It was John Wayne’s birthday last week. You probably missed it, because Americans are not so madly in love with John Wayne, the ultimate masculine American man, as they used to be. I’m a moderate fan, at best; but on his birthday I read something that made me like him a lot more than I used to.
It’s a short excerpt from a book called “Miracle of Molokai,” and describes what happened when the famous actor visited the once-notorious Hawaiian island where victims of leprosy were segregated, and largely left to fend for themselves, for decades.
Here is an account of how Wayne’s appearance went:
As the plane touched down and taxied toward the welcome committee, hundreds of leprosy patients surged enthusiastically across the rope barrier and almost engulfed the plane. Their disease-scarred faces stared up at the little windows, searching for their famous guests.
Their crippled hands were extended and applauding. At last, the door was opened and John Wayne, America’s original man of macho, the strong, silent champion of little people, the fighter who used his fists and guns against incredible odds at Iwo Jima and in the wild, wild West, stepped out to greet them.
One of the residents of the island describes what happened next: “He took one look at all us lepers staring at him, then turn right around, got back into the plane and closed the door. He said he not coming out, seeing the patients, eh? Was scared. So he went back in.”
What a rotten, bitter end to the story that would have been. But that is not how it ended.
Instead, the other American manly man on board, actor James Arness, who played Matt Dillon on “Gunsmoke,” apparently had a little talk with Wayne. I don’t know what he told him, but after a few minutes of suspense, while the crowd waited in silent confusion, the door of the plane opened again and the two men stepped out. The crowd cheered, and Wayne walked up to the microphone and said something extraordinary.
“I came to give you courage,” he said, “but I took one look at what the disease has done to you and I knew I couldn’t do it. I wanted to go right back home. I was scared, but my buddy here, James Arness, talked to me and helped me get my wobbly legs out the door and down the ramp. I’m sorry I was scared and I wish you well.”
It’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard. He acknowledged what happened and why, he gave credit to the man who set him straight, and he apologized for the offense he caused.
I don’t want to make more of this story than is really there. John Wayne was not an especially virtuous man in general, that I’m aware of, and he certainly didn’t claim to be some kind of model Christian.
But when we hear a story of a widely admired man who comes down from on high to bring strength to the lepers — well, you tell me who springs to mind!
(It’s Jesus.)
The problem seems to have been that John Wayne, in this story, thought he was Jesus, who could bring about healing just by virtue of who he was. It turns out he was actually one of the lepers, one of the victims, one of the ones who was afraid and in need of being strengthened.
But here’s the neat part. … … Read the rest of my latest for Our Sunday Visitor.
Image by Hugo van Gelderen / Anefo, CC BY-SA 3.0 NL, via Wikimedia Commons
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