young man’s style too was similar to Mulford’s, giving the stories an intensity the original creator was comfortable with.
The young writer was given the contract under the pseudonym Tex Burns, allowing the publisher to change horses downstream should the need arise. The drama started sometime after the manuscript for the first book arrived. Doubleday suddenly realized, the Hopalong Cassidy in their book didn’t match Boyd’s Hoppy. It had nothing to do with the film idol turning TV icon. It bore no resemblance to the Hoppy about to appear on everything from kid’s pajamas to lunchboxes, wristwatches and matching chrome cap-pistols with white plastic handles. Holy Boyd-bleeped expletive! What to do?
The only sensible thing for the publisher was to get in step with public expectation. The trip back across the chasm can be as rocky as the original crossing. The only thing young Tex Burns hated worse than rewrite was taking orders. Distasteful or not, he needed the money. He swallowed his ego and delivered the four books on his contract. The ghostwriter went on to achieve iconic success in his own right as a western author; but for the remainder of his life, Louis L’Amour denied he ever wrote those Hopalong Cassidy books.
William Boyd parlayed his Hoppy to peer with the greatest American cowboy heroes. He was among those with a cowboy code for his fans, he lived on and off the screen. He made Hoppy a role model for kids and the hero he remains to this day. For all the pride authors take in their work, neither Mulford nor L’Amour could have taken Hopalong Cassidy to the place the character achieved in history. I’m sure neither one would claim he ever intended that brand of notoriety. Perhaps so; but uncounted numbers of us are thankful for the Hopalong Cassidy we have as a cowboy hero.
On the far side of the chasm, astride a high stepping Topper, Hoppy touches the broad brim of his black hat with that soft smile and wheels away down the trail in cloud of dust.
Next Week: “Oh Cisco!” The Cisco Kid
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
The young writer was given the contract under the pseudonym Tex Burns, allowing the publisher to change horses downstream should the need arise. The drama started sometime after the manuscript for the first book arrived. Doubleday suddenly realized, the Hopalong Cassidy in their book didn’t match Boyd’s Hoppy. It had nothing to do with the film idol turning TV icon. It bore no resemblance to the Hoppy about to appear on everything from kid’s pajamas to lunchboxes, wristwatches and matching chrome cap-pistols with white plastic handles. Holy Boyd-bleeped expletive! What to do?
The only sensible thing for the publisher was to get in step with public expectation. The trip back across the chasm can be as rocky as the original crossing. The only thing young Tex Burns hated worse than rewrite was taking orders. Distasteful or not, he needed the money. He swallowed his ego and delivered the four books on his contract. The ghostwriter went on to achieve iconic success in his own right as a western author; but for the remainder of his life, Louis L’Amour denied he ever wrote those Hopalong Cassidy books.
William Boyd parlayed his Hoppy to peer with the greatest American cowboy heroes. He was among those with a cowboy code for his fans, he lived on and off the screen. He made Hoppy a role model for kids and the hero he remains to this day. For all the pride authors take in their work, neither Mulford nor L’Amour could have taken Hopalong Cassidy to the place the character achieved in history. I’m sure neither one would claim he ever intended that brand of notoriety. Perhaps so; but uncounted numbers of us are thankful for the Hopalong Cassidy we have as a cowboy hero.
On the far side of the chasm, astride a high stepping Topper, Hoppy touches the broad brim of his black hat with that soft smile and wheels away down the trail in cloud of dust.
Next Week: “Oh Cisco!” The Cisco Kid
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
December 17, 2016
Across the Chasm, Hopalong Cassidy
Make a film based on a book or short story and you cross a creative chasm between the author’s work and the film-maker’s interpretation of it. More often than not, the two don’t agree, creating a contentious creative friction. Down the road crossing the chasm is subject for a post series of its own. Hopalong Cassidy is an interesting case in point. Hoppy is a character created and interpreted by three exceptional talents. The icon crossed the chasm subject to commercial market demand for a particular product and business interests driven to satisfy it.
William Boyd got his start in silent pictures. He was signed to the film role of Hopalong Cassidy in 1935. Boyd set about reframing the character in the image of a gentleman soldier of fortune roaming the west setting evil and injustice to right. Boyd’s Hoppy dressed in black, rode a big white stallion with silver-studded tack and nickel plated six guns. Boyd’s Hoppy was a well-spoken, clean-cut, upright gentleman who upheld law and right without packing a star. Admired by women, romance never entered into his relationships on screen. Hoppy became an ideal role-model for children. The movies were wildly successful. Boyd’s Hopalong Cassidy achieved iconic status as a cowboy hero.
