In the Line of Fire

by Collins, Ace;

  Almost a year later and after an intense course in proper socialization, Duncan entered a once again healthy Rin Tin Tin in the Los Angeles German shepherd athletic skills show. In the audience was Charley Jones, the inventor of a slow-motion movie camera. To showcase the new invention Jones had already convinced Babe Ruth to be filmed both hitting and pitching a baseball, but that concept was moved to the back burner when Jones watched Rin Tin Tin win the competition with a jump of almost twelve feet. Timing is said to be everything and when the cameraman convinced Duncan to restage the leap on film it opened the door for a new opportunity for both the dog and his owner.

  In 1920 the silent film industry was moving west in search of long sunny days and clear skies. Thus Hollywood, which could claim both, was becoming the center for action pictures. When Rin Tin Tin subbed for a wolf who wouldn’t do a stunt in 1922’s The Man from Hell’s River, Duncan made his first few dollars in the motion picture industry. After playing a pet in his next film, Rin Tin Tin caught Jack Warner’s eye and within a few weeks Duncan’s dog had a starring roll in an action film. In that movie Rin Tin Tin would ride a horse, swim against the tide in a raging river, surf, and bring down a muscular villain. Within a month of the movie’s release, Warner Brothers, which had been teetering near bankruptcy, received one thousand letters earmarked for the canine star. Five hit films later, Rin Tin Tin was generating fan mail at the rate of ten thousand letters a week. The dog left to die on a battlefield had become America’s newest superstar and in the process saved a studio that would soon become one of the world’s most iconic companies.

  For the next eight years Duncan’s dog was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. He was such a huge moneymaker that Warner Brothers employed Darryl F. Zanuck to write Rin Tin Tin’s scripts. Nothing was too good for Rin Tin Tin. He was welcomed into the finest hotels and restaurants, rode first class on trains, and was idolized by millions of adults and children all over the globe. While on publicity tours the dog drew thousands to ballparks and arenas. New York City mayor Jimmy Walker even gave the German shepherd the key to the city. Beyond his film roles, Rin Tin Tin was also endorsing everything from collars to dog food. And every film studio in Hollywood was holding casting calls to discover their own dog star.

  By the advent of the sound features era in 1928, Duncan had moved his family and the canine hero into one of the city’s nicest neighborhoods. Tour buses came by daily as eager fans hoped to get a look at one of the world’s big stars. More often than not they left disappointed as Rin Tin Tin was usually at the studio or on location. Acting with some of Hollywood’s greatest names, such as Myrna Loy, Noah Beery, John Barrymore, and Lupe Velez, the dog starred in more than a dozen full-length talking, or in this case barking, films in just two years. In 1929 the studio created a series of B movies, aimed at families and children called the Rin Tin Tin Thrillers that proved the canine actor could pack audiences into theaters even without big-time costars. Even as he aged the dog remained at the top of this game. Yet change was on the horizon.

  As talking movies grew more sophisticated, Rin Tin Tin’s impact on Hollywood took a nosedive. By 1931, most of the studios had turned their backs on animal films. A year later, the dog trainer’s home was destroyed by fire. In the blaze he lost all he held dear except for his family and Rin Tin Tin. A few months later, as he was building a new home on Club View Drive, a bank failure resulted in Duncan losing his investments. About this same time a fourteen-year-old Rin Tin Tin was deemed too old to perform and was cut loose by Warner Brothers.

  Once a star’s light flickered out or times and tastes changed, Hollywood and the executives who ran the studio didn’t hesitate to move on. Along with Rin Tin Tin a host of silent movie icons were now out of work and all but forgotten. As Duncan struggled to pay bills and fan mail trickled to just a letter or two a week, it seemed the aging former dog star had only one true friend. Almost every night after she finished working at MGM, the world’s newest and most celebrated female sensation, Jean Harlow, walked over from her home to Duncan’s to bring Rin Tin Tin a treat. For several minutes the blonde bombshell, as she was now known, would rub the graying dog’s head. If Rin Tin Tin was going to have one fan remember him, the animal-loving Harlow seemed to be the perfect choice.

