John Wayne: My Father by Aissa Wayne & Steve Delsohn

Author:Aissa Wayne & Steve Delsohn [Wayne, Aissa & Delsohn, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Taylor Trade Publishing
Published: 1998-05-30T12:00:00+00:00

There was plenty of drinking that freezing week in Durango, and plenty of showboating by my father in front of the press. He wanted the world to believe he was still the invincible Duke, and clearly no sick and faltering man. As for the photographers and reporters, I’m sure some came to Durango for simply professional reasons—my father was news—and that many were pulling for his revival. Others, I think, came morbidly hoping to witness John Wayne’s demise. A few days before I left Durango, the ghoulish nearly got what they came for.

This January morning, while filming a pivotal fight scene, my father would be pulled from his horse, land in a mountain stream, then engage in a lengthy brawl with his three “brothers.” But the stream was ringed with ice, the weather near 10 degrees. Afraid my father could get pneumonia, my mom asked if he’d please use a double. My foolhardy father said no: the director, Henry Hathaway, was shooting the scene in close-up.

Mr. Hathaway yelled “Action.” On cue, my father got yanked into the stream. But he landed wrong, getting drenched to the waist instead of just to his knees. Horrified, my little brother Ethan yelled “Daddy, Daddy.” Henry Hathaway shot Ethan a glare and continued shooting. Chilled to the bone, operating on one good lung, my father completed the scene, but trudging out of the water he couldn’t stop coughing. His body convulsed and his lips turned a rubbery grayish-blue. The photographers closed in and took their pictures. Henry Hathaway, suddenly now my father’s protector, screamed “Get away, you sons of bitches! Can’t you see he needs air?” An aide rushed up with my father’s inhalator, fixing the oxygen mask over his ashen face.

The crisis passed, but I was still trembling. And angry.

My father is still in poor health. Why can’t he stop confirming his courage? Is he such a prisoner of his myth he’ll feed it at the risk of his very life?

I didn’t know, but the questions entered my mind as we all stood around watching my father breathe.

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