American Titan: Searching for John Wayne (51 page)

Wayne made no effort to hide the affair from anyone and Pilar heard about it almost immediately. Once again she offered to divorce him. He refused. According to Pilar, Mary St. John told her that Wayne spent the next three days without Pat, fighting back tears.

Wayne recovered quickly, knowing that Stacy had awakened something in him that had been dormant for a long while. He was still capable of having sex, but there something inside that was not so easily touched, and Pat had been able to reach it. They even talked about marriage, but Wayne told her he had already failed at it three times, that if he were still in his fifties he might try again, but now it was too late for any of that. He liked things the way they were. Stacy accepted the truth of their relationship, that he would never marry her; it was what it was and the way it would always be.

JOHN FORD DIED AT 6:35
P
.
M
. on August 31, 1973, in the arms of Woody Strode, a longtime member of Ford’s stock company of actors. Wayne knew that he had been seriously ill for a time and had lived for the past several years in unofficial retirement in Palm Desert, California, an upscale, unofficial village for Hollywood’s most privileged seniors. Ford had made his last feature,
7 Women,
in 1968, which was critically well received but did not do well at the box office (Andrew Sarris named it his favorite American film of that year).
¹³⁵
Ford rarely went into Hollywood after that, but did once more, early in 1973, to receive the American Film Institute’s first Life Achievement Award. Wayne gave a touching tribute to his longtime friend and mentor.

Near the end the bedridden Ford had called Wayne and asked him to come out to the desert. As soon as he completed
McQ,
Wayne made the trip and sat by Ford’s bedside, grimly smiling as he reminisced with the director, whose body was shrunken and ravaged by cancer. Ford drank a little brandy and berated Wayne for making frequent appearances on the popular TV show
Laugh-In,
saying that it would hurt his career. Wayne listened and said nothing, holding Pappy’s hand to try to comfort the Old Man.

The next day Ford died and Wayne fell into a deep depression. He turned for comfort not to Pilar, but to Pat.

NOT LONG AFTER FORD’S DEATH
Wayne made no secret of the fact to everyone, including Pat, that he missed being with Pilar. They even toyed with the idea of reconciling, but neither could make the first move back. Pilar was aware of Pat’s loving role in Wayne’s life and wasn’t sure she would put up with it. She decided to move ahead with her own life without him.

Early in 1974, the
Harvard Lampoon
lightheartedly laid the gauntlet down, publicly daring Wayne to show up in Cambridge, accept their annual “Brass Balls” award, and face the crowd in person in the square. He called Pilar and asked her what she thought he should do. She warned him against it, telling him they would ridicule him, that college students could be vicious. He decided to go anyway. He had never shied away from a fight in his life, on- or off-screen, and he wasn’t about to start now. At whatever way they came to him, he could and would come back the same way. He saw it as an opportunity to try to connect to a part of his audience that had turned away from his films in favor of the new, independent movies that spoke more directly to them, like Mike Nichols’s 1967
The Graduate,
Dennis Hopper’s
Easy Rider,
and Bob Rafelson’s
Five Easy Pieces,
none of which could possibly have been made at the height of the studio system’s golden era. Wayne detested them. None looked anything like the kind of movies he had made for nearly fifty years. He wanted to show the students that he had a sense of humor and didn’t mind being made fun of.

The day of the big visit, he was driven around the square in an armored personnel carrier, looking like nothing so much as a cross between a head of state and a prisoner of war. Students shouted insults at him, which he responded to with a broad smile and a wave. He was then delivered to the Harvard Square Theater for a question-and-answer session that pushed the limits of good taste but made everybody laugh, including him. Where did he get that phony toupee? Wayne chuckled and said it was real hair, just not his. Women’s lib? Women can do anything they want as long as they have dinner on the table when men get home. Did he look at himself as the fulfillment of the American Dream? He tried not to look at himself any more than he had to. By the end of the day, the students were cheering for Wayne, who had taken everything they could throw at him and was still standing.

