To Kill the Duke (56 page)

“It’s two in the morning; don’t you think it’s time for everyone to go to sleep?” Powell asked of the remaining partygoers.

“Not until we get even,” Cliff Lyons said.

“We? Get even? What are you talking about Cliff?” Powell asked of one of his stuntmen.

“We all looked silly at the other contest to see who could walk and talk like John Wayne playing Genghis Khan,” Roydon Clark said.

“You and a lot of others throughout the years,” Powell said.

“That may be true, but those ‘others’ didn’t get a chance to get even,” Henry Escalante said.

“Okay, I’ll bite… but only because you guys have been the best stuntmen I have ever worked with on a set,” Powell said as he tilted back in his director’s chair.

“A sand-ski extravaganza!” Norm Taylor shouted.

“A rodeo? On those trays with the wind and the sand — not to mention very fast horses” Powell asked.

“No. A race,” corrected Cliff.

“Between who?’ Powell asked.

“Anyone who wants to participate,” Henry Escalante added.

“But you guys have been doing the sand-ski thing since the beginning. No one else would stand a chance.” Powell said.

“We’ll handicap the field,” Ken Terrell said.

“How the hell do you handicap a sand-ski race?’

“You ever heard of a head start, Mr. Powell?” asked Fred Graham.

Powell nodded. Might be fun, but could also be dangerous for the cast, he said.

“If you’re worrying about some of the cast getting hurt — don’t. We will outfit them with the best trained horses. And if they fall — it’s only soft red sand they will fall on. Not like we’re not used to the sand,” Roydon said.

“Only if you have some practices with members of the cast who enter,” Powell warned.

“Deal,” said Bernie Gozier.

“When will the race take place?” Powell asked.

“How about three days?” Norm said.

Deal,” Powell said.

“You know this could be my Ben-Hur moment,” Ed Killy said.

“You mean
our
Ben-Hur moment,” Powell said to his assistant director as they went over the rest of the day’s shots and final scenes.

Dick Powell had the crew erect a mini reviewing stand for the spectators who didn’t want to participate in what the cast and crew was referring to as ‘The Great Conqueror Sand-Ski Marathon.’ Powell was even surprised that a purse had been put forth by all members of the cast and crew participating in the event.

“Winner gets $1,000,” Cliff Lyons had reported to Dick.

“That’s not bad money for having a horse pull you while your feet are latched onto metal trays that are supposed to be used for utensils,” Millard said sarcastically.

“Well, at least you won’t have to listen to Wayne butcher your script,” Powell whispered into Millard’s ear.

“What are you going to do if someone gets hurt?” Millard asked.

“Call the insurance company,” Powell shot back.

Agnes Moorehead wasn’t participating, but because she had been such a good sport on the set, the crew had asked her to fire the first shot into the air that would give the men and women who weren’t that good at sand skiing a head start. Dick Powell was given the duty of firing the second shot to signal the others to get going after Ed Killy had determined that the handicap of the first group had been met.

“How did they arrive at that handicap?” Powell asked around before the start of the race.

Not only could no one answer, no one really cared.

Moorehead was about to fire the shot when the unpredictable wind that had wreaked havoc on the set rose out of nowhere. It was so strong, that it knocked her over — which was easy, because she was petite in build and standing on a rickety folding chair.

No one could remember the wind gusts being this bad while the bulk of the filming had been taking place. No one could remember the accompanying howling being as fierce, either. But everyone assumed that Agnes had fired the start shot and the sand skiers who were the beneficiaries of the handicap took off.

Moorehead, trying to stand up and shoot the gun to begin the race, was knocked down again by the powerful gusts and not wanting to see anyone miss their head start, fired the gun up into the air while lying flat on her back.

“They’re off… I think,” Powell said to Millard as he shielded his eyes from the wind and the sand.

“I heard a shot, so you must be right,” Millard said. “Too bad we can’t see a damn thing.”

The powerful wind gusts and sand flying into every orifice of the handicapped sand skiers started to take its toll very early.

“I’m heading for Hayward’s place for some raspberry lime rickeys,” Duke yelled out as he kicked off his trays, walked his horse over to one of the wranglers and raised his huge arms in front of his face to fight off the biting sand. “They better be cold, Susan!” he yelled out to the open desert.

Pedro Armendáriz couldn’t handle swallowing any more sand, even though he had become a decent sand skier. He followed John Wayne’s lead
as he kicked off his trays, handed his horse to the wrangler and jogged to catch up to Wayne.

Ted de Corsia couldn’t keep his balance. “It’s bad enough that the wind is putting sand in one of my ears and then out of the other… but on top of that I have to be dragged by horse in it!” he yelled out as he, too, quit the race and went to find out what everyone who wasn’t participating was up to.

Leo Gordon and William Conrad both started off very fast, because not only were they both very competitive men who wanted to win, they also thought they might be able to out ski the fierce wind and sand. The result was that they got entangled in each other’s reins and collided. They found themselves laughing so loud at each other that they forgot how hard they banged into each other.

