volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

theatre was about to invest in 70mm projectors, so for decades,
whenever anybody saw th’ pitcher—which was almost never—it
was always th’ 35mm print. What you’re about to see—” he
swivels his head around to look pointedly at Roy, who moves
his hand slowly back and forth before his face “—is th’ restored
70mm print.”
Roy’s hand moves back and forth, in and out, to and fro.
The fact of Pete’s reveling in the history of cinema’s asides not
being shared by the general population has always been a bitter
pill for him to swallow. He imagines that understanding the
details of how a picture got made, who wrote it, what occurrences
took place during its filming, etc., enhanced its enjoyment.
What an anachronism he’s become.
The realization he has already lived his time—his heyday lies
far behind him now—helps ease along the hours spent sitting
semi-comatose in the semi-dark, laved by waves of photons from
a flickering cathode ray tube chocked with long dead men and
women.
Pete presses PLAY.
The blue screen disappears, to be replaced by one of black
and white.
Roy abandons the study of his hand and stares into the screen.
They watch, occasionally exchanging the diminishing joint, as
a lithe John Wayne dances about the screen in a fringed, leather
suit. He’s good with a gun, great with a knife, even better with a
bow and arrow. In time, he takes out the bullwhipping bad guy,
outfoxes the slick riverboat gambler, and wins the beautiful gal.
In the last shot—an ethereal, spiritual image—the lovers
stand among ancient sequoia. They step in close, come together
in silence, respectful of the beauty everywhere surrounding them.
They speak quickly, hearts emptying words long held inside, but
their voices don’t carry, can’t be heard. When they kiss, it is a
deep, abiding kiss, a kiss that has been waiting over a year to be
born. Hand-in-hand, they stroll through the trees towards, then
past and beyond the camera. Now, with only the trees in frame,
the wide 70mm camera tilts up, moves higher and higher along
tree trunks of incalculable age, to stare into the vault of heaven.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 2 1