Hollywood on the Rio Grande

STINKY FLIES IN THE GOURMET SOUP

- 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 Burt Kennedy had done a good job directing Clair Huffaker's screenplay of War Wagon starring Kirk Douglas and John Wayne. It was a hit. Now he had another big Western on his schedule, The Good Guys and The Bad Guys. It would star Robert Mitchum, Martin Balsam and both John and David Carradine. On Sept. 16, 1968, set construction started at Chama. The sets consisted of a facade of the railroad depot, a mountain cabin and portions of other buildings to match Warner Bros.' Western street in Hollywood. The movie people filled every motel and extra room in Chama, Dulce and environs. Local businesses prospered, jobs were launched, extras and bit players were cast from all over the state. It was our first really big Western after forming the governor's commission and setting up the Santa Fe Film Office. It was critical that all went well.

The filming had just started after great effort, talent and money spent, when I got a call in my hotel room on Sunset Boulevard from Kennedy. The director was fuming. That quickly got my attention, because Burt is an easygoing, honest artist. Whatever he says can be taken to Sunday school. The production company was being gouged with inflated prices and services from some of the state employees. Burt said he was moving the entire film to Colorado and the news would be headlined in Variety the next day. He meant it. That would end our new industry's momentum and it might never recover. I begged him for just 48 hours to try to correct the problem. He agreed to the deadline.

I am personally mostly apolitical, but this severe situation called for immediate political power beyond the local. I knew the parties involved were great charmers and would slyly deny any and all accusations, blaming someone else, while our new business boom would crash slowly around us without the public, the taxpayers, ever knowing why.

I called my friend, Sen. Joe Montoya, in Washington, D.C. I called other powers there from New Mexico. I called certain trusted friends in our state. Calls were descending out of Washington to key state players, local calls from respected people were being made. It worked. The crap stopped, on this production, at least.

The results were revealed in these quotes from an article by Laura Robinson in The Albuquerque Tribune headlined "SPENDING $50,000 A WEEK MAKES 'EM ALL GOOD GUYS." - "Northern New Mexico is enjoying a glamorous boom with the invasion of Chama, Dulce, Brazos and El Vado . . . Robert F. Brashar, V.P. of the First National Bank of Río Arriba said, ÔWe could stand a lot of this kind of prosperity. The money filters through the whole state. The money spent in the hotels filters out into all sorts of businesses.' "

Warner Bros. was quoted as saying, "The Company's daily housing tab was over $1,300 with an additional $1,000 a day being spent in restaurants." Personal money spent from the actors, other than necessities, included out-of-state fishing licenses, jewelry, paintings and other expensive fun.

Gov. Cargo played a reporter in the film. He did bit parts in more than a dozen films, driving the "personal connections" to a proven point.

Producer Jerry Adler, director Sir Oliver Reed and star Anthony Quinn decided to make screenwriter Clair Huffaker's Nobody Loves A Drunken Indian in Albuquerque and surrounding pueblos. An unexpected type of storm ripped up over the horizon. Many Indians protested publicly and threatened to sue over the title.

I have been for Indian beliefs all my life, having lived around them and been friends with them for many years. Woody Crumbo, the great pioneer Potawatomi Indian artist, was my artistic and spiritual mentor, and even today, a third of my best friends are Indian. But this time the Indians were misguided. The protesters had not read the book. If they had, they would have found it to be one of the most pro-Indian books ever honestly written. Huffaker had just previously held a benefit auction in Hollywood for Indian youth. It raised tens of thousands of dollars.

I realized that the drinking problems in and around Gallup were increasing and had caused the unjustified uproar. It was my first realization of what would become a powerful, sometimes misused, force called "politically correct." Remember, this was 1969.

The film was employing many Indians and other locals as well as giving an extremely positive portrayal of the Indigenous people. The title was changed to Nobody Loves Flapping Eagle and then in one of those unbelievable decisions it was finally released as Flap. Flap was a flop. The fuss had taken the creative energy out of all the filmmakers involved. The studio lost faith in it and threw it away without any backing. Everyone lost in the end.

Films were coming to New Mexico in droves, but only a few of us knew how precarious it all was. I took off for California to smooth some badly ruffled Hollywood feathers.

Just before I left, Jim Newton of the Journal (June 29, 1969) conducted several interviews and did an article entitled in very brave letters: "Vultures May Kill State Film Industry." One of my quotes was: "It is unfortunate that the vultures want to start picking the bones when the industry is such a baby, and before there is enough for everybody to share in the profits."

Upon my return from Tinselland, a fast plan was put into action. Gov. Cargo - who was having considerable other state problems to contend with - was having a meeting of business leaders at the old Western Skies Hotel on far east Central of Albuquerque. Ralph Looney, Dick Schrondahl and myself rented a room there and asked the governor if he would meet us an hour early for a brief conference on the film situation. He agreed. It was put to him that the ego of power, and possibly greed, in the film office was jeopardizing this profitable state industry. We would not be able to contain the destructive news much longer. It had to be stopped now. Again, Cargo agreed. The proper firings took place the next day.

P.R. man Charles Cullen temporarily took over the film office and author Ruth Armstrong was appointed head of the Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce film department to cooperate with and eventually head the state office. The day, the night, the decade and more were saved.

In spite of an almost sheepish, certainly narrow-minded, proportionate support from the powers of appropriation, the boom continued with natural ups and downs, bringing excitement, opportunity, money and no little honor to the state of New Mexico.