DEFENDING MY SHERMAN, TEXAS VERSION OF THE ALAMO

     When John Wayne’s epic movie, “The Alamo” came out in 1960, it was one of those moments every red blooded boy from Texas remembers.  We had already been watching Fess Parker portray Davy Crockett since the 50’s on the Sunday evening Disney program. 

 My friend, George Head and I sported coonskin caps over our burr haircuts, resting on jutting ears.  We coordinated the "Fall of the Alamo" productions, as interpreted by Fess Parker and his side kick Buddy Ebsen in our yards on an almost daily basis.    We did require our Mexican American friends to portray Santa Anna's attacking army.  They ultimately decided this was racism (which it was) and did not buy into our argument that NO Mexicans were fighting on the side of justice and moral superiority.    "LOOK AT THE TV SHOW!", we explained.    "You do not see Mexican looking faces within the walls defending Texas liberty.    Besides, take consolation in the fact the Mexicans won the battle!"   This did little to assuage their reluctance to be the "bad" guys every day and they ultimately opted out of our reenactments.     By the time the John Wayne production opened at the Texas theatre in downtown Sherman, anticipation was at a fevered pitch!   This new movie was going to be BIG!    It was accepted as the gospel and once again...no hispanic faces were seen inside the walls, defending the Alamo.      

     In elementary school, our choir instructor, Mrs Pipes (that was her real name)  taught us the Marty Robbins song, which accompanied the movie.  “In the southern part of Texas, in the town of San Antone lies a fortress all in ruins where the weeds are over grown…”  We had been indoctrinated with the movie’s premise, the defenders of the Alamo saved us from Santa Anna, by buying time for Sam Houston to get ready to fight him (turns out, it was not true).  

     By the 7th grade at Piner Jr High, my Texas history teacher, Mrs. Biggerstaff, would hold Travis’ letter from the Alamo to her breast and recite it, without ever looking at the written script.  Tears would roll down her aged cheeks as she detailed the plea for aid from the gallant defenders, in the face of several thousand Mexican soldiers.  The red flag of “no quarter” was already flying over San Antonio and, as Travis confirmed...survival was doubtful.  Yet, he was prepared to die, as were all in his command.   

     When Mrs. Biggerstaff finished her recitation, there was not a dry eye in the class.  She could have called for volunteers at that moment and every boy would have marched to avenge the defenders of The Alamo.  

We all watched the movie multiple times, portrayed “The New Alamo-John Wayne Version” in our yards with renewed zeal, built forts and reenacted several scenes, while humming that wonderful sound track.  It did not bother us that Richard Widmark did not make a credible Jim Bowie or Laurence Harvey was kind of a prissy William Travis.  John Wayne’s portrayal of Davy Crockett, walking around muttering things like, “Republic, I like the sound of the word,” made up for a lot of distractions.  (As we sat in the Texas Theater in our coon skin caps, we did chuckle when Bowie (Richard Widmark), was bayoneted by Mexican troops and gave out a kind of a squawk, which sounded like someone stepping on a chicken…kind of a “BA-WALK!”)  Nevertheless, we embraced the movie and it became part of who we were.

     Forty years passed and there was going to be a major remake of The Alamo, with big stars in the title role.  I contacted my close friend and fellow Texan, John Neutzling, (called The Postman, because he always delivers).  We HAD to have parts in this movie.  I knew we couldn’t be Crockett or Travis, but get us into this movie and onto the silver screen…this was the last chance of our lives and we HAVE to have parts in this film.  This was going to be BIG!    John said, as he always did, “I will take care of it.”

     He went to work, called me a couple of weeks later and said the only parts left were for Mexican soldiers,  who would get all shot up by the defenders of The Alamo.  If we wanted to do that, we could be in the movie.  Well…that was no more appealing to me, than it was to my Mexican-American playmates back in the 50's.    As loyal son's of Texas,  John and I passed on the opportunity.  But, I could not wait for the movie and followed it’s progress in all available news stories.

     When the movie came out, Mizz Nancy and I were living in Pittsburgh.  I had accepted the role as head of real estate and construction at American Eagle Outfitters.  We moved into a large, older home and had a lot of room.  A young man from Ethiopia, his wife and two little children attended our church.  He was finishing his doctorate at PITT and they slept on the floor of an apartment with an abundance of cock roaches.  We moved them in with us and they occupied the bedrooms upstairs.  I explained to the Africans,  this movie was going to be BIG!  I would get tickets for all of us, take everyone to the film and they could see first hand, one of the great moments of Texas history on the big screen.  I went on-line, got us tickets to a special section with reclining seats, abundant popcorn and soda.    

     The day of the movie came out,  I loaded up Mizz Nancy, the African’s, my blind friend Dan Rossi and got to the movie early.  There would undoubtably be a huge crowd and we needed to beat the rush.    One could have fired a cannon through the lobby and not hit anyone.  The theatre was virtually vacant.  I sat with Dan and the African’s on each side of me and attempted to explain what was going on.  I never realized what a complicated story it is to relate, particularly if you cannot see or are from Africa and do not  care about Texas’ independence from Mexico.  The children and their dad went to sleep, Dan followed it pretty well by listening and Mizz Nancy hid most her boredom.  It was a bust and I did not make a lot of headway in spreading the Sherman, Texas version of the gospel of The Alamo to a new generation.

     At the end of the day, the lesson is people from Pittsburgh or Ethiopia do not give a hoot in hell about Texas history.  The story plays best in Sherman, Texas…perhaps I should have outfitted everyone in a coonskin cap, but I doubt it would have made much difference.