Larry McMurtry, 'Lonesome Dove' and a quixotic trip to Texas

Years ago, back when my biggest concerns were final exams and which film to watch on Friday night, I picked up a whopper of a novel called "Lonesome Dove." And, well, life has never been the same.

Larry McMurtry's sprawling, nearly 1,000-page western saga was such that he managed to both demystify and romanticize the American cowboy of our national imagination. Or, at least the last great cattle drive.

At its heart, that book is the story of the bonds that hold together two unlikely buddies, former Texas Rangers Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call.

And here's a funny story about the fleeting moments of fame. McMurtry won a Pulitzer Prize for the book in 1985. While staying at a hotel on a book tour, the management put up on the marquee "Welcome Larry McMurtry, Author of 'Terms of Endearment.'" He glanced back up at the marquee as he was leaving, the day after he'd won the Pulitzer. It now read: "Fried chicken dinner, $3.99."

McMurtry's fame exploded in 1989 when "Lonesome Dove" was made into a highly successful TV miniseries starring Tommy Lee Jones and Robert Duvall. But he was already a prolific novelist by then, having written, among other things, "Terms of Endearment," "The Last Picture Show" and "Horseman, Pass By," all of which were made into successful motion pictures.

I had something of a religious experience when I first read "The Last Picture Show" and subsequently saw the 1971 Peter Bogdanovich film. I then quickly devoured the other two books McMurtry had written about Thalia at that time ("Texasville" and "Duane's Depressed").

Somebody called the cinematic adaptation of "The Last Picture Show" "the best American film since 'Citizen Kane.'" It's difficult for me to disagree.

I was so taken by it all that I set off on a quixotic quest to meet McMurtry during the summer of 2004. We eventually made our way to the tiny town of Archer City, Texas, where art met real life in a way that still causes chills to run up the back of my spine.

I'd never been there before, but, then again, yes I had -- through McMurtry's work and by watching "Picture Show," which was filmed there. As we made our way from Wichita Falls into Archer City, I started describing the town for my friend Drew Weaver.

"Now, if the books are any indication, the courthouse will be here, and the war memorial will be there, and the Dairy Queen will be here and the picture show will be over here, with a hole in the wall."

Sure enough, there it all was, one stoplight and everything, just as McMurtry had described. It was a delicious moment.

Alas, McMurtry wasn't lurking among the volumes in his huge antiquarian bookstore that takes up much of "downtown" Archer City. All we found was a bored clerk who never even looked up, a fantastic Barry Goldwater political poster from 1964 ("In Your Heart, You Know He's Right") and a pristine first edition of James Reston Jr.'s biography of former Texas governor John Connally that I left sitting on the shelf, a regret I hold to this day.

We thought about stopping at the Dairy Queen that figures so prominently in "Texasville," the one in which McMurtry sat while reading Walter Benjamin. But, I wanted to beat the Dallas/Ft. Worth rush hour traffic (fat chance), so we headed on.

I have to tell you one other aside about "Texasville." I made the mistake of rewatching the 1990 film version, which reunites much of the cast from "Picture Show," up at the lake the night after my 10 year high school reunion. Big mistake.

In the movie, Duane (the ever-likable Jeff "The Dude" Bridges) had gotten old, broke and fat. Sonny (Timothy Bottoms) had lost his mind. Coming on the heels of surfacing memories I hadn't thought about in more than a decade, the film hit me smack dab in the gut. I felt old and depressed.

McMurtry has concluded the "Picture Show" saga with two other novels, "Rhino Ranch" and "When the Light Goes." I read and liked them both, but was sad to see Duane meet his fate. As all good writers do, McMurtry had made Duane a flesh-and-blood character. I felt like I'd lost a good friend.

Larry McMurtry is 75 years old today. My hat is off to him. His books aren't as good as they used to be (his latest memoir on Hollywood felt rushed and was in desperate need of an editor), but several of his earlier works are treasures I keep close to the vest and remember on rainy days. If all you know of him is the TV version of "Lonesome Dove," he's worth a closer look.

