Return to Lonesome Dove

My pops would’ve turned 80 today. That’s him in the picture above. I chose that as the “featured image” for three reasons.

1. That’s a handsome man right there
2. Nice fish
3. I’m pretty sure his fly is open

Anyway. I was thinking about dad’s last birthday with us seven years ago today. He was at St. Mary’s Hospital in Green Bay at the time, weakened by countless maladies that ultimately took his life two months later. We stopped to see him after dinner. I mentioned that I made chili that night. He said something like, “Bring me some of your chili. I don’t wanna eat this shit.” So, I went home, heated up the leftovers, and brought it back to him. He acted like it was the greatest meal he’d ever had, raving about it as he ate. I’ve wondered since if dad really liked my chili that much or if it was just that much better than the hospital food that he’d become accustomed to over the last several months of his life. Likely both, but I make a decent batch of chili, so I’m gonna take the credit when I can get it.

The further away dad’s passing gets, the less real he feels. More myth and legend than man. Seven years is only 1/7 of my life, but at this point it feels like he died a million years ago. I’ve begun to question if he ever existed in the first place. I struggle to remember what life was like when he was still here. It’s funny because the older I get, the more I feel myself becoming him. I say and do things that I know came from him. I also intentionally say and do some things that I know he would’ve never said or done because I learned that from him as well. Nobody’s perfect. During the recent saga with my son Andy’s football coach and the Green Bay School District I tried to say and do what I think my dad would’ve done on an almost daily basis. He was on my mind all day every day.

All of this rambling leads me to a few months ago and a conversation I had with my sister, Betsy. I have no idea why or how it came up, but one of us asked the other if we’d ever seen or read Lonesome Dove. Lonesome Dove is an epic written by Larry McMurtry in 1985. My one-sentence, no-spoilers synopsis for those of you who have no idea about what I write is that it’s about two aging former Texas Rangers – one who’s definitely restless and the other one who doesn’t realize that he is – in the 1870s who leave their quiet lives in south Texas for a cattle drive to Montana in a search for adventure and answers. Maybe that’s completely wrong, but it’s my take. In 1989 it aired as a four-part miniseries on CBS with an all-star cast including Robert Duvall, Tommy Lee Jones, Diane Lane, Anjelica Houston, Danny Glover, Robert Urich, and a young Steve Buscemi. It’s not a stretch to say that Lonesome Dove was my dad’s favorite thing in the world.

Dad spent the last 30+ years of his life quoting Augustus McCrae – often inaccurately, as it turns out – and wearing out his VHS tapes. One year I finally got him the DVD for Christmas and it was certainly the greatest gift he ever received because he didn’t have to rewind the tapes anymore. My sister and I—and I assume my brother too, though I haven’t confirmed it—did what any good teenage kids would do about our father’s love for Lonesome Dove: we mocked it. I had no interested in what looked to me like some corny old cowboy crap, but our jokes usually had more to do with the length of the movie. I know the VHS version had multiple tapes. We could not wrap our heads around a movie that needed more than one tape. If we came downstairs on a Saturday and dad was watching Lonesome Dove in the living room we’d say something like, “See you when it’s done next Wednesday.” My dad tried countless times to get me to watch Lonesome Dove with him and I turned him down every single time. I wasn’t about to spend 30 hours watching old cowboys. I’d been forced to watch enough of his old John Wayne movies as a kid when I was sick on the couch – and therefore his captive audience. I wasn’t a big fan of those. I enjoyed a few, but it felt redundant. Why would Lonesome Dove be any different?

Fast forward back to a few weeks ago and my conversation with Betsy. I don’t remember any details other than Betsy said she was going to listen to the book. A few times in a car with her in recent weeks – probably on our way to Cedar Falls for one of her son Will’s basketball games – she had the Lonesome Dove audiobook on in the car. We still never really followed up on it. I just knew she was listening. I was doing nothing.

Then nine days ago Robert Duvall died. Suddenly Lonesome Dove popped up on my list of suggested movies with a little “Remembering Robert Duvall” tag when I logged into Peacock. I was curious so I clicked on it and…wait a minute…it’s only four episodes clocking in at about 100 minutes each. Why did I think this thing was 30 hours long? I thought the Lonesome Dove VHS box set came on a pallet so you could use a forklift if you needed to move the entire thing at once. It’s possible I may have exaggerated it so greatly over the years that I forgot the actual length. It’s barely over six hours long. Does that even qualify as a “limited series” nowadays? I’ll watch a 10-hour season of a streaming show now in less than a week. Six hours is nothing. I decided to finally give Lonesome Dove a try immediately. It took away from my time watching snowboarding and biathlon with my daughter Lucy, which sucked, but it felt fitting knowing that dad’s 80th birthday was only a week away.

It took me about ten minutes to get hooked. Duvall and Jones are incredible. Sure, there are some terrible 1980s special effects (like an amazing scene involving some water moccasins) but they don’t take away from the story. I finished it yesterday and I can’t stop thinking about it. I won’t dive into details here because if you’re not familiar with the story, you should read and/or see it. I will only spoil this: On countless occasions dad would quote Lonesome Dove lines to us like, “Aye God, Woodrow, it’s been quite a party,” or, “Sometimes I like to kick a pig,” but not once do I recall him saying, “uva uvam vivendo aria fit”. That phrase made my jaw drop while watching the movie. One of the more profound and breathtaking movie moments I’ve ever witnessed. For a guy who loved to flex on his kids by speaking Latin to us like he was Thomas Aquinas, I don’t remember dad ever hitting us with “uva uvam vivendo aria fit”.

So, here I sit on the old man’s 80th birthday thinking I probably should’ve said yes to him one of those dozens of times he asked me if I wanted to watch Lonesome Dove. But, to quote Gus, “Yesterday’s gone on down the river and you can’t get it back.” I would’ve been far too young to appreciate it during the time when he was asking me. I’m also keenly aware that he would’ve ruined the viewing for me by arrogantly explaining the Latin or quizzing me on old west stuff and incredulously taunting me when I couldn’t name everyone who fought with Custer at Little Bighorn. Still, he would’ve had fun, and I guess that was the point. I just didn’t understand that part then. I’ll remember this every time I ask Andy to watch some old crap with me and he refuses.

Well dad, it took 37 years but I finally got around to watching Lonesome Dove and, as usual, you were right, damn it. It was amazing. Happy 80th birthday. I wish you were still here to see the great things your grandkids are doing. We miss you. Also, where’s your copy of Lonesome Dove? I wanna read it.