John Wayne: My Father
Aissa Wayne
Language: English
Pages: 288
ISBN: 0878339590
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In John Wayne: My Father, Aissa Wayne delves into her father's childhood, his film career, and his life off the screen. The result is an affecting portrait that offers a new perspective on one of America's most enduring hero's humanity.
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Telling your father.” That wouldn’t do. My father had never seen the other Aissa, the Bad Aissa. Part of me wanted to know: Could he see this unpleasant side of me and still love me? Fearful the answer might be no, I scrambled off my parents’ bed and into the hallway. Watching Consuela wind calmly down our spiral staircase, still maintaining her dignity, prompted me to entirely surrender mine. Inexplicably furious, I leaned over the railing and spit. For a moment Consuela stood still as a.
Phoned my half-brother Michael, then at the helm of Batjac. “Buy it,” he said to Michael. “Don’t dicker, buy it.” Though Paramount, not Batjac, wound up making True Grit, there was no industry doubt about which veteran actor would play the paunchy, grizzled, aging, hard-drinking Cogburn, a man at once heroic and flawed. True Grit’s director and my father’s old friend, Henry Hathaway called my father the same day the deal was completed. “This Cogburn fellow is a man who wenches when he wants,.
Be. Because for all of my father’s flaws, for many years I was drawn to boys and men in his image. Boys and men with big voices, big bodies, big gestures, boys and men who wanted to make all my choices and regulate my life. That’s how I related to males, because that’s the way I related to my dad. When I realized this unflattering truth about myself, at first I was deeply ashamed. Since I thought no other father on earth could influence another woman the way my father did me, I believed that I.
On an allowance of $200 a month. Though barely getting by, I was reluctant to ask for more. For two reasons: I was striving for my independence, and by then, asking my dad for extra cash was to court a three-minute discourse on frugality. One night that semester, I walked into his house and he handed me an already-opened envelope. My father said, “Here, it’s a three-hundred-dollar dentist bill. Pay it. You’re making your choices now. Start paying your own bills.” Too childlike to understand he.
Friends. At this revealing moment, it hit me hard just how sick my father felt—too sick to pretend. As the Reafsnyders and DeFrancos left early, I wondered if he’d make it until the following Christmas. Two weeks later, Barbara Walters arrived at the Bayshores house to interview my dad for one of her prime-time ABC specials. I was struck by how pretty she looked off-camera, and how genuine she seemed. Though weakening day by day, my father had made the deal with Miss Walters’s office several.