by Ed Nelson
Chapter 35
Saturday started fine and continued that way. I had a hearty breakfast with a lot of coffee, as there was no hurry to be anywhere.
There was no shooting schedule. Since most of the crew was still getting organized not even all the actors or actresses were on set. I didn’t think Sally was due until Monday.
Chief Redfoot was there. It wasn’t that far of a drive from his home in Oklahoma. As usual, he was concerned with how the Indians would be portrayed.
At this time in history in which the story was set, not only were there many different tribes but also another difference, those that had moved from the east and what we called the Plains Indians.
The Plains Indians were still fighting a losing battle against the encroachment of the white settlers.
The Indians from the east had already lost that battle. Many were bitter and beaten down, but others had learned the white man's ways with the best of them and were ready to deal.
Those that had adjusted to the white culture drifted from the tribal settings. They realized that they had to blend as much as possible and that living on a reservation wasn’t the way to do it.
In particular, he was concerned how the town of Shawnee would be portrayed as its main population in the film would be Shawnee. They had moved from settled Ohio on their terms in real life and he didn’t want them shown in the film as savages.
It surprised me that he considered the Plains Indians of the time savages, but it shouldn’t have. From his modern point of view, they were living like savages so they must be savages. If it walks like a duck, etc.
The story writers he was talking to didn’t disagree with his request, but he had to appreciate what they needed from a story point of view.
“What do you need?”
The lead writer told him, “When the cowboys come into town Rick meets a young Shawnee girl and finds her attractive and they go walking together. We need that for two reasons. First, it gives Molly a reason to realize that she is jealous of the girl. The other reason is that the local boys will want to warn you off. “
“This gives us two tension points in the story.”
The Chief spoke up, “I don’t see the problem, instead of living in a wigwam, which we Shawnee never did, and meeting her at a watering hole, he meets her in her father's mercantile store.”
“As far as the jealous young men who want to warn Rick off, teenagers are teenagers no matter where you find them.”
One of the other writers said, “If we play it that way, she can be more sophisticated than Rick’s character. In the end, she can dump him because she wants to go to college in the east.”
The lead writer asked, “Who would believe that an Indian woman would get into much less graduate from an eastern school?”
The Chief didn’t let that stand, “My great-great-grandmother who would have been the right age at that time went to and graduated from the University of Edinburgh.”
There were some visible gulps around the circle as the Chief was now twirling his tomahawk that had been in his belt.
Suddenly he let out a belly laugh and with a terrible Scottish accent said, “Gotcha.”
I was impressed with how he handled those guys.
They started building on the storyline. It looked like the cattle drive might spend a week in Shawnee, which would never happen, but they were having fun discussing possibilities.
After that, I wandered over to where the stuntmen were hanging out. As expected, you couldn’t have a cattle drive without a stampede. They were arguing about how they would make it look like they were in danger from the moving cattle when they were safe and sound.
Someone said, “There’s Jackson. He’s been in a stampede. How did you do it?”
“Hung on for dear life, I was never safe and sound, I don’t recommend it.”
That led to some tall tales of previous westerns and how the issue was addressed. At one time in the 1920s and 30s, they would have got a bunch of cows together and fired guns until they got moving, filming all the time.
There were disgraceful stories of horses being driven over cliffs to shoot a scene. Thankfully, those days were over.
Now we had to be creative. Now the cattle would be herded into place with trucks. The cowboys would be filmed separately and would never be close to the moving herd. The stuntman that would take my place would ride with the cattle until they got moving fast then he would slow down as they passed.
His horse would be jostled enough by the passing cattle that it would look dramatic from a distance but be fairly safe. Nothing in this business is completely safe.
I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t let me ride as I was the only one there with real-world experience. Yeah, I know insurance.
The conversation turned to the rodeo later this afternoon. It wasn’t generally known that I had entered the bull riding event.
They kidded each other about how they should enter and show the locals a thing or two. I thought that would work out differently than they thought. I knew the sort of guy that entered these small-town events.
They seldom made it to the big time, but that didn’t mean they weren’t any good. They had years of experience doing this, whereas the stuntmen could do all the events but hadn’t done it for years.
Another factor is the stuntmen were professionals and thought about life and limb. The local guys didn’t. They were all male hormones, wrapped as tight as a stick of dynamite. I wonder what that said about me?
I kept my mouth shut as I didn’t want to start a big debate about the experience, over youth. What they didn’t seem to understand was that these fifteen and sixteen-year-olds had probably been entering these events since they were nine.
On top of that, they probably were taught at Daddy’s knee starting at age three. City kids had the whiffle ball teed up for them, these kids had their pony.
Anyway, some smart mouth knew I had entered and asked how I thought I would do.
“I think I will be able to hang on for the eight seconds. How good of a ride it will be is a different story. If it is a good bull, and by that, I mean an active one that hates to be ridden it will be a plus. If it is an old tired one, then it will be as adventuresome as a rocking chair.”
