An idol's centennial

John Wayne's 100th birthday is tomorrow. Sort of. The name on the birth certificate issued to this individual on May 26, 1907, was Marion Morrison.

Morrison did not become John Wayne until some time later. He had moved to California with his family, played football at USC, and was attracted to playing in the movies. At that point, Marion Morrison started to morph into John Wayne.

John Wayne himself called it "the Wayne thing," in an anniversary piece in last Sunday's New York Times:
“When I started, I knew I was no actor, and I went to work on this Wayne thing. I figured I needed a gimmick, so I dreamed up the drawl, the squint and a way of moving meant to suggest that I wasn’t looking for trouble but would just as soon throw a bottle at your head as not. I practiced in front of a mirror.”
I wish I could tell you how many times I did exactly the same thing – practice the Wayne thing – when I walked out of the Metro Theatre into the sunlight after a Saturday John Wayne double feature. Lord, I wish I had pictures. I didn't want to be myself: I wanted to be John Wayne. I sort of moseyed up to the bicycle rack, arms flexed slightly away from my sides, my head as still as I could hold it, mouth open, lips drawn back, feet shuffling forward as if against some kind of resistance. Not looking for trouble, brother. But look out, anyway.

Pulled the bike out of the rack, pulled its head around, left foot on the pedal, leg up and over, settling easy into the saddle. Glanced over my shoulder at the pilgrims, said, "Yeo-o-o-o," under my voice so nobody could hear, and headed out for Tucson, which in my case was one block over and 10 blocks down.

I was good for about 10 minutes of this, then a plane would fly over, and I was distracted into some other realm. Marion Morrison was good for it for about 50 years, and he became an American idol. The mirror was the key. People believe what they see in a mirror. I couldn't tell you how better I look in a mirror than in a photograph. In the photograph my jaw is a tiny bit soft. In the mirror, its line has remained distinct for six decades.

They don't call them "vanity mirrors" for nothing. That's unsettling enough for me. Imagine if you were Marion Morrison, looking in the mirror in your 60s and seeing John Wayne there, as chiseled as the Ringo Kid in the mirror, compared to what Rooster Cogburn looked like up there on the screen.

I don't know. It makes me think of Willie Nelson. If you have ever listened to your voice recorded, you know it doesn't sound like you. Years ago I started to worry about Willie, never really knowing what that voice of his sounded like. In an interview I asked him about it, actually fearful he would say, "Yes, I really would like to know what I sound like." Instead, he said he'd been listening to himself so long, he had been able to reconcile the two sounds.

I hope Marion Morrison had the same luck. I hope he remembered what he looked like, before John Wayne became his idol in the mirror.