by James Garner
“I am too a curmudgeon.”
“You are not.”
“Am too!”
“Not!”
A lot of my characters are curmudgeons. Jim Rockford’s a curmudgeon: he pretends to be tough, but it’s only a front. I guess I’ve played more and more curmudgeons as I’ve gotten older: Murphy Jones in Murphy’s Romance, Albert Sidney Finch in Decoration Day, Ira Moran in Breathing Lessons, Jim Egan in 8 Simple Rules.
Deep down, curmudgeons are good people. They try to do the right thing. They have a sense of humor and a sense of proportion. They speak their mind and devil take the hindmost. They have principles and they don’t run from a fight.
Curmudgeons know that some things are worth fighting for, that we all need boundaries that we’re ready to defend no matter what. If you don’t make an enemy or two along the way, you’re not doing it right.
But I’m not a macho guy. I don’t like macho guys. I’m a marshmallow. No, a Tootsie Pop: hard on the outside, soft on the inside. I don’t go looking for trouble, but I’ve never backed down from a fight, because if you back down, you lose right then, and I don’t like to lose. I try to get along with the world, but when big ones start treading on little ones, those who can’t defend themselves—I’ll get in there and do something. I might get stomped on, but that’s okay. I can’t help it. I guess that’s why Frank Wells used to call me “Crusader Rabbit.” I believe there’s justice out there if you fight for what you know is right. The pain you have to endure is worth it.
If I give you my word, that’s it. If say I will do something, you better believe I’ll do it. I’m loyal: if I’m your friend, it’s forever. The only thing you can do to change that is lie to me, because I can’t stand dishonesty. Lie to me just once, and you’re in trouble. Well, I might let you get away with it once, but the second time it’s all over.
I’m a big fan of the “crimson and cream,” the University of Oklahoma football team. Oklahoma is known as “the Sooner State,” and the OU football team adopted “Sooners” as their nickname. The University’s fight song is “Boomer Sooner,” sung to the tune of “Boola Boola.” If you’ve followed OU football as long as I have, you’ve heard it at least a million times. I’ve always had affection for OU, having grown up around its campus. Anyone who’s lived in a college town knows what I’m talking about.
When I was asked to give the OU commencement address in 1995, the year of the Oklahoma City bombing, I could not believe they wanted me. I immediately declined because of my stage fright, but they wore me down, and I finally agreed to do it eight months before. It was the worst eight months of my life.
Bill Saxon and Steve Cannell helped me write the speech. They gave me pages and then I worked the material my own way. But I still worried I’d say something stupid and make a fool of myself.
I’ve got to be the most unlikely commencement speaker OU ever had. I didn’t graduate with my class at Norman High; I got my diploma from tests in the army while I was in Korea. I spent about twelve minutes at OU, yet over the years I’ve had dozens of people tell me they had classes with me there. They must’ve looked quick.
At a dinner the night before graduation, OU president David Boren introduced me as “Doctor Jim Garner” and everyone stood up and applauded. By the time I reached the podium, I was crying.
For a country boy, I’ve been to a lot of places and done a lot of things. I have a wonderful family and great friends. I’ve had a long career, made some money, and had the greatest gift of all: I found something I liked to do. I don’t feel I’ve left anything on the table. I don’t regret not having done this or that. I’ve had a good time!
I like people and I think I’m a good judge of character. I go by my gut and haven’t been disappointed very often. I’ve been criticized for picking up strays. I’ve been told I’m too kindhearted for my own good, that I’m a “pigeon.” I don’t think so. It’s just that I’ve had a few broken wings in my life and wished somebody would pick me up and dust me off.
I’ve been asked again and again, “How do you want to be remembered?” I usually say I don’t care, but that’s not true. I want to have accomplished something, to have made a contribution to the world. It would be wonderful if just one person looked at my life and said, “If he could overcome that, maybe I can, too.”
Beyond that, I think an actor can contribute by making people forget their troubles for an hour or two. Call it relief, escape, diversion . . . I think one of the greatest gifts is being able to make people happy. I like to make people happy.
So, if anybody asks, “How do you want to be remembered?” I tell them:
“With a smile.”
Outtakes
Family, friends, and colleagues weighed in for this book, and since their stories sound better directly from them, here they are, in their own words.
Jim and I “met cute.” He tells everyone it was at a Stevenson-for-President rally, but it was actually a week before, at a barbecue one Sunday afternoon at Toni and Jess Kimmel’s house in Studio City. Jess was the head of the talent department at Universal. At the time the studios nurtured young actors, gave them drama classes, etc. James Bumgarner had just gotten his contract at Warners.
At that moment in my life, I was an emotional wreck. My daughter, Kim, was in the hospital with polio. Her esophagus was paralyzed and she couldn’t swallow. I’d just been fired from my job as a receptionist at Foote, Cone & Belding because I took so much time off to be with her.
Jim made quite an entrance. All of a sudden, shooting into the backyard like an arrow, this gorgeous man runs across the lawn, smiles, says, “Can I go swimming?” and dives straight into the pool! My first thought was, Wow, who is this man? He’s too beautiful to be alive!