“How often have you had one like that?”
“Well, never.”
“So, what else will affect your score.?”
“How well I can get the bull to up its game while I try to make it look easy.”
“I saw a film of the World Championships and how you flipped over the horns and back.”
“That was a once-in-a-lifetime accident, I would never think of trying to repeat it.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Hope for a good ride, kick the heck out of it, and hang on.”
“You sound like a man with a plan.”
“If you can call that a plan.”
I ate a light lunch and headed to the fairgrounds. Once there I checked in. I had forgotten that I was wearing a Colt Peacemaker. Since this was Texas, they didn’t get excited about it but did remind me that weapons weren’t allowed on the fairgrounds.
I had to walk it back to the car and lock the holster and weapon in the trunk. I was glad I went through that exercise because it reminded me of something I had meant to do. I took the opportunity to use the clips inside my hat to attach them to my hair.
Hopefully, I wouldn’t lose the Resistol on the ride. If nothing else, I wanted to look good. Once I was checked in and had my contestant number tied onto the front and back of my shirt, I walked the area.
I had a chance to see the bulls that were to be ridden. They were all good ones, and they were also all from the Easterly Ranch. My friend and mentor Clint Easterly was there. It was like an old home week for me.
He didn’t know I was in the area, much less entering the rodeo. We spent a good half hour catching up on things. He and his wife had followed me in the newspapers.
He said it had bec
ome a local sport back at home to guess what I would be up to next. No one ever came close; it was always a step or two above their guesses. He liked the Brigitte Bardot rescue, the most like a fun thing. My rescue of those boys in the flooded river was a fine thing.
It was getting time to move the bulls up to be ridden. He told me that they were all good rides but hope I didn’t get the Big Guy. He was plain mean. He pointed the bull out; I could see how he got his name.
It didn’t surprise me when I drew Big Guy as my ride. A couple of the other riders told me, “Better you than me, that bull has a reputation. He has only been ridden two out of his last ten tries.”
This was good and bad. Good in the sense I would be able to showcase my talent. Bad in the sense that the bull could showcase his talent.
Chapter 36
The announcer spent a couple of minutes explaining my bull riding history. He was sarcastic about it, as though my being a movie star had somehow given me the wins.
The ride was the longest eight seconds of my life. Not even jumping between the horns at the championships was as hard. Every jump the bull made I thought it would be my last. Not last jump, last day on earth.
When the horn sounded to end my eight seconds., I could feel gravity pulling me backward from his last buck. I went with it; I was forced backward until I did a backflip off the bull.
I saw a hoof fly past my head. I landed on my feet facing the bull who had turned to circle me. From the force of my landing, I had to run to keep from falling on my face, which also had me running away from the bull. This was a good direction, so I kept going. I made it to the fence and jumped for the top rail.
It was a good thing I did because that bull was mad at me. He tried to gore me as I climbed to safety. I decided my bull riding days were over.
After a successful ride like that, I won hands down. The local riders were gracious in their congratulations. They had never thought I could ride like that.
The announcer came on and told us he had bet a friend that I couldn’t make the time. If I did, he would eat his hat. Did anyone have some salt and pepper with them?
I won the one hundred dollars first prize and another belt buckle. This one wasn’t as nice as the one I was wearing. I would probably donate it to one of Mary’s or Mum’s charity auctions like I did with those I won previously.
There was a square dance after the rodeo rides were completed. I attended and danced to almost every reel. I had learned previously in one of my other westerns. It was fun. The girls were nice, but I didn’t have a chance to ask any to go walking.
Mr. Wayne hunted me up before the end of the festivities.
“Good job, Rick, I thought you had met your match with that one, Easterly told me all about him.”
“As Wellington said, “it was a close-run thing.”
“How did you get the nerve for that dismount. We caught it on film, and it will make the movie for sure. Also, the newsreels, the publicity tour, and the trailer. It was fantastic.”
“Blame it on Sir Isaac.”
“Sir Isaac?”
“Gravity, I didn’t plan it but went with the flow, I knew that I couldn’t stay on so went in the easiest direction, downhill. The landing was plain luck.”
“You seem to have a lot of that, I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”
“Thanks. What is our schedule for next week, I looked but it wasn’t posted?”
“You have the week off, we are doing inside scenes back at the studio.”
“That’s good news. I’m going to see if I can get some golf in at Augusta.”
“Good luck with that.”
“They seem to be cooperative, that and President Eisenhower is usually my partner.”
“That will work. See you in a couple of weeks.”
“Okay. If you need me, leave a call at Jackson House, I check in there every day.”
At that, I headed back to my luxury suite at the hotel, wagon wheel lights and all. The first thing I did at my room was place a call through the front desk to Hastings Aviation and asked them to pick me up tomorrow in Dallas. Also, to arrange for a ferry pilot for my Cessna back to California.
