We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
THE NEW JOHN WAYNE by Todd Mason Wayne is mellowing! OSCAR WINNER - The "Duke", having reached the epitomy of an actor's career, mellows reluctantly. ON LOCATION - John Wayne mounted and ready to ride in a scene from "Rio Lobo"in Tucson, Arizona. L ike a banana squash that has been in the sun some 63 years, John Wayne is beginning to mellow. No longer are Hollywood’s sound stages filled with roars and colorful expletives. Other than a few healthy “son of a bitches,” Duke Wayne’s dialogue has lost its vinegar. Few remember “The.Alamo,” when a cannon rolled over and crushed a Mexican extra player, and Wayne roared, “Send the poor bastard’s wife $50.00, and let’s get on with the picture.” On his 51st day of making “Rio Lobo,” his 184th picture, a count unsure to Wayne since he once made 10 to 15 films a year for Republic, he strides about his set, makes suggestions to his stunt man about a fight scene, confers with director Howard Hawks, then watches a take as his double leaps over a couch and knocks actor Victor French through a breakaway door. Wayne then steps in, off camera, jerks French to his feet, delivers a hard right to his jaw, and sends him reeling backward into the set. And you realize two qualities have not changed. Wayne’s whiskey voice. His fighting style. Each has made him a millionaire. He doesn’t stomp around the Paramount lot exclaiming, “I’ve been a big star for 40 years.” The Oscar changed all that. Today, Duke is more conscious of his public. He even greets sidewalk crowds in Tucson. Asks a New York Times reporter, “Have you got enough to cut my throat?” Embraces set visitor Ricardo Montelban, greets director John Ford, “Hello, coach. Let’s go to lunch.” Wayne’s dressing room on. “Rio Lobo,” (Wolf River) is, if anything, unpretentious, bleak. It measures 10’ x 12.’ Sports a single black telephone, chair, sofa, and portable tape recorder. Bit players at Universal have better. A trace of humor emerges. After pummeling actor French to a bloody pulp, and Hawks calls for the fight scene to be printed, Wayne turns to a friend and comments, “I was just tapping him a few times to get some information. Now watch 'em yell ‘police brutality.’ I should have been an Indian.” Two other things have changed about John Wayne. He’s exchanged cigarets for Beechnut tobacco, and he’s come out of the woods into public function. He chews, and spits, constantly, and everywhere. And on a recent Saturday he flew to the Cotton Bowl to talk against the use of drugs to some 15,000 kids. Returned same evening for the S.H.A.R.E. show. Wayne is mellowing, but the action he generates at theatre box offices hasn’t taken note. He is of a vanishing breed — a bankable star whose stamina still has the Bible belt standing in the aisles. He’ll never remake “The Bells of St. Mary,” but the new, amiable Wayne could, perchance, open a can of peas as the Jolly Green Giant. Page 7