PEACE NEVER LASTS, BUT WARS EVENTUALLY END. In 1945, hundreds of thousands of American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines came home and began making up for lost time. Marrying in battalions, having children in brigades. Snapping up houses in brand-new suburbs. Buying cars and refrigerators. Smoking, drinking, and eating as much steak as they could pile on their plates. After fifteen years of Depression poverty and wartime rationing, Americans denied themselves nothing. It was a giddy era of fads and crazes, and television was the biggest craze of all. Broadcasters struggled to fill hours with shows that advertisers would sponsor. To everyone’s surprise, the most lucrative market turned out to be that army of postwar babies, millions of whom were advancing on kindergarten like a conquering horde.
Every morning, while their weary, fecund mothers stayed in bed, grateful for an extra hour of sleep, those kids sloshed Borden’s milk into bowls of Cheerios or Frosted Flakes or Sugar Pops and sat down in front of the TV, staring at the Indian-chief test pattern until the day’s programming began. Quietly mesmerized by Romper Room, Howdy Doody, Mighty Mouse, and Captain Kangaroo, they sucked in hours of advertising, to the immense gratification of Madison Avenue.
From the start, cowboys were big with the kids. Gene Autry. Roy Rogers. The Lone Ranger, The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, The Cisco Kid. Things really took off in September ’54, when Davy Crockett and Annie Oakley hit the small screen. By October, every little boy in America had to have a coonskin cap like Davy’s and all the little girls needed a plastic-fringed skirt and vest for Halloween. In December, they all asked Santa for toy guns and cowboy hats. Slap a picture of Fess Parker or Gail Davis on anything at all—lunch boxes, pencil pouches, cereal boxes—and you could sell millions of them.
Once the little darlings had softened up their parents, the ad agencies went after adults directly and began to sponsor Westerns that would appeal to the whole family. Most early series were adapted from radio shows like Death Valley Days and Gunsmoke, but in 1955, ABC broke new ground by optioning Stuart Lake’s book for a TV series starring Hugh O’Brian.
A reporter from Variety heard that the real Wyatt Earp used to hang around the back lots when movies were just getting started, so he asked around at the studios, and the rumor turned out to be true.
“Wyatt mentioned a fella named Flood was writing the true story of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral,” the old-timer remembered.
So the reporter tracked John down and showed up at the house, hoping for a quote he could use in a piece about O’Brian. “Mr. Flood, I’ve been told that Wyatt Earp said you were like a son to him,” the reporter began. “Do you have any comment?”
John stood in the doorway, not moving, and cleared his throat before he spoke. “It’s nice to know Mr. Earp felt that way.”
“What did he tell you about the gunfight?” the reporter asked.
“I have nothing else to say.”
Edgar had retired years earlier but retained a certain sympathy for journalists grubbing up column inches. “Come on, John! Give the kid some material.”
“I have nothing else to say,” John repeated. “Mr. Earp hated talking about the gunfight, and I will respect his preference.” Then he closed the door.
“I THINK WE SHOULD GET A TELEVISION,” Edgar announced the next morning.
“I don’t want one of those ugly things in the house,” John said. “Television is nothing but game shows and fake wrestling. I’d rather listen to music.”
“It’s not all claptrap,” Edgar said, scanning the new fall schedule in the newspaper. “There’s that Edward R. Murrow show, See It Now. Robert Montgomery Presents . . . Armstrong Circle Theatre is doing plays by Paddy Chayefsky, Horton Foote, and Gore Vidal this season.” He looked up. “We never go to the theater anymore, but we could watch some terrific plays right here in the house.”
“Humph,” John said, but he tried to be enthusiastic when Edgar carried home a sixteen-inch Zenith and sat it on a little table in front of the sofa.
Bringing in a good signal was a struggle. Edgar would fuss with the antenna. Adjust the horizontal- and vertical-hold knobs. Move the antenna again. Half the time, the show was over before he got a solid picture. It drove John crazy, as did Edgar’s fascination with aluminum-clad frozen meals called Swanson TV Dinners.
“They’re vile,” Edgar admitted cheerfully, “but part of the experience.”
Edgar loved all this modern nonsense, and John loved Edgar. He gave in to the new rituals with as much good grace as he could muster, but it was with a sense of foreboding that he settled onto the sofa to wait for the premiere of The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp.
“Are you excited?” Edgar asked, carrying in a bowl of popcorn.
“My expectations are low,” John replied. And yet . . .
Perhaps it was age. He was seventy-seven and no longer well; his feelings seemed closer to the surface these days. Perhaps time had softened his memories of the Earps’ last years. Most likely, he was just getting to be a sentimental old fart.
Whatever the reason, his throat tightened when the earnest baritone voice-over began: “This is the story of Wyatt Earp, the greatest of the old-time fighting peace officers, a real western hero!”
Edgar snorted. “Fighting peace officers? How Orwellian . . .”
“Quiet! I want to hear!” John snapped, for a manly choir had begun to sing.
I’ll tell you a story, a real true-life story,
A tale of the western frontier.
The West, it was lawless,
but one man was flawless,
And his is the story you’ll hear.
“Flawless!” Edgar cried, stunned. “Flawless? John . . . She won! The old girl finally won!”
“Oh, Edgar,” John whispered. “Mrs. Earp would have loved this!”
That was true, for the series would be nice, and clean, and full of pep. Week after week, Wyatt Earp would be portrayed as a handsome, sexless, incorruptible marshal doing selfless battle with bad men who deserved to die.
And he would have a song for his epitaph.
The chorus swelled. John wiped his eyes. It’s not lying, he thought. It’s just remembering things the way they should have been.
Wyatt Earp! Wyatt Earp!
Brave, courageous, and bold!
Long live his fame and long live his glory