Hollywood on the Rio Grande

THE COMMISSION OF DOUBT OR
WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO NEXT

- Introduction
- Hooked Forever
- Innocent in the Velvet Jungle
- The Commission of Doubt or
  What the Hell do we do Next
- Stinky Flies in the Gourmet Soup
- One for the Money, Two for the Show
- The Wrap Without Bow Knots Those commission members who had acquaintances in the film capital continued making calls. Interest was growing. David Dortort, producer of the long-running, top-rated Bonanza and High Chaparral, made a quick trip to New Mexico. He was encouraging, but declared bluntly that we would have to build a "Western street" to maintain a solid word-of-mouth promotion of our state. Without exception all other filmmakers said the same. I made talks at Lions Club, the Kiwanis Club and to anyone else who would listen about the dire necessity of a "street." Other members of the commission did the same - many in print.

Columbia Studios had now shot part of a comedy at the J.W. Eaves Ranch, Where Angels Go . . . Trouble Follows. The art director was a friend of Dortort's. I asked Dortort if he could talk him into coming back to fully advise the most expedient way to get a "street" at the Eaves Ranch. They did the job. The art director showed us how to cheaply turn existing buildings into a Spanish village and laid out a plan for other studios to add to it.

The great pot of chile beans was now simmering, but it had to be brought to a boil before we ran out of firewood. Otherwise, it would fail like so many visions do.

Mr. and Mrs. Eaves were first-class entertainers at their ranch. They held dinners with fine food and drinks for anyone we suggested might be of help to bring the movie industry into our area. It was helping, but we had not even got the horse loaded in the starting gate. We were just circling around the paddocks trying to find the track.

Then, Lou Gasparini, our commission chairman, called both Charles Le Maire and me, saying their calls to Hollywood were not being returned. He was justifiably desperate, seeing all our efforts beginning to falter.

I got calls for help from the governor's office and from Fred Patton, who was up for directorship of the Santa Fe Film Office. It was pretty damn foolish, as far as my personal business was concerned, when I volunteered to go - at my own expense - to California to talk some prominent producers and directors into meeting with our governor and the committee members at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

It was early February of 1968 when I arrived in Hollywood and started phoning, cajoling and asking everyone I knew for their expertise. It was madness for me, an ex-cowboy, painter and Southwest writer, to attempt this, but I was so naive I did not know it was a near impossible undertaking. I enlisted the aid of my agent, Dick Brand (he knew everyone in town), Burt Kennedy (also knew everyone), novelist Clair Huffaker (of Nobody Loves a Drunken Indian fame) and screenwriter Mark Hanna. They wholeheartedly contributed.

After nearly three weeks of constant entertaining, bribery and tap dancing up and down Sunset and Wilshire boulevards, I called Gasparini and told him to set a date with Gov. Cargo, reserve rooms and book a large meeting room for a breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

My neck was stuck out so far it felt like a worn-out garden hose. I wasn't sure if either side would arrive and deliver. If the governor's commission did not show up and perform properly, I would have to sneak out of Hollywood like a coyote with a bounty on his scalp, never to return. If the New Mexico Commission came to the breakfast and no one from Hollywood showed, I would be unable to return home to my wife and daughters until the millennium, if then.

Arriving at the Beverly Hills Hotel from New Mexico were: Gov. David Cargo, his charming wife, Ida Jo, Lou Gasparini, Ralph Looney, Chuck Middlestadt, Steve Kopack, Charles Le Maire and P.R. people Charles Cullen and Bill Prevetti. It was now Nervous City, California.

The night-before dinner went well because we had friends there, like actors Chill Wills and Robert Montgomery and the singer from Santa Fe, Kelly Garrett. Morning came early to those who must face the Hollywood powers. I was oblivious to the pink hotel's famous breakfast. It could have been prepared from sawdust and termites for all I knew.

At ten till ten, our breakfast room was loaded with 35 major producers and the heads of two studios. Also present were another 35 or so assorted directors, production managers and screenwriters - all accomplished people who were interested in getting things done. A perfect crowd for our purpose.