  On August 10, 1932, just before noon, Duncan noticed his dog struggling to stand. Once on his feet, Rin Tin Tin staggered for a few moments and then pitched forward. He would never rise again. A half an hour later the family vet examined the aging star and determined the dog had suffered a stroke. The medical professional sadly informed Duncan that Rin Tin Tin would be dead within minutes. As the dog lingered in the home’s living room, Duncan stayed by his side and waited for the inevitable. Fifteen minutes passed, then an hour, and Rin Tin Tin continued to fight. As the dog’s breathing grew more shallow, the trainer begged his struggling canine friend to let go, but the dog who had played a hero so many times just kept breathing.

  Eight hours past the time the vet assured Duncan that Rin Tin Tin would pass, there was a knock on the home’s front door. Sweeping into the room, her eyes filled with tears, was Jean Harlow. When alerted to what happened, the beautiful blonde had rushed to see the fallen dog as soon as she finished filming. When she spoke, somehow Rin Tin Tin found the strength to wag his tail. Harlow fell to the floor, placed the German shepherd’s head in her lap, and whispered what millions of fans would have said just a few years before. “I love you, Rinty.” The dog died just moments later.

  The studio might have believed that no one wanted the dog star anymore, but when word spread in the Hollywood community of Rin Tin Tin’s passing, the town went into mourning unseen since the death of Rudolph Valentino. Across the nation radio stations interrupted programming with the news. Newspapers around the globe even printed his obituary and as they read those words millions cried as if they had lost a family member. But as a mournful and despondent Duncan buried Rin Tin Tin in the backyard, he was still convinced that when the dog died his career and influence had died with him. He knew that within months the bank would foreclose on his home and he and his family would be on the streets looking for work. But just as a world war had brought Duncan to Rin Tin Tin, another world event would save him.

  In 1933, the Chicago World’s Fair booked Duncan and his new dog, Rin Tin Tin II, nicknamed Rinty, as an attraction. With crowds flocking to the Windy City, the son of the world’s most famous dog had the chance to charm hundreds of thousands. The press and acclaim created by the live performances made its way back to Hollywood. A small independent studio, Mascot, sensed potential and signed the second-generation dog to a contract. Seven years and fourteen films later, his future secured by investments and savings, Duncan and his dog were on top of the world. Yet growing tired of the motion-picture grind and the fickle nature of Hollywood, Duncan retired, bought a ranch, and moved to the country.

  Even as fans focused their attention on other stars and the movie studios decided once again they no longer needed dog actors, there was an organization where the original Rin Tin Tin’s exploits were still being studied. And in late 1941, just after the United States entered World War II, the US Army sent a delegation to Rancho Rin Tin Tin to talk to Lee Duncan. Amazed by the stunts they had witnessed in the now-all-but-forgotten silent films, the military wanted to pick the trainer’s brain in order to design and develop a program that could train dogs for action in combat. The irony of finding an orphan dog in the midst of war and having that dog inspire the army to employ dogs in this new war was not lost on Duncan. In fact, it prompted him to ask to return to active duty and bring the second generation of Rin Tin Tin with him. For the next four years Duncan would choose and train hundreds of dogs that saw duty in the Second World War.

  The canines Duncan trained, as well as what military trainers learned from Duncan and Rinty, would save countless lives during World War II. The skills once used on movie sets would be employed in war to deliver messages, medicines, and supplies and fend off enemies
in hand-to-hand combat. During the four years of war Duncan’s trained dogs would toss themselves on grenades, drag injured men out of the line of fire, and comfort dying soldiers on the battlefield. They would also become companions that offered love during lulls in battle. One of those, Rin Tin Tin III, would return from Europe a decorated war hero.