“A few of Hayward’s drinks will stop the pain,” Conrad said.

“What pain?” Gordon joked as the two men helped the wranglers gather in their horses.

“These trays are worthless,” Gordon said as he tossed his two into the desert.

“I’m leaving mine, too. Maybe they will come in handy to some nomads,” Conrad said. “Because except for the stunt men, these things have been a big waste of effort.”

Lee Van Cleef was the last of the non-stunt men to give up, but not because of the wind, the biting sand, not being able to sand ski effectively or colliding with anyone else.

“If I can’t see Sylvia Lewis in her skimpy outfit straddling those trays — I don’t want to be out here,” he said as he took off his trays, shook off the sand and handed his horse to the wrangler. Van Cleef had no idea that Sylvia Lewis had never intended to participate in the marathon, and was instead resting comfortably at Susan Hayward’s place, partying with everyone else who had gone there to get out of the elements and to down a few.

So while the cast and crew who couldn’t have, wouldn’t have and most importantly — shouldn’t have ever attempted to participate in ‘The Great Conqueror Sand Ski Marathon’ nourished their thirst at Susan Hayward’s party, Mother Nature threw the entire area a knuckleball.

Just as suddenly as the wind had come out of nowhere causing all sorts of havoc with the first part of the race — it stopped.

“We’re going to wrap this picture up faster than normal,” Powell said to Ed Killy. “Make preparations for everything,” he added as they both shook all the sand from their clothes and left the makeshift viewing stand and made their way to Hayward’s party to fill everyone in on the decision.

“Good idea, Dick. Why didn’t we think of that earlier?” Ed said.

“Good question, Ed. Now I know why I hired you,” Powell said.

“I thought it was because I was the best second-unit director in town who was willing to film in these terrible conditions,” Ed said.

“No Ed, you’re the only one I could find,” joked Powell as they headed for the growing-in-numbers-by-the-minute party at Susan Hayward’s.

But the men who took their sand skiing very seriously and the contest even more so were not anywhere close to Hayward’s party.

“I knew this bad wind would blow over,” Roydon Clark said.

“There is no one in front of us,” John Dahern pointed out.

“Good.” Henry Escalante replied. “I want to win that money and I don’t want any of those amateurs screwing it up by getting in my way.”

“I hate rookies anyway,” Bernie Gozer said. “Let’s be glad they all ran away.”

“When do we start if there is no one around to fire a shot to get us started?” Fred Graham asked the assembled sand skiers.

“I’ll yell one, two, three… go,” Charles Horvath said. “Are we in agreement?”

The nine sand skiers all yelled yes at that rule.

“One, two, three… go!” Horvath yelled, and in a flash the sand skiers were off at an incredibly fast pace — sand skiing over the desert as they were pulled by muscular horses and their trays skimmed the desert sand.

The track they were racing on had been shaped well in advance of The Great Conqueror Sand Ski Marathon. A wide oval area marked by spears from the movie stuck into the ground, with women’s bras flying from the top of the spears. There was plenty of room for the participants to maneuver in; the pitfalls were the dips, rocks, cactus, themselves and, of course, the sudden wind gusts and accompanying sand storm.

If anyone partying at Hayward’s bash would have cared to watch the race taking place, they would have witnessed a magnificent event between
nine very determined men straddling trays meant for meals riding behind nine beautiful horses flying around a makeshift desert racetrack.

“Wish I would have caught that on film,” Powell was always heard to say later in life when he was asked about any ‘regrets’ that he had.

‘The Great Conqueror Sand Ski Marathon’ was won by the smallest and quietest member of the stunt team — Barlow Simpson. Being a group of men that bonded during not only the filming but in inventing sand skiing, Barlow split his purse with the other skiers. The men returned to Norm Taylor’s trailer for their own wrap party.

Dick Powell knew that everyone was glad to be getting out of Southern Utah and heading back to Hollywood to finish up the scenes that could, and had to, be reshot at the studio. At the unofficial wrap-up party at Susan Hayward’s he told everyone that there would be an official, bigger-and-better wrap up party once everything was finished with the final reshoots back in California.

“Will you bring in the wind and the sand?” Wayne joked.

“Not the wind, but yes to the sand,” Powell announced.

That remark drew a very loud collective groan from those left at the party.

“Don’t worry about sand particles sticking to you in Hollywood. I guarantee that,” Powell said.

And just like that, the onsite filming of
The Conqueror
came to an end and everyone returned to where they had to go.

Dick Powell was happy with the results of filming the movie considering all the obstacles he had overcome—from Howard Hughes, to casting John Wayne in a role that was tailor-scripted for Marlon Brando, to dealing with Mother Nature’s wrath onsite in Southern Utah. Now, all he had to do was to make sure that the deputy he had saved from fainting made sure that the red-colored sand was properly loaded and trucked back to the studio to finish the movie. He also instructed that same deputy to make sure that the place they had filmed was as undisturbed as it was when they first came upon the site.