If Mama hadn’t let her babies grow up to be cowboys, there would have been no John Ford, no Duke, and –aw, shoot!- no Clint. Here’s a look at some of the aging but still vital hearts of the western.
Now that Hollywood is ridin' the range once more, revisit with photographer Mary Ellen Mark some old cowhands and other unsung heroes of the movie western.
"The Lone Ranger means a great deal to me," says Clayton Moore, who played anonymous good guys and bad guys in countless B westerns before galloping into cowboy history as TV's masked man from 1949 to 1957. The character means so much to Moore, in fact, that he insists on being photographed wearing his mask -even when, in 1979, the wrather corp., which owned the rights to the Lone Ranger, obtained a court order forbidding him to do so. After six years of legal wrangling, Moore prevailed -just as the lone ranger always did. "He was a very helpful man," Moore says. "Fighting on the side of justice, fair play, and honesty. That kind of covers it." Hi-yo, silver, away!
When Sam the Lion died in The Last Picture Show, it seemed that everything heroic about America died with him. Ben Johnson won an Oscar for the part, but he thinks the movie has too many cusswords in it. That's a cowboy for you. Johnson went from tending horses to doing stunts to acting; today he has scores of films under his belt (among them She Wore a Yellow Ribbon and The Wild Bunch) and has just finished work on Angels in the Outfield, with Danny Glover. "I think he is one of those people who represents what we like to think of as the best values of the West," says critic Richard Schickel. "They're mythic values, but when you meet somebody like Johnson, you think maybe they aren't such a myth after all."
Iron Eyes Cody
"She left me," says Iron Eyes Cody of his wife, Wendy, who had sat with him for the picture above. Not to worry: this apparently wouldn't be the first time that appearance and reality haven't quite jibed for Cody, who claims to be part Cherokee and Cree but is officially neither. "Many Native Americans say that to be an Indian comes from the heart," says Bonnie Paradise, executive director of The American Indian Registry for the Performing Arts. "I believe Iron Eyes Cody would agree with that." Whatever the truth about his identity, Cody, who has played strong, silent braves in more than 100 films -not to mention the famous antilitterinq ad campaign of the '70s- takes his native American activism seriously (such as raising money for the St. Joseph's Indian School in South Dakota). Besides, who said westerns had anything to do with reality?
Say "Gene Autry" to most people, and their first response will be, "Is he still alive?" At 86, he sure is. He first saddled up, guitar in hand, for 1934's In Old Santa Fe, and before long he was the top box office draw in the country. "He was the epitome not only of the singing cowboy," says John Langellier, director of publications and publishing at the Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum, "but of the kind of guy who would duke it out with the heavy rather than blow him away." Nowadays, Autry spends most of his time with the California Angels, the baseball team he bought in 1960.
Her first movie job was a 25-foot fall for a film she can't remember. "I thought, boy, this is a gravy lick," says former rodeo rider Polly Burson. "I made as much in an hour as I did in two days of rodeoing. " Burson remained one of Hollywood's premier stuntwomen for more than twenty years. In countless films, she doubled for such stars as Sophia Loren, Betty Hutton, Barbara Stanwyck, and even Kim Darby in True Grit. "When I started," she says, "I thought I would get photos of all the stars I worked with. I got about ten or fifteen and I gave up after that."
"I knew that there had been many black cowboys," says Herb Jeffries, "and I was curious as to why no one had ever made a black cowboy picture." he took that curiosity to Hollywood, and beginning with 1937's Harlem on the Prairie, he starred in five of "the first all-black singing cowboy pictures on planet earth," which were shown primarily in the segregated theaters of the south. Two years later, he hung up his spurs and returned to full-time crooning, and he's still at it: the 82-year-old Jeffries recently signed with Warner Western Records. The secret of his longevity? "It’s just a matter of being able to outlive everyone else,” he says. Jeffries is pictured here with his wife, Regina.
"He's the man in terms of the black western," says Mario Van Peebles of Woody Strode, whom he hired to play "The Historian" in Posse. "Woody had broken down doors way before anybody else. I couldn't have done it without him." The first door was John Ford's Sergeant Rutledge. "I can't make you a star because you're black," Ford is said to have told him, "but I can make you the best character actor around." Some might say he succeeded: Strode has appeared in Spartacus, Genghis Khan, and a number of spaghetti westerns. He recently completed The Quick And The Dead, with Sharon Stone and Gene Hackman. We'd say the fauna in his house has a lot of character too.
At five foot nine, Marie Windsor was a few inches too grand for stardom. "Bob Cummings had a mark on his door," she says, "and if a woman was taller than that, she couldn't get a job. Alan Ladd was the same way." Windsor made her mark instead as the wicked woman in scores of films noirs and B westerns (Force of Evil, Hellfire, The Tall Texan). "I'm happy with the work I did," she says. "But when I was growing up, I always dreamed of being another Joan Crawford or Greer Garson."