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.

A novel idea...

Been awhile since I've had a migraine. Almost two years. Here's hoping I don't get another one until the 12th of never. Cause, you know, that's a long, long time.

OK, now that's out of the way, let's get back to livin'.

So, here's a novel idea for you.

I'm going to take the plunge. Finally getting serious about it. Yes, I'm going to sit down and write the novel. The story. The idea that's been bouncing in my head for years.

It's started out as a gift for a dear friend. But, it's just the inspiration I've needed.

The idea came to me after watching "Lost in Translation" back in '03. I'm starting there, and mixing in a little bit of Bernard Slade's "Same Time, Next Year" along with my own high school reunion, a little bit of Larry McMurtry and whatever else comes pouring out of my screwed up brain.

It may end up being a short story. It could be a novella. I'm hoping it will turn out to be the Great American Novel. Whatever the case, I can use the experience. It's one thing to whip out the 500-word column each week. It's quite another to go for the big one.

My goal is to get up, work out and then write for at least one hour each morning. That's doable, right?

As long as the headache stays away, I plan to start this weekend.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

'The Last Picture Show'

Some movies stay with you long after the lights go up, rattle around in your head for days, make you think about life and love, the agony and the ecstasy and how the weather was.

So it is with "The Last Picture Show," Peter Bogdanovich's 1971 masterpiece, based on the Larry McMurtry novel. Watched it last night after reading McMurtry's new novel, "When the Light Goes," which returns to the town -- and to some of the characters -- featured in the film.

Although Duane Moore (called Duane Jackson in the movie) became the focus of both McMurtry's 3 sequels and the 1990 film sequel "Texasville," "Picture Show" is really Sonny Crawford's story. He's Duane's best buddy and they both come of age, with a few bumps and bruises, in the small West Texas town of Anarene (called Thalia in the novel and based on McMurtry's hometown of Archer City) in the early 1950s.

Sonny (brilliantly played by the underrated Timothy Bottoms) is a somewhat tragic figure, stifled by the rigid confines of his hometown, unsure of where he's headed. Duane (Jeff Bridges) is his cocky, somewhat unlikable best friend. They're both in love with Jacy (Cybill Shepherd, in her film debut), the flippant rich girl in town.

When they aren't playing football or making out with girls at the picture show, the boys hang out at the pool hall owned by town patriarch Sam the Lion (the late, great Ben Johnson). Johnson won an Academy Award for this role; it is the finest of his distinguished career. The scene where he's talking with Sonny at the water tank about a long-ago romance is one of American cinema's finest moments.

Anyway, Sonny has an affair with Ruth Popper (Cloris Leachman), the high school coach's wife; Jacy gets Duane to sleep with her long enough to lose her virginity so she can impress a local rich boy; Duane and Sonny split over Jacy -- and on it goes. This sounds like "Peyton Place," but in actuality is the most realistic portrait of small town life ever put to film.

Bogdanovich wisely shot in black-and-white and used no score; instead, he peppers the film with music from the period, especially Hank Williams tunes. It carries with it a stark, documentary feel.

I don't know why I love this film as much as I do. It had to be controversial for its time, given the nudity and the frank portrayal of what kids do together when they're alone.

But it's honest, it's sad, it comments on the despair that lies below the surface of many human lives. More than that, it's an homage to the ending of an era, a good-bye if you will, to the golden age of American cinema.

Bogdanovich was a movie critic before he became a director and was obviously influenced by Orson Welles, John Ford and some others. The last picture show of the title, shown the night the town's movie house closes, is Howard Hawks' "Red River," ironic because that film also portrays the ending of an era.

The cast is superb. Bottoms gives the performance of his life. Bridges somehow manages to make Duane likable. I've already told you about Ben Johnson. And Cloris Leachman, Ellen Burstyn and Eileen Brennan nearly steal the movie as the three older women of the picture. Shepherd is the weak link, although is very much the sultry temptress here, perfect for her unlikable character. Randy Quaid makes his film debut here and Clu Gulager has a fine supporting role as the older town stud.

It's one you have to see to understand, although I must tell you that whatever is at play here once caused me to drive all the way to Archer City, Texas, to see the filming location. Sad to say, the real picture show burned. The building now has a gaping hole in its side.

Which, somehow, is a fitting epitaph.

Back to Thalia

Tonight, if I ever escape this insane asylum called work, I'm going home, fixing dinner and spending the evening with some old friends in Texas.

Not literally, of course. I'm still here in Halls, doing what I love and loving what I do.

But author Larry McMurtry has released the apparently final installment in his long saga of the life of Duane Moore that began years ago with "The Last Picture Show." And, tonight, before I tackle the American Revolution and John Adams, I'm going back to Thalia. The book is called "When the Light Goes."

I'm quite hesitant to return to that sleepy little Texas town. McMurtry is notorious for taking characters you love and doing crazy things with them. (Read "Streets of Laredo," his bizarre sequel to "Lonesome Dove.")

They're his characters. I guess it's his right. But they've bounced around in my head so long I feel some kind of claim on them, too.

Return I will, though. I once drove, as part of a vacation, all the way to Archer City, Texas, McMurtry's one-stoplight hometown and the model for his fictional Thalia, on some kind of crazy, quixotic odyssey.

I ducked into McMurtry's delicious antiquarian bookstore hoping I'd see him, but he wasn't around. I left on the shelf a first edition of James Reston Jr.'s biography of former Texas governor John Connally -- a move I've regretted for four years.

(Film buffs will know the town. Peter Bogdanovich filmed the cinematic version of "The Last Picture Show" there in 1970. I still contend that's one of the finest films I've ever seen.)

It's funny how books, and characters, can grab you. One of my editors, Larry Van Guilder, says they become like old friends, members of the family.

So it is with Duane. When last I left him, he was living in a cabin, going everywhere on foot, in love with his shrink, reading Proust at night.

I feel like this book is going to leave me terribly depressed. But, off I go, back to Texas, to spend a few hours with an old pal.

Mark this down: writers -- and readers -- are a sick bunch.

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.