You had to know Wayne personally to appreciate his personal impact. He filled every room he entered while remaining naturally modest and self-effacing.
He was huge physically. He stood 6-feet-4 weighing 250 pounds of muscle, a broad-shouldered bulk with a massive, handsome head and blue eyes that glittered with intelligence and humour.
His booming basso carried authority and reservoirs of concealed power. He was not a man to be trifled with, unless you were a lady, and then he was courtly in a uniquely seductive way.
During filming of "Rooster Cogburn," co-star Katharine Hepburn was displeased with director Stuart Millar and asked Wayne for help. Wayne took over the directorial reins resulting in a box-office landslide. He won an Academy Award in 1970 for "True Grit," the forerunner of "Rooster Cogburn."
Rarely praised for his acting prowess, Wayne's public popularity continued to grow. He knew moviemaking from the bottom up.
Wayne worked as an extra, stunt man, bit player, supporting actor, and finally became a star in "Stagecoach" (1939) under the direction of his mentor and close friend, John Ford. His performance as the Ringo Kid electrified audiences and led to bigger, more expensive pictures.
Wayne swaggered through countless horse operas and war pictures, ever the hero, relishing the macho roles given him. But sometimes the roles also called for a gentle, sympathetic counterpoint.
Although he became financially affluent by the standard of his times, Wayne never earned salaries comparable to, say, Tom Hanks' $20 million per picture. It's doubtful if he made anywhere near that much in his total career.
One wonders if Costner, Cruise, or any other current millionaire movie star will have his 93rd birthday celebrated with a daylong celebration.
Maybe. Maybe not. But there was only one John Wayne and in this era of acquiescence to political correctness and a blending in with the herd, Wayne stands alone as the nearest thing to the ideal universal man ever developed by the movies.
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