50+ Lifestyles

Just Saying…

By Q.C. Jones

Heroes ­– Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, John Wayne and me

Back in my day, kids had heroes. Thanks in part to the spectacular work of mustachioed story teller and dream builder Walt Disney, kids got a double dose of American Heroes each and every week. Sometimes the heroes were dogs. My mom and my grandma both cried when Ole’ Yeller died down at the local drive inn. I blushed when Lady and Tramp kissed over a plate of pasta. But we all reserved real hero status for those real life stars of American history; hence our story of Davy Crocket, Daniel Boone, John Wayne and me.

In a world inspired by a snowy 17 inch black and white TV, Davy and Daniel came to life. Our family gathered around our single TV and watched every second of the Wonderful World of Disney. Talking was strictly forbidden.  Commercials were reserved for fetching my dad more popcorn and squabbling with siblings. But the moment, the story started, it was concentration maximus (pulling from some lost Latin class of my youth). We were not even allowed to talk over Walt’s final message at the end of the broadcast; you know the one where he plugged Disneyland and shared a sneak preview on the coming week’s episode.

It wasn’t until late in my teens that I discovered Davy Crockett only mildly resembled Fess Parker; they had the same nose but that’s about the extent of the look alike.  But at the ripe young age of five, it didn’t matter.  Every day the kids in my South Texas neighborhood reenacted the siege of the Alamo; only difference is our reenactment had Santa Anna’s army taking it on the chin. Somewhere midway through the battle, we channeled the spirit of Davy Crockett, Superman and John Wayne. Armed with these super powers, we could have taken on Santa Anna, Castro and all the other petty dictators south of the Rio Grande. That’s the power of real heroes, but our heroes are on the wane (obviously not John Wayne).

Let me share a story to illustrate the decline of great American Heroes. A few years ago, I was speaking to a group at the San Antonio Marriott. Early the evening before, I decided to relive my youth with a walk over to the Alamo (a couple of blocks on a warm spring night can be therapeutic). Circling around the corner, there it stood. The Alamo, just like I remembered from those Sunday nights so many years ago.  There were a number of exceptions to this comment. First, Fess infested a fort in country.  This one was right downtown.  Secondly, there will billions of street vendors and souvenir shops adjacent to the old mission. I was inspired; inspired to buy a Davy Crockett Tee Shirt.

Standing even grander than the Alamo were at least a dozen tourist shops. Their neon lights sent a beacon out through the rarified air of the sacred mission fortress. Surely, one of these joints would have a simple Davy Crockett tee shirt.  One by one, I walked in and made my simple request, “I want a Davy Crockett shirt.”  The answers were eye opening.  Here is a sample (All true, I swear to God).

“Davy Crocket, is he a Rap Star?  We have lots of Rapper shirts on the back wall…” Now Davy was reported to be musically talented and played the fiddle. One of the recent movies on the topic even depicts Billy Bob Thornton (who doesn’t look like a hero but does resemble Mr. Crockett) playing a fiddle tune or two.  They didn’t have a shirt for me.
Another store clerk said this, “We only have shirts of famous people. I’ve never even heard of Davy Crockett.” If my request would have been made in downtown Chicago, I might understand a young person not knowing the legend of Davy Crockett. But, when you’re just 50 paces from the front door of the Alamo, this seems a bit odd.

I worked my way through the shops one by one. Each shop clerk responding with a similar story. Finally, I did find one shop with copies of the old 1950’s shirt of my misspent childhood. And they were on sale; Nirvana. I bought five of them.

The next day, during my talk, I asked the audience if they could answer the question, who was Davy Crockett?  I offered up one of my tee-shirts as a prize. Out of a couple hundred people from around the world, everyone had a pretty good idea as to Davy’s background. But only a few know the real answer to the question: “Daveeeey, Daaaaaaavy Crockett, king of the wild frontier…” If you knew the answer, you remember well, but I digress. Back to my recollections of youth.

I don’t know, but when I think of Davy Crockett, my mind’s eye flashes with Fess Parker but quickly morphs into John Wayne. With Fess standing at six foot five and Wayne pushing six four, they both had what it takes to be King of the wild frontier. Sometime around 1960, the Duke played the king; this time in living color. I hated to see John get killed, but as if to provide a bit of conciliation, Frankie Avalon who played the youngest of the Alamo defenders got what he deserved for stealing the first love of my life, Annette Funicello. But that’s another story.

I know many of you are wondering how Daniel Boone plays into all of this?  Well, it seems like Fess got to change characters without a great deal of extra wardrobe fittings.  Both were great shots and both left a legacy to America.  But, the real reason I added Daniel to the story came about last year, when John Wayne’s granddaughter (Jennifer Wayne) and Daniel Boones’ great-great-great granddaughter (Caroline Cutbirth) teamed up on reality TV. Apparently legendary genes of a feather flock together.

Finally, let’s suppose that Disney had been enamored with Col. George Davenport? Colonel Davenport did it all: Indian fighter, check; frontier guide, got it; river pirates, did that; hero, you betcha!  One of these day’s we’re going to chronicle Davenport’s adventures. Well maybe, sorta. Just saying….