Twelve voices in unison:
-Yes sir.
Before leaving, Margaret asks for a favor.
—Could we take a picture so the children can remember this day?
Wayne agrees. They go outside. The 12 students, Margaret, and John Wayne stand in front of the one-room schoolhouse. Someone’s father has a camera and takes the picture.
One shot. That’s all they need.
Wayne drives back to the set. He doesn’t mention the visit to anyone. Just another day off. But on the way, he thinks about Tommy’s question: “We’re nobodies.” How many kids in America think that? How many people believe geography determines worth?
He made movies for 50 years believing they were just entertainment. Now he knows they’re not. Those movies teach. They matter. Not because they’re art, but because children in Montana watch them and learn something about courage, about honor, about being American.
That’s worth more than any box office figure.
Tommy grows up in that small Montana town, graduates from high school, goes to college, becomes a teacher, returns to Montana, and gets a job at a small school: another town, other students, but the same one-room schoolhouse feel. Rural kids, ranchers’ children, kids who think no one sees them. He teaches them the same lessons: courage, honor, standing up for what’s right. Sometimes he uses Wayne movies: he projects them on an old projector and tells them about the day John Wayne drove 80 miles to visit their school.
In 1999, he wrote an article for the local newspaper about that day, about what Wayne taught him, and about spending 30 years passing on those lessons. The headline read: “The Day Duke Taught Me Everyone Matters.”
Writes:
“I was eight years old when John Wayne knelt beside my desk and told me I was nobody. Now I’m 56. I’ve taught hundreds of students, and I tell each one what Duke told me: You are Americans. That’s everyone. It doesn’t matter where you live or who you are.”
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