  When World War II ended, Duncan and the third generation, Rin Tin Tin III, returned to Hollywood. After several films he found his greatest success on television. For five years, this current generation’s Rin Tin Tin actually played a military dog in one of ABC’s most beloved series. Yet in spite of all the acclaim he won on television Lee Duncan always believed the best moments of his life were his time spent helping the US military train dogs as soldiers. And each time he received a letter from a man whose life had been saved by a dog, Duncan grew more sure that his rescuing a puppy during World War I was not just the most important act of his life, but in thousands of other lives too.

  FIVE

  SECOND CHANCE

  We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.

  —Harrison Ford

  Except for those who work in aviation, Gander, Newfoundland, is an unfamiliar place. In truth, most people have never even heard of this Canadian city of just under twelve thousand. Yet Gander was one of the most important strategic points in the world during World War II and has remained a vital hub for aviation ever since. In large part the city owes its existence to Hitler’s rise to power in Germany as does the heroic dog that shares the city’s name.

  When the Great War ended in 1918, everyone figured the world had learned a lesson. Yet within a decade and a half, historians and politicians were discussing the possibility of a second world war. These concerns grew as they witnessed Nazi Germany’s massive arms build up and Imperial Japan seeking to enlarge its military, political, and economic influence in Asia. Even though the League of Nations was preaching peace, by the mid-1930s the fear of another global conflict had pushed scores of countries to increase military spending and devote more resources to new technologies. America’s northern neighbor was one of those looking with apprehension toward the future. Though thousands of miles away from Germany and Japan, and seemingly protected by two vast oceans, Canada only had to study the skies to understand the world was now a much smaller place. The Great War had transformed the airplane from novelty to a machine of death and most foresaw airpower as being the key to winning the next war. It was that kind of thinking that literally put Gander on the map.

  In 1935 a foreboding patch of ground in Newfoundland suddenly saw a small group of uniformed tourists. Until this time, except for hearty bands of fishermen, this part of Canada had never been a destination point. Yet as it was at the most northern and eastern part of North America, the Canadian military was ready to give the island a second look. Their study found that in the age of aviation Newfoundland could literally be transformed into a “gas station.” By creating a major air base on the island, planes traveling from England to the United States or from the United States and Canada to Europe would have a place to refuel.

  Once the budget was approved, families from all across Canada moved to wooded, windswept Newfoundland to help accomplish the monumental task of constructing the new air facility. In one of the most obscure spots on the globe a modern city would arise. The street signs echoed Canada’s new and robust passion for aviation. New residents lived and worked on thoroughfares named for the likes of Earhart, Lindbergh, and Rickenbacker. And when the locals picked a name for this new community, they also looked upward to a bird that had been flying the Canadian skies for thousands of years: the gander.

  In a place where the weather was often unforgiving, the scope of the Gander project was huge. Starting with nothing, the Canadian military created a base equal with any other on the face of the globe. Along with hangars, runways, control towers, and barracks for the airport, homes, stores, and motion picture theaters popped up. Through teamwork and grit the impossible was accomplished, and after three years of construction, Captain Douglas Fraser made the first landing at what was then called the Newfoundland Airport. The celebration that day in 1938 included toasts, speeches, and a dance. Yet within a week, as the skies filled with aircraft, watching planes land no longer created a stir. And over the next seven years, as a refueling site for Canadian, British, and American bombers hopping across the Atlantic, Gander’s runways would see more than twenty thousand planes land and take off.

  When the British declared war on Germany in 1939, Canada quickly joined the fight. As the conflict in Europe and Africa heated up, construction at Gander increased exponentially and even more people moved to the island to fill the needs created by this massive military buildup. One of these new families would unknowingly lay a cornerstone for history and set in motion the creation of a legend by simply choosing a dog completely unsuited for their needs.

