Distinctly Montana Magazine

55 w w w. d i s t i n c t l y m o n t a n a . c o m He said he could play football pretty good and had done so at the University of Southern California with some success. Walsh "liked the tone of his voice and the way he carried him- self. He was big, but he moved easily." Walsh decided to let him test for the starring role in his next picture, the ultra-ambitious Western. But Winfield Sheehan, a big-wig producer at Fox, was skepti- cal. Walsh writes that when he introduced Morrison to Sheehan, the executive responded, "Who is this guy? Can he ride a horse? Where the hell did you find him?" And then there was the biggest question of all, the one which had already ruined careers in the rush from the silents to sound (see Singin' in the Rain): "Can he talk?" He could, or at least he showed potential. Walsh said, "For a college man, he read well enough, but he fell into the common trap of beginners. He overdramatized his lines." Walsh had some advice for him: "You've traded yourself in for a Western scout, a plainsman. So play him with a cool hand like I think you'd do on a football field. Speak softly but with authority, and look whoever you're talking to right in the eye." In following Walsh's advice, Morrison would adopt a persona that would serve him for the rest of his life, in films like Stage- coach, The Searchers, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and True Grit. It was a screen presence the sheer magnetism of which made him one of the most recognizable figures in the cinema and assured him entry into movie-star Valhalla. But there was still the issue of his name. Walsh had been read- ing a book about the soldier and founding father "Mad" An- thony Wayne and the name had stuck with him. He suggested it to Sheehan, who "looked up and smirked as though he had thought of it," Walsh reported. "He grabbed the pencil again, then read what he had written. 'Wayne. Not Mad Anthony, just John will do.'" Looking back from a perspective 45 years later in 1975, the ac- tor, now world-famous and widely regarded as one of the great movie stars of all time, would muse that the transition from his given name to his screen persona was sometimes difficult. "It took me a long time. I've never really become accustomed to the John. Nobody ever really calls me John... I've always been Duke, or Marion, or John Wayne. It's a name that goes well together and it's like one word—JohnWayne. But if they say John, Christ, I don't look around today." * * * The production of The Big Trail waffled between troubled and sub- lime. According to Walsh biographer Marilyn Ann Moss, "20,000 extras, 1,800 head of cattle, 1,400 horses" traveled with the pro- duction, along with "185 wagons" and "123 baggage trains that trekked over 4,300 miles in the seven states used for locations." Finally, there were 293 actors, 22 cameramen, and 700 barnyard animals. It was a four-month shoot, from April to August of 1930. Wayne was to star opposite leading lady and screen beauty Marguerite Churchill, who had enjoyed success in films like Born Dected by Raoul Walsh Raoul Walsh

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