We talked timing. It turned out to be a bad idea. The crew had just returned from China and were taking downtime at home in Oxford. It made no sense for them to fly from Oxford to Dallas, then drop me off in Atlanta then return to England.
Instead, they arrange a charter flight from Dallas to Augusta and a ferry pilot for the Cessna. That worked for me. No sense in stressing the flight crew for no good reason. Someday I may have to do that, but not this trip.
Next, I called President Eisenhower at his farm in Gettysburg. It was getting a little late, but I took a chance. Ike came to the phone. When I told him, I had a week off and wanted to get some practice in at Augusta he thought it a wonderful idea. It was a shame he had commitments and couldn’t join me.
He would make some phone calls and make certain I was accompanied by a full member so I would be allowed to play. I told him I would be in transit the next day but that he could leave a message at Jackson House.
Then I called John Jacobs and asked him to meet me in Augusta the next night. Also, would he arrange a car and two hotel rooms? Of course, I expected him to fly first class. If there were no commercial flights, he was to call Jim Williamson and ask for a charter to be arranged.
My last call was to home and let Mum and Dad know my plans and expected phone calls. Dad told me that it had been over the wire that I had a spectacular bull ride, and that film would be provided.
I told him it was more luck than anything that I did as well as I did and ended up on my feet. He suggested sending a copy to the LA school board to demonstrate that I understood gravity. We had a chuckle but didn’t follow up.
The next morning, I was up early as usual for my run and other exercises. I was stiff in places I didn’t know I had. I was able to work it out, but I could tell I had been doing some things that I wasn’t used to. This just reconfirmed my thought that I was done bull riding. I was going to take up something less dangerous like parachute jumping.
I checked out of my hotel and drove to where my Cessna was parked. After arranging for the rental car to be returned I checked the fuel and oil filters to make certain no water had accumulated. Had the aircraft fueled up and flew to Dallas. Oh yes, I did look to see if anything had fallen off the plane while it was sitting there.
Nothing had. The tires weren’t soft. One almost broke my toe when I kicked it too hard. All the control bits that needed to wiggle, wiggled in the right directions. I was good to go.
There was no control tower, so it was visual flight rules and every man for himself as I took off.
After that excitement with my head on a swivel, I settled in for the flight to Dallas. I listened in on commercial traffic radio conversations. Nothing was going on weather-wise that was any concern. The trip went well.
It was a pleasure dealing with the Love Field air traffic control people, they had their act together.
I landed on the private aviation side of the field Where I met my ferry pilot. I handed the flight log and cabin keys over to the young lady who was taking my plane back to California.
She had a Jeppesen case full of maps for her proposed routes. She came prepared. I showed her the Forest Service airfield on her maps. She didn’t think she would have any problems finding it, I-10, then 101 to the Santa Monica, and look for the airfield. She would use IFR, “I follow roads”, this gave me a chuckle.
It was a good thing the airfield had a radio beacon for her to home in on. I can’t say she filled me full of confidence, but she did get the plane home with no problems.
I have a charter flight being run by Trans-Texas. I think the pilots thought they were riding a bronc in the rodeo. It was a rough flight. But then I was like all pilots, critical of anyone at the controls if it wasn’t me.
What was interesting about it was that the flight was in a Grumman Gulfstream, a new turboprop bus
iness aircraft with Rolls Royce engines driving big propellers. It wasn’t as fast or comfortable as my 707, but it was a hell of a lot cheaper and almost as good for shorter flights and smaller airports. I’d have to think about getting one for traveling around the States.
Bumpy flight or not we made it into Augusta just as they turned the field lights on. John was waiting for me in a rental car. He had ended up flying in on a charter earlier today.
Our hotel was a run of the mill, Ramada which put it head and shoulders above my hotel in Texas and its luxury suite, wagon wheel lights notwithstanding.
As John drove us to the hotel, he told me he had made an interesting discovery about the way hole positions were chosen for the Masters. This could be big if his finding were correct. He told me that it was complicated and that we should wait until the morning to go over it. That made sense to me, so we arrived at the hotel and went to our rooms. I didn’t even remember climbing into bed.
Chapter 37
John and I met for breakfast, he looked tired.
“John, you don’t look like you slept very well?”
“I didn’t. I never sleep well the first few nights in a new bed.”
“That has to be hard with what I have you doing.”
“It can be, but it is worth it. My wife and I talked about this the other day. You have given me a chance to get ahead. It looked like I was just going to be a caddie and make a mediocre living.”
“Instead, we have a chance to do very well. It is worth a few rough mornings. However, you look like you are ready to face the world.”
“You should try getting up at five am every morning to do a workout then finish up with a five-mile run, that and a shower makes you ready for anything.”
“You lost me at five am.”
“To each his own, I used to want to sleep in every day, but once I got into this routine, I love it.”
We ordered our breakfasts along with a pot of coffee, one thing we shared. While we waited for our food, I asked, “What did you discover that has you so excited.”