The Kimmel children were in the pool and Jim started playing with them. I thought it was somehow odd to see such a young, good-looking guy playing with kids like that, so I watched him. He was pretending to be a monster. He’d pick up the kids and throw them back in the water, and they’d come out screaming for more. Adorable! I said to myself, “Forget it. He’s too beautiful. He’s not going to look at you,” and I dismissed him from my mind.
A little later, he sat down at our table still wet and proceeded to tell jokes. One of his favorite things in those days was pretending to be gay. Here’s this masculine man putting on this attitude. We fell down laughing. He was so adorable and so funny I thought, He’s too good to be true.
About a week later, the Kimmels called. “Do you remember Jim Bumgarner?”
“Yes . . . “
“He’d like to see you again. Come to a Stevenson-for-President rally at our house this weekend.”
There were lots of guest at the rally, but pretty soon I saw Jim, all by himself in the kitchen. The first thing he said was, “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Before I could answer, an attractive young woman came in and said, “Jim, are we having dinner tonight?” and Jim said, “No, just made other plans.” The woman had a Scotch in her hand and she threw it in Jim’s face—ice cubes and all—and stormed out. He was dripping wet, with Scotch running down his face onto (I found out later) the only suit he had. But he didn’t lose his composure. As he calmly dried himself with a dish towel he said, “You know, I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“That one?”
“No, another one, BarBara Luna.”
She was a well-known young actress in town. I wasn’t thrilled to hear that he had at least two other women in his life.
After he’d dried himself off, we left the party. On the way to dinner he stopped the car and said, “Do you mind if I kiss you?”
I was stunned, but I let him kiss me. Willingly.
Then he said, “So, will you marry me?”
Still joking, I said, “Of course!”
We went to Frascati, on Sunset. It happened that Gene Shacove, my hairdresser, was there. (He’s the guy they modeled Shampoo on— Warren Beatty lived with him to watch how he operated.) Gene said, “Who are you
with?”
“That boy over there.”
“Oh, really? What’s going on with you two?”
“I don’t know, I just met him.”
“I’ll bet you marry him.”
“Really? As a matter of fact, he just asked me to marry him!”
Jim and I saw each other every day and every night for the next week. One night we were up on Mulholland “talking” in his car when he again asked me to marry him. I could see he was serious and I said yes without hesitating. By then I was serious, too.
Jim won’t like me telling this, but a tear ran down his cheek when I said yes.
“I never thought anybody would ever love me,” he said.
Jim didn’t have any money and I didn’t have any money, but he’d met Kim and she liked him. We’d gone to an ice cream parlor, and while Jim was getting the cones I said, “Kim, what do you think? Should I marry him?” I always asked Kim about the men I dated. I’d considered marrying a man I didn’t love who had money and was willing to adopt my daughter because I was worried about what would become of us.
Kim said, “Yes, Mom, marry him. He’s perfect and you’re perfect together.”
We got married two days later. It all happened so fast, it was like a dream.
And a miracle.
—LOIS GARNER
I was a young girl when my dad Jim created a new kind of TV magic based on his wry delivery, self-deprecating wit, and the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. He was an instant sensation as Bret Maverick and I was proud of him. One of my fondest memories of those days is of a tour of the Warner Bros. studios with him. We visited various sets where we were shown all the cameras, lights, and equipment. Then I got to ride a horse and meet actors in costume, including some delightful cowboys and Indians. I even had my hair “done” by a makeup artist. And I met Gary Cooper. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I could tell he was a very nice man. The whole experience made me think I was in a magical place. I had the sense Jim was showing me off, which made me feel part of a family with him. I was proud of both of us.
—KIMBERLY GARNER
The most frequently asked question during the course of my life has always been, “What was it like growing up with him?” My answer has always been the same: “He was just my dad, and like most kids, I was not paying that much attention to the fact that he was all that different.”
However, I did notice that we never made it through a meal in public without tons of people coming over to ask for an autograph. He was always very gracious, but occasionally I needed an attitude adjustment because I didn’t really understand it. I was always naturally protective of him and still am. I remember one incident when we were in England trying to do some normal family sightseeing at the Tower of London and we were literally mobbed by hundreds of fans running toward us. We barely escaped without being crushed.
Like many other fathers, he was gone quite a bit and often worked odd hours. It didn’t seem that different from most of my friends’ fathers, except that my dad usually came home with makeup on!
He really made a concentrated effort to stay connected to me, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Any time I ever needed to talk to him, he was accessible. If he was going to be away for a long time, we would meet him on location to break it up a bit. He worked in some of the most beautiful places in the world. I remember on one trip in particular, he bought “me” a slot car racetrack and set up this elaborate obstacle course, winding under and around all the furniture in our gigantic sitting room in our hotel suite. I don’t think the poor hotel staff were thrilled with our crazy indoor mini Grand Prix, but we both loved every second of it! We had to keep going back to the toy store to buy more cars because we kept wearing them out!
My dad was always the kind of parent who would get down on the floor and play with the kids. He never met a child he could resist. If he saw a baby, he had to say hi no matter where he was or what he was in the middle of doing.
