- - - -
j ... . -; - . . - ' . ,
a. a.
to "RMmaiiVr
His baseball career was distinguished
mostly by his clowning, but it led to TV
stardom and the conviction
that the diamond is an actor's best friend
by CHUCK CONNORS as told to JOHN M. ROSS
As TV's "Rifleman," Chuck Connors carries gun with the ease he wielded a bat.
IF my big-league career was something short of the
dreams I had as a kid, it was my own doing. I've
been a "ham" ever since I can remember. And the
first label they hung on me in the big leagues
"The Barrymore of Baseball" was no less
accidental.
As a rookie with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1951,
I really wowed them. Not with my bat or my first
baseman's glove but with my emoting. At parties,
luncheons, and banquets, I would recite such things
as "Casey at the Bat," "The Face on the Barroom
Floor," and "Dangerous Dan McGrew." Other times
I'd lampoon Dodger president Branch Rickey or my
nemesis, manager Burt Shotton.
Like a lot of kids who grew up in the shadow of
Ebbets Field, I had my heart set on playing first
base for the Dodgers. But Gil Hodges, who had hit
32 home runs the year before, had a lock on it.
This, combined with manager Shotton's violent
disapproval of my clowning and brashness, made
me expendable. Next stop: the Chicago Cubs.
The Cubs farmed me out for a time to the Los
Angeles Angels, where I posted a .325 average
before being summoned back to Chicago. In my
first five weeks in the Windy City, I hit .322 and
kept the Cubs' great first baseman, Phil Cavaretta,
nailed to the bench. But then Frankie Frisch was
fired as manager, and Cavaretta replaced him.
He put himself on first base and I sat on the
bench. Eventually I went through the inevitable
trap door. I wound up with the Angels again, and
they welcomed me back warmly.
One of my Los Angeles fans, Billy Grady, casting
director for MGM at the time, called me one day.
"I've got a part in a new picture you might be
able to fill," he said." Why don't you come on over?"
I suppose I should have trembled at the mere
thought of acting, but I didn't
With practically no urging at all.I dashed to the
casting office and was stunned by the red carpet
that greeted me. I was escorted through the offices
of the bigwigs and given a personal introduction at
every stop. Later, wardrobe and make-up men and
other hands came at me in every direction and
fussed over me with meticulous care. Being a com
plete greenhorn to the movie business, I immedi
ately assumed I was getting preferential treatment
because I was a big man with the Angels.
'.'You don't have to do all this," I told the director
magnanimously. "Just treat me like one of the boys."
The director looked at me in amazement. I was so
naive I had no idea such preparation was necessary
for a screen test I got the part, however, playing
a state trooper in "Pat and Mike," and received
$500 for working three days. .
"Boy, this is a great racket," I told my wife Betty.
"At this rate, a feDow only has to work a few months
of the year to have it made."
ArrH this thought in mind, I called Billy Grady
'at the end of the baseball season. "Got any
more little jobs I could handle?" I asked hopefully.
He gave me another bit role which paid $100.
When work on the MGM lot slowed down, I asked
Grady if he could introduce me to some of his
friends at other studios. The result was an introduc
tion to Billy Garden at 20th Century-Fox, and a bit
in "The Silver Whip.".
Soon after, he directed me to another rabid ball
fan, Solly Biano of Warner Brothers. This intro
duction landed me a test for "Trouble Along the
Way," starring none other than John Wayne.
Arriving late, I discovered that five other actors
were being tested with me for the part. I watched
for a moment, then slipped through the darkened
off-stage area until I came within earshot of the
director. He was moaning to his assistant:
"I don't want actors. None of these people relax.
They all act." ,
That was all I had to hear. When my turn came.
I fired a cigarette very casually and proceeded to
underplay the part.
"You have so much poise," the director beamed
after the test "Where did you get this?"
"Do you really want to know?" I asked. Then I
told him how I had eavesdropped on his conversa
tion with the assistant director. That broke him up,
and I got the part at $400 a week.
With the Wayne picture under my belt, I felt I
was making pretty good progress in this fascinating
dodge. But when Biano said he'd like to test me foi
the second lead in an upcoming Burt Lancaster
Virginia Mayo picture, "South Sea Woman," I won
dered if I wasn't getting in over my head. The part
called for several big love scenes with Miss Mayo,
a delightful yet frightening prospect.
"Well, here's where they separate the men from
the boys," I told Betty. When the day of the test
arrived, however, my Irish luck held. Lancaster,
a hot Angels rooter, was handling the test himself. -
Rehearsing for the test, he took me through a big
scene. He seemed shocked by the result.
"Gee, Chuck, you don't plan to go out there and
do it that way, do you?" he asked.
I was crestfallen.
18
Family Weekly, January 24. I960