We screened our short promo film on New Mexico and I could feel the "so what" attitude among many. Then it happened. Magic. The youngest governor in the United States got up and made a pitch. It was believable, full of sincerity and so skillfully presented that I had a good easy breath for the first time in a month.

They liked Cargo. They decided they liked New Mexico and the new film commission. They believed that we had the ability to make filming easier for them.

Before lunchtime we had three commitments to come and take a look at our state. The aforementioned Burt Kennedy was to film The Good Guys and The Bad Guys here. Clair Huffaker introduced his producer, Jerry Adler, for Nobody Loves a Drunken Indian and Mark Hanna brought his producer for King Gun, Oscar L. Nichols. These three who had helped me so much in getting the group together all came through individually. Kennedy shot his film in Chama. Huffaker's film headquartered in Albuquerque and was shot in and around nearby pueblos. Hanna's film was made outside of Santa Fe.

The next day we visited Paramount and Universal Studios. We met Hoss, Little Joe and the whole Cartwright gang escorted by their producer, David Dortort. The governor and I met with William Castle, who practically owned Paramount because of the constant successes of his pioneering horror genre films.

On and on it went. Stars, producers and directors beyond naming, all being touted by our commission for filming and fun in New Mexico.

The next morning the governor and I went alone to the studio to meet Kenneth Hyman, the head of Warner Bros. worldwide productions. He had green-lighted The Wild Bunch for producer Phil Feldman and director Sam Peckinpah. It worked. He okayed a couple of films for New Mexico before he left as the lead dog of the studio to produce on his own.

The Governor's Commission in Hollywood was a triumph. The momentum was faster than our knowledge of the human beast. Upon our return we realized that we had to get that "street" fast or all our work and energy would vanish like a childhood fantasy.

Eaves was getting several kinds of fever over the huge possibilities for his movie ranch. Fred Patton and I made a handshake deal (with papers to come later) with him as his minor partners.

We all went to work and threw a party for about 200 "key" people at the ranch. We invited members of the press and their spouses. There was a fiesta atmosphere. J.W.'s brother, Joe, had masterfully handled a big barbecue. I was designated to take them on a megaphone tour of the facilities while a film, River of Legends, that I had worked on for years was being screened for those who were not solely there for the free food and drinks.

I taped a radio show on the spot. The following day The Santa Fe New Mexican, May 27, 1968, headlines read "A Set is Set" and "Movieland Rises On New Mexico Ranch." The story was by Jack Stamm and mentioned the partnership.

The same day The Albuquerque Journal's writer, Jim Newton, had an article headlined "Spanish-Western Town Set." There was a photograph of the partners that included J.W. Eaves, Fred Patton and myself leaning on an old wagon in the middle of the Spanish street. The Albuquerque Tribune article by Ralph Looney was headlined "Western Street Built on Eaves S.F. Ranch." There were photographs of the Western terrain and another of a horse taking a simulated drink from a simulated well in the Spanish village.

Hollywood stringers Chuck Middlestadt and Dick Skrondahl got the announcements in the Hollywood Reporter, Variety and Box Office in New York. The art director returned and added his expertise - for free. The Eaves Western Town was on its way and so was the film industry in New Mexico. Everything developed according to plan except the partnership.

Miraculously, the wild dream had worked. Eaves Ranch, along with other location "streets," is still profiting and so is the entire state of New Mexico.

Gov. Cargo and Ida Jo, along with a few of us made another trip, this time to the Beverly Hilton. We set up meetings with people of power on an appointment-only basis to cut expenses. We had the proof of our prior commitments now. Among the juiciest bits of news was the fact Hal Wallis, famed producer, was leaving soon for New Mexico to look for locations for Red Sky At Morning by New Mexican author Richard Bradford.

The wonderful New Mexico locations and the treatment from the commission were bringing in the producers, along with their millions. Momentum was ours.