I remember James Garner (part 2)

As a young person working to forge a career in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was fortunate to meet and to work with James Garner. The man I came to know as Jim treated me with respect, kindness and generosity. For example, on a film location in St. Petersburg, Fla., I met — in one evening — Dick Cavett, Carol Burnett and Lauren Bacall. It was an amazing time for a small-town kid just out of theater school. And it was thanks to Jim.

Jim was smart and savvy and surprising. He played football for his home team, the University of Oklahoma. He was an athlete and often deemed a "man's man" in the press. He spoke openly in interviews about a really tough, unhappy childhood filled with abuse and abandonment. Perhaps sometimes assumptions were made about Jim's values and politics based on his background. He met his wife, Lois, at a Democratic Party rally in the late 1950s, and was a staunch supporter of human rights. He marched on Washington, D.C., in 1963 in support of civil rights; he was a lifelong Democrat and, in many respects, championed the underdog all his life.

Speaking of football, he loved the Oakland Raiders, and through the 1980s, the game cameras would often catch him on the Raiders' sidelines. If Jim ever lost his temper, it was because an NFL referee made a particularly heinous call on Kenny Stabler. Willie Nelson was a close friend, and visiting Willie's band bus with Jim and Luis after a Florida concert is a story in itself. Jim was an avid, if stereotypically frustrated golfer. His modern, architect-designed home in the Brentwood hills between the San Diego freeway and Pacific Palisades was his safe refuge from all the studio and industry nonsense.

With his kind and diplomatic nature, you'd think he'd avoid admitting to a favorite from all his fabulous leading ladies: Doris Day, Eva Marie Saint, Rita Moreno, Sally Field, Audrey Hepburn, but he often spoke of his huge admiration and affection for Julie Andrews. He worked with her on The Americanization of Emily — a film he always named without hesitation as his all-time favorite — and later on in Victor/Victoria. He was great friends with both Julie and her husband, director Blake Edwards (The Pink Panther and many, many others). Story continues below the video …

Because of Jim's loyalty and generosity to his friends, I was asked to play one of the half-dozen Red Ox Saloon girls on Maverick when it started up in 1981. Jim's friendships brought me other valuable learning opportunities as well. I got to do a bit of horse work during shooting, riding or driving one- and two-horse rigs. It was totally fortunate that the wranglers on the set were Jim's friends — the legendary Randall family, "Corky" Randall and his sons. They were an amazing bunch of horse trainers for films: Corky's father had trained Roy Rogers' Trigger; Corky himself had trained the stallions for The Black Stallion movies. I began to learn something about driving horses on the set, thanks to the Randalls. Most exciting for me, they were going to teach me to drive the stagecoach with its team of six horses, a more dangerous and intimidating task than you might think, and one very few women got to learn back then.

Those lessons were postponed indefinitely when one afternoon on the Warner Brothers' back lot, Jim was badly injured doing a stunt. It wasn't the fault of Jim's beautiful, extremely well-trained Quarter Horse, Lowball, but that of a mechanical bull. The crew covered all the wide and medium shots most of the morning and moved on to the close-ups. The stunt was rigged to get a close-up of Jim's face as he was bucked around when Lowball supposedly spooks at a powder flash from the camera of the town's newspaperwoman, rushing out to get a photo of the famous Bret Maverick. The stunt gaffer set everything: large, thick mats surrounding the machine in case of an unplanned exit. Sadly, not only was Jim's exit unplanned when the "bull" dipped sharply down and away, but Jim overshot the mats, landing head and shoulder first on the dusty, hard street. It was frightening. At first we thought he had broken his back. He was in so much obvious pain. The diagnosis was broken ribs with some other minor injuries, but shooting stopped for a few weeks for him to recuperate.

On that hiatus in 1982, I got busy with other things: getting into graduate school in a whole different field, falling into radio in L.A., eventually marrying, moving to England and having a family. I never returned to the Red Ox, nor did I learn to drive that team of six matched horses. The last time I saw Jim, Maverick was ending, and he was getting ready to leave for England to film Victor/Victoria.

I've stayed in touch with MaryAnn and one or two other folks from those days. Just last weekend, I was cleaning out some drawers, when I found an old, yellowing letter of recommendation Jim wrote for me on Cherokee Productions letterhead back in 1982. I'm having it framed. It sits in a box with some Rockford scripts, some old photographs and the bronze Rockford Files belt buckle Jim had custom cast, numbered and engraved with his autograph for the crew for Christmas 1979.

Even though decades have passed since I last saw or spoke to Jim, I, like so many other folks, felt I lost an old friend when he died on July 19, 2014. He was just that kind of guy. He treated you like a friend. James Garner was, above all else, genuine, funny, fair, honest and humble. A really decent human being. Both Hollywood and the world could use a whole lot more just like him.

Listen to Lynne Warfel feature music from James Garner films and TV shows on a special episode of Saturday Cinema on Aug. 16, starting at 10 a.m. Central/11 a.m. Eastern.

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