Friday, March 19, 2010


I don't remember having a coon-skin hat as a kid. But I had the 45rpm record... "Born on a mountaintop in Tennessee... Kilt him a ba'ar when he was only three..." I probably thought I was Davy once in a while, roaming the wilds of the neighborhood which weren't wild at all - you had to go into the 'woods' (no relation) to find 'wilderness.' The woods were really the grounds of Haverford College, which had trees of many species all through its square-mile campus, just two blocks from my house.

I didn't realize how much I missed Davy, until I saw the news story last night which included some clips from way back then, as they stirred some soul-memory long forgotten. That was a time of clear right versus clear wrong. Things were fresh, probably due to my age and the innocence of inexperience. And simpler. I remember that right always won.

Last night they showed Fess Parker - Davy - and also later, Daniel - at 85. He had done real well. Bought land and had an award winning winery on 2200 acres. Even at that age he looked like a real man and a guy who'd treat you right.

He starred in Old Yeller, the first movie I cried at. Didn't expect to, either. Just LOST it.

Whatever reality is, when I looked at Davy, or Fess, I saw a purity (real or imagined) which is long gone in the days of Tiger, Jesse James, John Edwards, partisanship, Enron, Madoff, steroided athletes.

Rest in Peace, King Of The Wild Frontier.

Who would quailfy as a Real Man today?

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