The film hero of course didn’t agree with the Hopalong Cassidy created by author Clarence E. Milford. The character Boyd defined for film bore no relationship to the hard bitten, rough, tough-talking, hard drinking, crusty old character of the original creator. Mulford, who retired on the proceeds of his book sales and film rights to his work, hated Boyd’s treatment of his books, stories and central character. Such is the lot of the intrepid author crossing the chasm.
Boyd wisely purchased rights to the film character, which ultimately paid him for television and merchandising rights. In 1950 he seized the opportunity to bring his Hopalong Cassidy to television, parceling out his film rights in the production of half-hour episodes of the Hopalong Cassidy Show. Doubleday, the publisher holding print rights to Mulford’s work, saw an opportunity to bring the book series back and capitalize on the film popularity.
Next Week: Ghost Crossing, Hopalong Cassidy
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
William Boyd got his start in silent pictures. He was signed to the film role of Hopalong Cassidy in 1935. Boyd set about reframing the character in the image of a gentleman soldier of fortune roaming the west setting evil and injustice to right. Boyd’s Hoppy dressed in black, rode a big white stallion with silver-studded tack and nickel plated six guns. Boyd’s Hoppy was a well-spoken, clean-cut, upright gentleman who upheld law and right without packing a star. Admired by women, romance never entered into his relationships on screen. Hoppy became an ideal role-model for children. The movies were wildly successful. Boyd’s Hopalong Cassidy achieved iconic status as a cowboy hero.
The film hero of course didn’t agree with the Hopalong Cassidy created by author Clarence E. Milford. The character Boyd defined for film bore no relationship to the hard bitten, rough, tough-talking, hard drinking, crusty old character of the original creator. Mulford, who retired on the proceeds of his book sales and film rights to his work, hated Boyd’s treatment of his books, stories and central character. Such is the lot of the intrepid author crossing the chasm.
Boyd wisely purchased rights to the film character, which ultimately paid him for television and merchandising rights. In 1950 he seized the opportunity to bring his Hopalong Cassidy to television, parceling out his film rights in the production of half-hour episodes of the Hopalong Cassidy Show. Doubleday, the publisher holding print rights to Mulford’s work, saw an opportunity to bring the book series back and capitalize on the film popularity.
Next Week: Ghost Crossing, Hopalong Cassidy
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
December 10, 2016
Who was that Masked Man? The Lone Ranger
Born Jack Carlton Moore September 14, 1914, Clayton Moore was raised in Chicago. His athleticism qualified him to become a circus performer in a trapeze act. Later his handsome good looks opened the doors to a modeling career. In 1938 he moved to Hollywood to try his hand at the movies. He landed small parts in western films with established stars including Gene Autry and Roy Rogers, frequently appearing as a stunt man.
World War II interrupted Moore’s film career. Following the war he returned work in western films. His 1949 audition for the television role of the Lone Ranger changed his life. The show premiered in the fall of that year and ran continuously until 1957. Moore missed the 1953 season in a contract dispute; but his replacement was short lived. Paired with Jay Silverheels as his devoted sidekick Tonto and mounted on his magnificent white stallion, Silver, Clayton Moore owned the role of the Lone Ranger both on and off the screen.
Following cancellation of the TV series, Moore took the Lone Ranger to the big screen with feature films. He commercialized the role with product endorsements and popular personal appearances. Moore remained true to the principled values of his character off screen and in his personal life. His version of the Cowboy Code figured prominently in the persona he presented to his fans. I remember including it in my summary, though his code had one of the more interesting personal twists on codes included. His value, “God put the firewood there for all of us; it’s up to us to gather it” was unique. Firewood- really. Pretty down to earth.
In the late seventies a dispute with the owner of character rights to the Lone Ranger temporarily denied Moore the right to continuing doing personal appearances in character. The dispute was resolved following the death of the owner. Moore was allowed to resume his character and for all time answer the question: “Who was that masked man?”
Next Week: Across the Chasm, Hopalong Cassidy
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
World War II interrupted Moore’s film career. Following the war he returned work in western films. His 1949 audition for the television role of the Lone Ranger changed his life. The show premiered in the fall of that year and ran continuously until 1957. Moore missed the 1953 season in a contract dispute; but his replacement was short lived. Paired with Jay Silverheels as his devoted sidekick Tonto and mounted on his magnificent white stallion, Silver, Clayton Moore owned the role of the Lone Ranger both on and off the screen.