Bury my heart at Lonesome Dove

From time to time you're often asked in a survey or some such thing that irritating question, "What is your favorite book?"

Like songs and movies, I can't ever name just one. But my stock answer, if I'm forced to name just one, is usually Larry McMurtry's "Lonesome Dove."

Oh, yes, I could go for a more literary choice ("The Sun Also Rises"), or a sentimental favorite ("Shoeless Joe"), but there's something special about McMurtry's 1985 Pulitzer-winning tale about the epic cattle drive to Montana.

At its heart, "Lonesome Dove" is the story of the great friendship between Texas Rangers Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call. It's peppered with all the usual suspects -- violence, action, romance, tragedy.

McMurtry never quite equaled what he did in its pages, although "The Last Picture Show" comes mighty close. It's special; these characters stay in your thoughts long after you turn the final page.

Which is why I remained weary of the book's various sequels and prequels for so many years. I didn't want to return to the characters' lives, fearful that the warm feeling would dim if McMurtry went in a direction I didn't want to follow.

He did exactly that in "Streets of Laredo," but I ended up enjoying the ride anyway. "Dead Man's Walk" and "Comanche Moon" were more successful, although none captured the magic of that first (and best) book.

And now CBS has brought "Comanche Moon" to television as a three-part mini-series. I'll save my review of it until after tonight's final broadcast.

But I must say that it got me thinkin' about Gus and Call, Clara and Maggie, Jake Spoon and Pea Eye Parker, all those beloved characters we first met 20 years ago. Funny, isn't it, how such figments of an author's imagination can hang around all this time, as real as the guy that lives down the street.

No, that's not quite true. In some ways, the one's that really count, Gus and Call and company are old friends.

Through their words and actions I learned something about life and human behavior. And maybe, truth be told, a little about myself too.

On the road (in my mind)

I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.

No, that's not the beginning of the story of my friendship with pal Dean Harned. It's the opening line to a true classic, Jack Kerouac's "On the Road."

Can't tell you how many times I've thought about jumping in the Xterra, picking a direction and taking off. I may do that next year around my 30th birthday.

I love the open road. Used to love it even more when gas was a buck a gallon. But there's nothing better than hitting the highway with nothing but open space and time in front of you.

Three summers ago, Drew Weaver and I took such a trip. We followed Horace Greeley's advice ("Go West, young man..."). After staying all night somewhere in Arkansas, we ended up in Oklahoma City, at the National Cowboy Hall of Fame and Museum. I knew I was going to love the place when they showed us the introductory video. Tom Selleck was the narrator.

From there, it was a quixotic jaunt to Archer City, Texas, in search of "Lonesome Dove" author Larry McMurtry. McMurtry keeps a home in Archer City, where he also runs the country's largest antiquarian bookstore.

Movie buffs will know the town. Peter Bogdanovich filmed the adaptation of McMurtry's "The Last Picture Show" in the author's hometown. It's a quaint place. They have a stop light, a bank, a courthouse and a Dairy Queen.

After Archer City, it was on to Big D. We stayed the night in a Super 8, then drove back to Arlington for the Rangers/Yankees game the next day. Hot as hell.

Saturday night we drove to San Antone, where we toured The Alamo that next day. Hot as hell.
I wanted to go to the beach. So we went to Corpus Christi. Sadly, there wasn't anywhere to stay -- at least not on the beach. Well, other than actually on the beach.

So we drove north, through Houston, stopping near the Louisiana border for the night. Somehow, we made it all the way to Knoxville the following day.

Anyway, I'm sitting here waiting on pages, thumbing through Kerouac's classic. But I wish I was burning rubber on the highway somewhere, stopping only for gas and when the urge hit me.

As it is, I guess I'll go get a milkshake at McDonald's.