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For years, nay, sneaking up on decades, I’ve been lobbying to get Thornton Doelle on Newhall’s Western Walk of Stars.

Thorny’s a natural. The SCV’s first cowboy poet, he penned some beautiful and plentiful stanzas about our pristine valley. He was a bona fide cowboy. In the 1920s, he was the local forest ranger AND editor of The Signal. He was involved in the winning end of gunfights and capturing bank robbers and all manner of miscreants. This was is perhaps the ONE PERSON who deserves to be immortalized on the gum-encrusted pavement of Downtown Tijuana — excuse me — Newhall — because he didn’t play a Western hero. He was one.

Did I mention?

The rugged SCV icon was an amazing poet, WHO WROTE VOLUMES ABOUT THE BEAUTY OF THE SANTA CLARITA VALLEY?

But to heck with it.

I’m giving up.

To be sure, there are many wonderful souls whose names are emblazoned forever in those bronze saddles. Gary Cooper, Herb Jeffries, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, our godfather of Things Truly Western — William Surrey Hart — Hopalong Cassidy, James Arness are just some of the growing list of those remembered.

My late friend, Jack Williams, Agua Dulce rancher and stuntman since the tender age of 2, is also immortalized and that is fitting.

I miss that darn rascal Jack.

I think if that full-o-beans cowpoke was still around, Jack would have supported my new efforts to enshrine a different sagebrush legend and giant in Western film heritage— Elmer Fudd.

Fudd?

Yes. Fudd.

Few people realize that it was Fudd who sang the original theme song to the hit TV series, “Maverick,” starring James Garner.

Here.

I just happen to have the original sheet music in my dayplanner:

“Who is the tawl dock stwane-jer thayoww, Mav-o-wick is his name. Widin’ the twail to who knows way-o, wuck is his com-pan-yun. Gambwin is his game.”

Second verse:

“Wivvuhboat wing yore bewuhl. Fay-thee-well Annabewuhl. Wuck is the wady that he wuvs the best. Natchez to Nu O-weens. Wivin’ on jacks and queens. Eton a pwate uv beans. Dancin’ naked wheel-wee obscene. Mav-o-wick is a weh-gend uv duh West. MAVOWICK IS A WEHGEND UV DUH WEST!!”

I’m not going to mention names (Virginia Mayo), but there have also been some rather dubious selections. Do Katharine Ross and Virginia Mayo belong in the same memorial as a Tom Mix or John Wayne?

Well. Virginia Mayo did do that sprawling Western epic: “Seven Days Ashore.” 

And the one about the famous prairie gunfighter, “Capt. Horatio Hornblower.”

And the oater, filmed a smidge back east titled: “Congo Crossing.”

Then, there was Ms. Mayo’s big Western: “Won Ton Ton, The Dog Who Saved Hollywood.”

 

Dear Mr. Santa Clarita Valley:

OK. We’ve taken just about enough of your senseless carping about some of the choices made by the City of Santa Clarita as to whom gets enshrined in the Western Walk of Stars.

Granted. Some of the movie stars and crooners may not have the same Western biography as a John Ford, Tom Selleck or whatzizname — Clint Eastwood. Yes. Sometimes the criteria for immortality is: “Will they buy a ticket?”

But everyone on the WWoS (pronounced, in the industry as: “Wah-Wooz”) richly deserves to be there as we are all cowboys at heart. I, for one, know the heartbreak of being up for the lead in “Have Gun, With Travel” only to be stepped over by some scowling over-the-top poser.

To show my undying support for the City’s Wah-Wooz, please put me down for two comp tickets to next year’s macaroni-&-cheese fest.

Hopeful Wah-Wooz

Nominee for 2013,

Sir Anthony Hopkins

 

Thank you, Tony.

Anyway.

Fudd.

If for no other reason, we should enshrine the Warner Bros. giant for his tireless work of spending a lifetime trying to eradicate bunnies.

You know.

Wabbits?

Cwazy, skewy, wabbits? Those foul creatures who made the frontier — and our lawns — look like Swiss cheese with all those wabbit holes?

Granted. After tens of thousands of rounds of ordnance expelled, clever traps and even burrowing into the very bowels of the Earth Itself to seek not justice, but a reckoning against a wanton, lawn-ruining varmint, Fudd never even wounded Bugs.

But the important thing that against all odds, Elmer tried.

And isn’t that the true, non-Congo-crossing meaning of the Old West?

I think Elmer deserves a permanent place in our hearts and valley. And, if I may be so bold, might I suggest that the august Santa Clarita Council float a trial balloon.

Let’s set aside one special day a year where everyone in Santa Clarita talks like Elmer Fudd.

Drop your “R’s” and replace them with “W’s.” End every sentence with a wittuhl chuckle and a mirthful “Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh...” Conduct an entire city council meeting in ElmerFuddSpeak.

I dare you.

And next year, let us enshrine Hopkins and Fudd onto the Western Walk of Stars.

I can hear the two of them doing a duet to the Steven Miller Band’s hit: “Space Cowboy.”

Come.

All of us.

Up from our desks, lube racks and oxygen tents and let us sing, con gusto:

“Ahm a spaaaa-ace... cowboy. Bet you wuhnt weady for dat yeah-yeah-yeah...”

Kidding aside?

I’m starting to approach middle age and won’t be around forever as the lone voice to remember a kind, rugged, humble and disserving soul like Thornton Doelle and what he meant to this valley. I’m haunted by an anonymous quote: “We only truly die when the last person stops remembering us.”

(SCV author John Boston also writes The Time Ranger & SCV History for your SCV Beacon. He’s has earned more than 100 major awards for writing, including being named, several times, America’s best humor, and, best serious columnist. Don’t forget to check out his national humor, entertainment & swashbuckling commentary website, America’s Humorist — http://www.johnbostonchronicles.com/) — © 2017 by John Boston. All rights reserved.

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