Wednesday, July 22, 1998

Roy a renegade when it came to love

By Rheta Grimsley Johnson

It's sad when you read about the death of someone you didn't know was still alive.

As a child I loved Roy Rogers, slept beneath the soft green twill of a bedspread that showed him riding the range, lasso above his head, cow in his sights. Dreams came out right beneath those covers.

"The Roy Rogers Show" was a staple of childhood, like "Captain Kangaroo" or "Wagon Train." Only Roy was better. As we used to say, he had a "girl."

The term "female lead" was not part of our lexicon. But that's what we meant. Along with the usual complement of cattle rustlers and bank robbers and limping sidekicks, not to mention a stable full of horses and dogs, it was really nice to see one cowboy keep a regular woman.

Most cowboys changed girlfriends more often than they changed shirts. (A lot more often than they changed shirts.) They rescued a damsel, gave her a peck on the cheek, then rode off into the sunset and to the next town, the next girl.

The heroes kept their horses movie to movie, show to show, but the women fell through Hollywood's trap door. Boots weren't left under one bed for too long.

You couldn't trust a 1950s cowboy with romance, anyhow. He didn't know how to handle it. That brand of cowboy was one big bundle of blushes and aw-shucks. He too often got crushes on the wrong kind of women. Shane fell for a married one. Sheriff Matt Dillon obviously had longstanding, unconsummated hots for a used-up barmaid.

The tradition of womenless cowboys continued into the 1960s. "Bonanza" is the best example of cowboys living communal, womenless lives. Even the cook at the Ponderosa was male.

Whenever a Cartwright fell in love, you could order the woman's funeral flowers. Ben kept three wives alive just long enough to produce three sons. The most we ever got to see of them was a name on a headstone. Little Joe was supposed to be girl crazy, but he was totally inept. Maybe it was the name.

It's clear to me now why the writers opted for disposable women.

How can the uncomplicated life of a cowboy remain so if he gets attached? Better he be hung by the black hats than lassoed by some bride. You can't be home on the range with a range in the home.

But as a little girl I wanted more romance, less wrangling. Popeye was faithful to Olive Oyl, and he was a sailor. Why couldn't a cowboy find happiness with one woman?

There was only one exception to this Animal House vision of the Wild West: Roy. He chose an upstanding, hard-working, clean-living companion. She had dew in her eyes and could ride, too.

And Roy was as faithful as your morning paper. He had eyes only for Dale.

Roy Rogers and Dale Evans seemed to make it work in Real Life, too. Either that or their press agent was very, very good.

When Lash LaRue died, the obits were uncertain how many wives he had had; one account said 11. He probably couldn't help himself; the movies had made him fickle.

Others may praise Roy for his singing, his business acumen, his good-guy, palomino persona. I agree with most of that.

But the best part about Roy was Dale, and he seemed to know it.

There's more to life than the rodeo.

She didn't get equal billing in the show that ran from 1951 to 1957. That would have been too radical. But everybody knew that Roy couldn't function without Dale, and vice versa. They were a matched pair, Lucy and Ricky with holsters.

If Roy Rogers was always smiling, it was no accident. It was Dale.

King Features Syndicate