No one could touch King of the Cowboys

One of my earliest heroes was Roy Rogers, the King of the Cowboys.

Roy was always on the side of good; he always won fistfights (a small trickle of blood down the side of his mouth would be the only evidence of injury); and he never kissed girls! He was an inspiration to all boyhood.

I was in first grade when I first saw a Roy Rogers movie. The theater was the kind one could probably visit in every small town right after World War II. What I remember most clearly are the small black and white, checkerboard tiles that led one from the sidewalk, through double wooden doors, into the cool, magical darkness.

In those days, the movies ran continuously, so it didn't really matter when you bought your ticket and went in. It might have been during the cartoon, the newsreel, a "selected short subject" (if you were lucky, it was "The Three Stooges"), or the end of the feature. And you watched until you thought, or your mom said, "This is where we came in." Sometimes you stayed to watch it all again.

The feature on this particular day was a Roy Rogers-Dale Evans- Gabby Hayes "oater." I don't remember the name. There were five or six Roy Rogers films released that year, not to mention many other titles from years before, beginning in 1938 when Leonard Slye became Roy Rogers.

According to the story my mom told often over the years, I asked her after a movie, "Where do you go to sign up to be a movie star?"  If you're gonna dream, dream big.

During those growing-up years all the kids went to the Saturday cowboy movie at the Delta Theater, on the south side of the town square. Tickets cost 10 cents. Popcorn was also a dime. 

We all had our favorites, and there were boyish arguments about this. Roy Rogers was a 10! Gene Autry was, in my book, about an 8. They were the stars and the most popular, followed by the Durango Kid, Lash La Rue, Sunset Carson, Rocky Lane and Wild Bill Elliott. There were lots of others.

One of Roy's occasional co-stars besides Dale and Gabby was Estelita Rodriguez. Somewhere in the last several years I ran across a picture of Miss Rodriguez and a memory hit me like a right cross from the perennial bad guy Roy Barcroft, one of Roy Rogers' archenemies. Oh, Estelita! I was about 11, had gotten over the girl-kissing phobia, and she was my first crush, and, heavenly days, was I sick in love. 

I conned my mother out of another dime and went to see that movie again. Since my mom worked in a drugstore on the east side of the square, I would go by and see her after school, and then go hang around in front of the theater, looking at the lobby cards and hoping someone would offer to buy me a ticket.

The movie's run lasted only a few days and my grade-school heart broke when fiery, beautiful Estelita was gone. She died in 1966 never knowing her one true love. Ah, me.

In the late '70s I was introduced to a writer and was invited to a birthday party for his wife at their home south of Dallas. Her husband, who was working on a biography at a ranch in California, called to wish her happy birthday. He then handed the phone to the subject of the book, Roy Rogers. Even at that age I was thrilled just to be in the room. Roy didn't even ask to speak to me. I can't imagine why.

I later bought that biography of Roy and Dale and sent it to them asking for an autograph. The book came back inscribed, 

"To Andy, Happy Trails, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans."

One of my treasures.

My last encounter with Roy Rogers happened in November 1994. He and Dale Evans appeared with the Western Music Festival at Centennial Hall. Other Western music stars were there, among them the Sons of the Pioneers, Roy's son Dusty, and Riders in the Sky. But the highlight of the show was the audience participation in the final song.

I got to sing "Happy Trails" with one of my heroes, Roy Rogers. I felt like a schoolboy again.

Thanks, Roy.

Andrew Ryan moved here in 1970 to attend graduate school in theater at the University of Arizona. He is a retired teacher, sometime actor and movie buff. We welcome submissions for this column of personal essays. Submit original pieces up to 1,000 words along with a short biography of the writer and contact information to Maria Parham at mparham@azstarnet.com. Please put Life in Print in the subject line. Selected essays will be published in ¡Vamos!