IN JUNE 1974, WAYNE FLEW
to Chicago and then London to film
Brannigan,
another
policier,
part of his ongoing attempt to look more contemporary, or more relevant. Taking its cue from Clint Eastwood,
Brannigan
is a modern-day western on the order of
Dirty Harry.
The film, a Batjac/Jules Levy/Arthur Gardner production, was executive-produced by Wayne’s son Michael and distributed by United Artists. Tough talk, fistfights, car chases—all more of the same. Wayne moved with difficulty, felt old, and looked it. It was another paycheck movie—Wayne received $750,000 and a good percentage of the profits. While filming
Brannigan,
Wayne came down with a bad cold, followed by a fever and a cough, then began to cough up blood, immediately triggering fears that something was seriously wrong. Despite Pat’s presence and willingness to care for him, Wayne now insisted he needed Pilar. He called and invited her to take the kids and join him in the big house he was staying in for the duration of filming. Pilar accepted his offer. Pat Stacy picked them all up at the airport. Wayne was too busy filming.

He had presents waiting for everybody, and when after that day’s shoot, he met everybody at a small dinner party he had arranged for that evening. Pat did not attend. After, Wayne confessed to Pilar that he had lost his sexual vitality.

By the third week Pilar was ready to go home. When she told Wayne she was leaving, he looked sad and depressed and reassured Pilar he hoped they could all live together again when he got back to California, the whole family under the same roof, the way it used to be.

Pilar returned to Newport Beach, happy and optimistic, after thinking it over during the long flight home and deciding she wanted to reconcile with her husband. She placed a call to him in London to tell him her decision. The phone in his suite was answered by a butler, who informed her that he had gone to Paris. Pilar asked to speak to Pat. He said she wasn’t there, that she had accompanied him on the trip. Pilar thanked him and hung up the phone.

In Paris, Wayne and Pat stayed in their suite, leaving it only when they had to, except when he wanted to buy her expensive designer clothes. If Pat tried three or four dresses, Wayne would insist she take all of them.

When Wayne finally returned to California, Pilar confronted him about his trip to Paris with Stacy and again asked him if he wanted a divorce. He said no, they should stay together for the sake of the children. He didn’t deny the trip to Paris or elaborate on it, or on his relationship with Pat. Pilar knew that day they would never live together as husband and wife again.

In her book, Pilar wrote of what followed that day: “From then on we were to meet as intimate strangers. I even began dating, although my thoughts and my heart were still with Duke . . . it is still difficult for me to write about Pat Stacy and the role she played in our lives.”

That September 1974, after doing a series of public service commercials for the American Cancer Society—“Get yourself a checkup and send in a check”—Wayne went off to film
Rooster Cogburn
with Pat by his side, as she was constantly now. Produced by Hal Wallis for Universal Pictures,
Rooster Cogburn
was shot on location in September and October, in Bend, Oregon, the Cascade Mountains, Deschutes National Forest, and the Rogue River. Wayne received $750,000 plus a percentage of the profits. His costar in this sequel to
True Grit
was Katharine Hepburn, who received $150,000 plus $12,500 in expenses and a small piece of the net profits (which eventually totaled $100,000). The film had a script by Martha Hyer (writing as Martin Julien) that resembled the 1951 Hepburn/Bogart Huston film
The African Queen
more than the original
True Grit,
with Hepburn a spinster version of Mattie Ross and Wayne in the Bogart role, slovenly, coarse. The two got along well during production, despite their political differences (Hepburn was a well-known liberal and champion of women’s rights). They were professionals there to do a job, and they did it the best they could.

As is the proven rule in Hollywood, sequels cost twice as much as originals and gross half the amount.
Rooster Cogburn
was no exception.
True Grit
grossed $35 million in its first domestic release,
Rooster Cogburn
, released in October 1975, did $18.4 million.

During filming, Wayne’s old cough returned, not helped by the high altitudes of the Oregon locations, and he soon developed what was diagnosed as walking pneumonia. He was hospitalized once during filming and once after. He had lost fifteen pounds. He also suffered through an inner ear infection, and exhaustion, but managed to overcome all of it, except that cough.