Following cancellation of the TV series, Moore took the Lone Ranger to the big screen with feature films. He commercialized the role with product endorsements and popular personal appearances. Moore remained true to the principled values of his character off screen and in his personal life. His version of the Cowboy Code figured prominently in the persona he presented to his fans. I remember including it in my summary, though his code had one of the more interesting personal twists on codes included. His value, “God put the firewood there for all of us; it’s up to us to gather it” was unique. Firewood- really. Pretty down to earth.
In the late seventies a dispute with the owner of character rights to the Lone Ranger temporarily denied Moore the right to continuing doing personal appearances in character. The dispute was resolved following the death of the owner. Moore was allowed to resume his character and for all time answer the question: “Who was that masked man?”
Next Week: Across the Chasm, Hopalong Cassidy
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
December 3, 2016
King of the Cowboys
Before filming even began on his first picture, Roy entered into a partnership that would help propel his career. The studio brought in their best candidates for lead horse auditions. Early in the selection process, Roy stepped up on beautiful golden palomino that handled as good as he looked. The horse was so responsive, Smiley Burnette observed “He was quick on the trigger.” You know the rest of that story.
Some of you may recall from my summary of the Cowboy Code a value affirming a cowboy’s word is a bond. In early 1940 RCA Victor producer Art Rush approached Roy about representing him as his agent. The deal was sealed with a handshake over lunch, the only contract that ever existed to secure a near fifty year relationship.
Gabby Hayes replaced Smiley Burnette as Roy’s sidekick after his first few films. The Sons of the Pioneers joined the cast in 1941. In 1944 Republic cast Dale Evans as the female lead in the Cowboy and the Senorita. I never knew Roy was married before he was paired with Dale Evans. When I discovered that researching this post, I was afraid my idyllic image of Roy might be destined for some Hollywood tarnish. In 1946 Arline Rogers died tragically in childbirth, leaving Roy with two daughters and an infant son. Roy and Dale married a year later. Good guys do wear white hats.
By 1950 television began making its way into American homes at a rate that began to affect movie box offices. Studios got defensive. When Roy’s contract came up for renewal Roy wanted the flexibility to do a TV show. Republic refused and they parted ways. Thanks to Art Rush, Roy owned his name and his character. The Roy Rogers Show rode into America’s living rooms the following year, complete with the theme song, Happy Trails to You.
The thing that made Roy Rogers and Dale Evans so special were the people behind their on-screen personas. They lived the values they portrayed on the screen. They loved kids and opened their home not just to Roy’s children, but to four children adopted from needy circumstances. They had one child of their own, a little girl born with Downs Syndrome. Her short life inspired Dale to write the book Angel Unaware. I remember my mother reading it when I was a boy.
Roy’s religious, family and patriotic values ran deep. He considered himself a role model for the young and lived his life accordingly. Imagine that.
Next Week: “Who was that masked man?” The Lone Ranger
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
Some of you may recall from my summary of the Cowboy Code a value affirming a cowboy’s word is a bond. In early 1940 RCA Victor producer Art Rush approached Roy about representing him as his agent. The deal was sealed with a handshake over lunch, the only contract that ever existed to secure a near fifty year relationship.
Gabby Hayes replaced Smiley Burnette as Roy’s sidekick after his first few films. The Sons of the Pioneers joined the cast in 1941. In 1944 Republic cast Dale Evans as the female lead in the Cowboy and the Senorita. I never knew Roy was married before he was paired with Dale Evans. When I discovered that researching this post, I was afraid my idyllic image of Roy might be destined for some Hollywood tarnish. In 1946 Arline Rogers died tragically in childbirth, leaving Roy with two daughters and an infant son. Roy and Dale married a year later. Good guys do wear white hats.
By 1950 television began making its way into American homes at a rate that began to affect movie box offices. Studios got defensive. When Roy’s contract came up for renewal Roy wanted the flexibility to do a TV show. Republic refused and they parted ways. Thanks to Art Rush, Roy owned his name and his character. The Roy Rogers Show rode into America’s living rooms the following year, complete with the theme song, Happy Trails to You.
The thing that made Roy Rogers and Dale Evans so special were the people behind their on-screen personas. They lived the values they portrayed on the screen. They loved kids and opened their home not just to Roy’s children, but to four children adopted from needy circumstances. They had one child of their own, a little girl born with Downs Syndrome. Her short life inspired Dale to write the book Angel Unaware. I remember my mother reading it when I was a boy.
Roy’s religious, family and patriotic values ran deep. He considered himself a role model for the young and lived his life accordingly. Imagine that.
