Thin but tanned and jaunty
Inside the auditorium, the audience included colleagues who had shared screens with him over fifty years, from silent films in 1926 to 179 productions that had shaped Hollywood’s vision of heroism. They knew his politics, his controversies —but tonight was about more than that.
Wayne’s entrance was classic “Duke” – he slowly ambled down the staircase, smiling warmly at the audience. Many noticed he looked thin, yet still tanned and full of his signature charm.
When the applause finally quieted, Wayne spoke in the voice that had carried across cavalry charges and frontier towns for half a century:
”Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. ”That’s just about the only medicine a fellow would ever really need.”
Five words. The crowd erupted again.
He continued, smiling through the weight of his survival:
”Believe me when I tell you that I’m mighty pleased that I can amble down here tonight. Well, Oscar and I have something in common. Oscar first came to the Hollywood scene in 1928. So did I. We’re both a little weather-beaten, but we’re still here and plan to be around for a whole lot longer.”
Wiped away tears
The audience laughed, some wiped away tears, all understanding the gravity of that promise.
Wayne went on to announce the nominees for Best Picture: The Deer Hunter, Coming Home, Midnight Express, An Unmarried Woman, and Heaven Can Wait. Opening the envelope, he declared The Deer Hunter the winner. As the producers took the stage, Wayne stepped back, surrounded by Hollywood friends. Little did anyone know, this would be his final public appearance.
Eleven days later, on April 20, Wayne was admitted to UCLA Medical Center with a bronchial condition. A week later, he was released. On his seventy-second birthday, May 26, he received the Congressional Gold Medal.