He was always very hands-on, completely present and totally involved. All my friends adored him, too, and not because he was some big “Hollywood star,” but because I had the most fun dad! If we wanted to jump off the balcony into the pool, he would do it first just to make sure it was safe enough for us to try.
I am blessed in many ways to have a father like him, but, unfortunately, I was often too young to fully appreciate some of the wonderful privileges I enjoyed because of him. I can remember flying in the Goodyear blimp while my dad was piloting it, riding around the racetrack at Brands Hatch in the Formula One car he drove in Grand Prix, riding a horse inside a sound stage, going to the Academy Awards, sitting in the front row of a Beatles concert in Italy, flying on a private studio jet full of celebrities, walking through the pits before the Indy 500, staying on the Matterhorn at Disneyland twelve times in a row, being flown into the center of a racetrack by helicopter, meeting the president in the Oval Office, dining with royalty, et cetera. What a lucky kid!
All fathers are special, but as a child, I just did not realize how special mine was, but I certainly do now!
My dad would always take me to work with him whenever it was possible. He would usually leave the house while it was still dark. I remember thinking that the only people who were up before the crack of dawn were people who worked in the movie industry and milkmen.
I’ll never forget the morning of the Sylmar earthquake [in 1971]. My dad happened to be in the shower when the house started shaking so violently that he was literally thrown out of it. Since I was going to work with him that day, I was already awake and was paralyzed with fear, watching the books fly off the shelves. But as soon as I heard him running down the hallway to my room, I knew everything would be all right. My dad was there to rescue me, as he went on to do many times throughout my life.
Since my dad was always the consummate professional, he was going to work that day come hell or high water. He was always overprepared and extra early. He never wanted to make anyone wait for him. So we started out for the Disney Ranch, which happened to be near the epicenter of the quake. The few cars left on the freeway when the quake struck had all pulled over, and sure enough, there were some cast and crew members on the side of the road trying to decide what to do next and where to go. My dad said, “Hey, let’s go to work!” He was their fearless leader and they all followed him just as they usually did.
My dad is not a wishy-washy, “I-don’t-want-to-get-my-hands-dirty” type. He is definitely the kind of guy you want around in an emergency. In 1961 we lived in Bel Air and our next-door neighbors were an elderly couple who had recently adopted a baby.
The Bel Air fire was one of the worst on record and everyone in the surrounding area was evacuated, but my father stayed and hosed down our roof and our next-door neighbors’ roof until the danger had passed. Our neighbors were stunned to find their house still standing. Almost every house on our street had burned to the ground, and the only things left standing were their brick fireplaces.
It took great courage for my dad to risk his life that way, and I have always been proud of him for being that kind of person. He is one of these rare people who actually lives by the golden rule, who stands up for the underdog and believes wholeheartedly in the principle of the matter.
Over the years, I have heard countless stories about his absolute professionalism, his many acts of kindness, his immense generosity, all the while remaining completely humble and never seeking anything in return. It is mystifying that any actor could create this kind of longevity in Hollywood, construct a lifetime of classic work, and never have a bad word said against him.
My father has never let any of this “Hollywood” hype go to his head. He has never forgotten where he came from. It does not matter to him if you are the head of the network or you are a grip, he is going to treat everyone with the same amount of respect and kindness. Actually, truth be told, he would probably treat the grip a little better. ; )
— GIGI GARNER
Jim and I were dri
ving on Interstate 10 out to a golf course somewhere. Jim was in the fast lane, but he wasn’t speeding. Some guy got on Jim’s tail, and he was gonna show him how he could drive. He really got close and was tailgating Jim. So Jim stomped on it and got ahead of the guy and let him go by. Then Jim slipped back in behind the guy and just laid on his rear bumper. He kept tapping his bumper—this was at 65 miles an hour—and then he pushed him! That guy lost his nerve real fast. Jim scared the hell out him. Scared the hell out of me, too.
—JACK GARNER
Our high school basketball team was in overtime against Capitol Hill from Oklahoma City. We were one point down and Jim was fouled with one second left on the clock. He had two free throws but missed both of them, costing us the Mid-State Conference championship. “Bird Dog” Coleman never misses an opportunity to jab Jim about that. The last time Jim was in Norman, Bird Dog said, “Hey, Jim, remember when you missed those two free throws?” Jim said, “Bird Dog, if you ever, ever say that to me again, I’m gonna hit you right in the face!”
—ROY HAMILTON
Jim and I met through mutual friends in the early 1950s. Our senses of humor melded right away; we both saw the ridiculousness of everything, and we laughed like crazy.
We were an unlikely pair of buddies, but fun was always easy for us. We put on little shows at parties and played a game called In Plain Sight, where you had to look for camouflaged items that people planted around. I remember us switching jackets at a party once. And we always had good dinners at our mutual homes.
And then I played Billy the Kid on Maverick. It was even more fun working with him. Everybody loved him at the studio because he made their lives easier. All the actors I know who’ve ever worked with Jim adore him. He’s very generous on the set, and smart.