Next Week: “Who was that masked man?” The Lone Ranger
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
November 26, 2016
Happy Trails, Roy Rogers
Leonard Slye, a.k.a. Roy Rogers was born in Cincinnati, Ohio November 5, 1911. The family moved to a farm near Portsmouth Ohio soon after. Roy was raised on the farm. Life on a small farm in those days was hard work. Poverty nipped at the family heels throughout Leonard’s childhood. His father took a job back in Cincinnati to make ends meet, leaving the farm chores to young Leonard.
Life in rural Ohio bred skills and values that blossomed into the man Roy would become. He rode to school on horseback. For entertainment, he played an old mandolin and sang for the neighbors. Leonard dropped out of high school following his sophomore year to take a job like his father when the farm would no longer support the family.
The family moved to California in search of work during the depression. Leonard’s father drove a truck, while he picked fruit. His sister suggested he audition his musical talents for a local radio show that featured amateurs. His appearance on the show prompted a call from a group called The Rocky Mountaineers. Leonard joined the group and soon after so did Bob Nolan. Nolan left the group after about a year; but he and Leonard formed a professional bond that would endure for years. Leonard hitched his musical hopes on a succession of groups, none of which garnered much success.
In 1933 he reconnected with Bob Nolan and along with Tim Spencer, formed a group they dubbed the Pioneer Trio. They caught on with a local radio station and soon attracted such a following the station awarded them their own show. Adding to their success, Nolan and Spencer began writing songs, some of which, like Tumbling Tumbleweeds remain cowboy classics to this day. About this time their program announcer adlibbed an introduction, calling them The Sons of the Pioneers. The name stuck.
Radio work led to film appearances for the group. In 1936 Leonard married Arline Wilkins, a girl he’d met some years before in his days on the road. The boys left their local station and traveled to Dallas, where in addition to appearances at the Texas Centennial, they appeared in a Gene Autry film. Returning to L.A. the group resumed their radio and recording careers with occasional film work.
Gene Autry popularized the singing cowboy. He was a hot box-office property with high expectations for his contract renewal with Republic Pictures. Republic hedged their bets, holding auditions for a new singing cowboy. Leonard tucked his guitar under his arm and headed for the studio. He signed a contract with Republic in the fall of 1937. When the studio failed to reach agreement with Autry for his next film, Leonard got the part. Renamed Roy Rogers the film, Under Western Stars, released in 1938 was an immediate success.
Next Week: King of the Cowboys
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
Life in rural Ohio bred skills and values that blossomed into the man Roy would become. He rode to school on horseback. For entertainment, he played an old mandolin and sang for the neighbors. Leonard dropped out of high school following his sophomore year to take a job like his father when the farm would no longer support the family.
The family moved to California in search of work during the depression. Leonard’s father drove a truck, while he picked fruit. His sister suggested he audition his musical talents for a local radio show that featured amateurs. His appearance on the show prompted a call from a group called The Rocky Mountaineers. Leonard joined the group and soon after so did Bob Nolan. Nolan left the group after about a year; but he and Leonard formed a professional bond that would endure for years. Leonard hitched his musical hopes on a succession of groups, none of which garnered much success.
In 1933 he reconnected with Bob Nolan and along with Tim Spencer, formed a group they dubbed the Pioneer Trio. They caught on with a local radio station and soon attracted such a following the station awarded them their own show. Adding to their success, Nolan and Spencer began writing songs, some of which, like Tumbling Tumbleweeds remain cowboy classics to this day. About this time their program announcer adlibbed an introduction, calling them The Sons of the Pioneers. The name stuck.
Radio work led to film appearances for the group. In 1936 Leonard married Arline Wilkins, a girl he’d met some years before in his days on the road. The boys left their local station and traveled to Dallas, where in addition to appearances at the Texas Centennial, they appeared in a Gene Autry film. Returning to L.A. the group resumed their radio and recording careers with occasional film work.
Gene Autry popularized the singing cowboy. He was a hot box-office property with high expectations for his contract renewal with Republic Pictures. Republic hedged their bets, holding auditions for a new singing cowboy. Leonard tucked his guitar under his arm and headed for the studio. He signed a contract with Republic in the fall of 1937. When the studio failed to reach agreement with Autry for his next film, Leonard got the part. Renamed Roy Rogers the film, Under Western Stars, released in 1938 was an immediate success.
Next Week: King of the Cowboys
RETURN TO FACEBOOK TO COMMENT
Ride easy,
Paul
