I’d cut my teeth on Westerns. Not from the genre’s virgin debut, but certainly from a half century ago. Watching these early programs, I’d believed the characters to be real life heroes; after all, Roy Rogers was Roy Rogers, Dale Evans was Dale Evans, Gene Autry, the same. Santa Claus was Santa Claus! Naturally I assumed Hoppy, the Lone Ranger, Cisco, the Range Rider to be equally genuine. And I believed that in order to relate the story they were merely reenacting (though I wouldn’t have known the term at the time) actual events and predicaments they’d struggled through (the History Channel made compelling) . To the contrary, my brother and I ‘pretended’, played ‘make-believe’. We wanted to become these heroes, to relive their plights and escapades, to be the ones to thwart the dastardly villains.

The first character I recall truly falling in love with was Clay Hollister of Tombstone Territory. I can’t remember why, and even to date I have no clue as to the actor’s name. I must have been 5 or 6 at the most. The show left the airwaves, and I grew up. I learned that these ‘characters’ were simply being portrayed by play actors, pretending along the same lines as had my brother and myself; yet I had matured to the ripe old age of eight and ‘make-believe’ had become a thing of the past, a pastime for babies and little kids. Despite this eye-opening discernment, love of the good old Westerns never lost its appeal nor its reign on the throne of my heart.

Many of the good old horse operas were on their way out, several of my favorites having already bit dust. And so, on a very special day, it was with wonder and cheer that I received my brother’s surprising news, “There’s a new Western about to start.” With eager anticipation I curled up before the set. From the get-go, first introduced to the character of Jess Harper, I was enthralled - captivated beyond all escape. The deep sultry voice, the dashing good looks, the devil-may-care, slightly rebellious attitude and the tinge of mostly innocent deviltry that went along with it had snagged their hooks.

Up to that point, demonstrating good grades and polite manners, intimidated by authority and afraid of my own shadow, I’d been branded a ‘goody-goody’ - this lonely, scorned image being not the one imagined for myself. I wanted to be viewed as tough, fearless, and perhaps even a tad defiant. Brass tacks - I wanted to BE Jess Harper, who owned everything that I lacked. By this time, I’d become aware that actors stood behind these creations, and so I remembered the name of this remarkable individual who had stirred so many emotions and brought to the surface so many realizations - Mr. Robert Fuller - whom I would watch for ever after.

I cried; heartbroken I cried when Laramie went off the air, canceled for good. No, not for good but for bad, in my grief-stricken view. They’d taken my role model from me, without a look back, without a care how detrimental the effect. Sure, I was twelve by this time, I’d get over it. And I must admit that Cooper Smith helped to salve that time period and those wounds. And each and every subsequent role that Mr. Fuller has tackled aids in my recovery.

What can I say? The man exudes every quality I wish to emulate. How could I refrain from being his biggest fan?

V.

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