A month after finishing
Rooster Cogburn
Wayne checked into Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach to have a knee he had injured during filming corrected. He was never comfortable in hospitals, and this time was no different. He was released a week before Christmas. Although he had given up smoking after his lung cancer, he was back up to a pack a day.

Brannigan
was released in March 1975, and it, too, failed to capture the imagination of the public, barely making back its production costs.

Wayne was back in the hospital again the same month
Brannigan
was released, unable to shake his hacking cough. This time he was treated with antibiotics, developed a staph infection, and remained an inpatient for the rest of the month.

Upon his release, a frail-looking Wayne made an appearance at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion for the April 8, 1975, Oscar presentations, hosted that year by Bob Hope, Sammy Davis Jr., Shirley MacLaine, and Frank Sinatra, telecast live over NBC in America and beamed around the world via satellite. He had agreed to present the Honorary Academy Award for Lifetime Achievement to Howard Hawks.

Wayne was introduced by Shirley MacLaine, and he received a standing ovation. When the applause died down, Wayne spoke, his voice slightly strained. “Actors hate directors, and then the movie comes out, and they get great notices, and then they don’t hate the director anymore.” The audience laughed appreciatively, recognizing the truth of Wayne’s observation. After he read a list of Hawks’s best movies, he said, “He’s made a lot of actors jump. I’m the director tonight. Hawks! Roll ’em. Get your skinny whatchamacallit out here!” Hawks walked slowly out, thin as ever, his head crowned with cotton-white hair, and the audience rose to its feet. Wayne handed him the Oscar, saying “From movie fans everywhere.” The Grey Fox, as Hawks was known in Hollywood, then approached the mike and said, “I remember visiting John Ford when he became sick and went out into the desert to die. And he said, ‘There’s something I stole from you that tops the whole thing. I won the Oscar but you made a better picture. You’re going to get one.’ ” The audience was puzzled by the reference. Hollywood has a short memory when it comes to who won an Oscar what year. Wayne pointed the way off, stage right. “No, this way,” Hawks said and led Wayne off in the other direction, leaving everyone scratching their heads.
¹³⁶

Backstage, at the mandatory press conference, a so-called reporter shouted to Wayne, asking him if he was a racist. “You’re mistaken,” Wayne said, angered but not wanting to sound confrontational. The reporter asked the question again and he was hustled out of the room by security guards.

WAYNE WAS EXHAUSTED BY HIS
appearance at the Oscars and began an extended period of convalescence spent mostly alone on
The
Wild Goose,
with an occasional stop at the house in Newport Beach. His downtime ended January 13, 1976, when he reported for the start of production on what would be his 169th and final film.

The Shootist
was directed by Don Siegel from a screenplay by Miles Hood Swarthout and Scott Hale. Cinematographer Bruce Surtees was behind the camera, and the music score was by Elmer Bernstein. It was not a Batjac film, but produced by Dino De Laurentiis and Mike Frankovich, distributed by Paramount domestically and De Laurentiis internationally. Wayne was hired to act in it for $750,000 plus an unspecified percentage of the net to star in the film. His costars were Jimmy Stewart, reuniting the two legends for the first (and last) time since
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,
and Lauren Bacall, whom he’d worked with on
Blood Alley
; Stewart and Bacall each received $50,000 for their relatively small roles.
¹³⁷

Set in 1901, the film is yet another tale of the disappearing Old West at the dawn of the twentieth century. J. B. Books (Wayne) is an aging gunfighter who visits his old friend, Dr. E. W. Hostetler (Stewart), who tells Books he is terminally ill with cancer. Wishing to die in peace and with dignity, Books rents a room at the widow Bond Rogers’s (Lauren Bacall’s) boardinghouse, where he strikes up a paternal relationship with her boy, Gillom Rivers (Ron Howard). When the town learns of Books’ presence, several gunfighters come to make their reputations by shooting him down. A climactic fight scene ensues, Books kills all his challengers, and then is shot in the back by Murray the bartender, of all people. Gillom then kills the bartender, played by Charles G. Martin. Siegel originally wanted Wayne to shoot Murray, but he refused, telling Siegel that John Wayne would never shoot anyone in the back.