  Newfoundlands are like the St. Bernards of Canada. Weighing 150 pounds, with massive heads, thick necks, and shaggy coats, the web-footed breed was developed in the 1600s by fishermen who lived and worked on the island. Sharing an ancestral line with the ancient mastiff, the breed pulled carts, served as canine pack mules, guarded boats, helped in dragging fish-filled nets and, because of their unparalleled ability as swimmers, were even trained for water rescues. Countless stories recount the tales of fishermen who fell overboard and were saved by Newfoundlands that fearlessly leaped into the ocean to drag drowning men back to their boats. Thus, on the windswept island, the breed was the stuff of legends.

  Newfoundland dogs also came to represent the personality of the island’s residents. The people who called this often-foreboding place home were robust, outgoing, and fearless. They prided themselves in their ability to survive the Arctic winters and thrive in the stormy summers. When not at work, Newfoundlanders were playful and fun loving. The men who called this spot home were also known for being intensely loyal to those they considered family. And the breed named for Newfoundland mirrored all of those traits. Their courage and fortitude were so revered and their stamina so great that Lewis and Clark purchased a Newfoundland to accompany them on their exploration of the Louisiana Purchase.

  As young, healthy men entered the military after the outbreak of war, many fishermen gave up the sea and moved to Gander to fill empty construction jobs. While they might have left their boats and nets behind, the fishermen brought along their good-natured, outgoing dogs. By 1940, when a family named Hayden moved to Gander, Newfoundlands had become fixtures in the city. So it was hardly surprising when Mr. Hayden started looking for a pet that would protect his home and serve as a companion to his young children that a retired fisherman convinced the father he couldn’t go wrong with a Newfoundland. A deal was made, and a puppy purchased and brought home. For a while the dog named Pal seemed a perfect fit.

  The pup, then about the size of a spaniel, spent hours tagging along Gander’s streets with the children. He chased balls, ran after bicycles, and slept in the children’s room. As he quickly grew, the kids rigged a small sleigh for Pal to pull and he would merrily take them for rides along the city streets. In the summers the Newfoundland became a part of rugby and baseball games, though he didn’t play by the rules. Pal would look for opportunities to steal a bounding ball and race off with it, forcing the children to chase him down. During these days, a time when more and more Canadians were going overseas to battle the Nazis and the toll of that fighting offered little good news, Pal’s antics served as a wonderful diversion for the Hayden children and all who watched the energetic, growing pup. Yet just like storms often come without warning in Newfoundland, unseen trouble was brewing for the family and its pet.

  Intelligent dogs need responsibilities and focus and Pal had neither. His rambunctious nature, lack of formal training, and size were a formula that led to his undoing. Not only was Pal soon eating the Haydens out of house and home, he was also constantly getting into trouble. Mischief from a puppy was cute but wh
en a 150-pound dog pulled a clothesline to the ground, chased cats, scattered trash, played tag with postmen, or cleared a table with its wagging tail, things got ugly.

  For a while the Haydens’ love of their pet overruled common sense. While they dreaded the phone call complaining about Pal, they had grown so devoted to the shaggy behemoth they constantly forgave him for his increasingly uncivilized behavior. When the dog knocked a six-year-old girl to the ground, inflicting a deep scratch on her face, Pal’s standing as the community’s canine clown dramatically changed. Because the wound required medical treatment, the city was notified and Pal was put on a very short leash. The family was told they had to either find Pal a new home or move out of town. If they didn’t, the dog, now designated a dangerous menace, would be put down.

  Frantically the Haydens searched for a way to save their misunderstood canine. But while many thought the powerful and bumbling dog was cute, no one wanted to adopt an eating machine. With the clock ticking the Haydens called the Canadian Air Force hoping the local base could train Pal as a guard dog. The military’s rejection seemed to guarantee the Newfoundland a one-way ticket to the death house.

  With impatient local authorities demanding Pal be given to them, the Haydens continued to look for someone who could offer the Newfoundland a second chance. The big dog was close to eating his final meal when a member of the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles heard his story. The soldier convinced his friends a dog would be a welcome addition to their unit. In 1940, just days before he was to be put down, Pal moved into the barracks and was given a new name: Gander. In a humorous ceremony, a collar with sergeant stripes was placed around the canine’s thick neck.