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Raised on a ranch in Texas, bachelor Fess has long known how to take care of himself, hie lives modestly in a small but comfortable house in Hollywood, keeps a neat yard, and con scramble up a "mean" egg to satisfy his hearty appetite.
Incidentally, the beginnings of Fess' guitar playing (so vital a part of "The Ballad of Davy Crockett") are shrouded in mystery. One version is that he was born with a guitar in one hand and a Texas bluebonnet in the other. A more comfortable theory is that, while Fess was a student at the University of Texas, folk singer Burl Ives appeared at the college on concert tour. Fess was so impressed with Ives' performance — and discovered himself to be so completely at home with the material used and the interpretation employed— that he could talk of nothing else for weeks. His girl friend finally retaliated by buying Fess a guitar for Christmas.
Of course, it was a gag gift for which she had paid only a few dollars at the local music store, but Fess elected to take it seriously. So seriously that he asked if she would be hurt if he traded in the six-stringer for a fine instrument. She said something like no, not if he wouldn't practice under her balcony — and that did it.
From that moment to this, scarcely a day has gone by during which Fess has not fovmd a few moments in which to beat out chords. Between scenes on the set, he can be found strumming and humming, composing melodies of his own. His only periods of stringless silence — sometimes lasting a week — are brought on by attendance at a Segovia concert. "The man has a kind of magic," he says, grinning in wry appreciation. "It doesn't seem human for one pair of hands to get so much music out of a guitar."
His regional drawl (more Southern than Texan) , his quiet manner, his far-flung stature, his steady eyes — and his air of considered calm — convey at least one wrong impression. A stranger (Continued on page 86)
A guitar player since college days, Fess composes his own tunes, enjoys duets with girl friend Marcy Rinehart.
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