As a child I thought I had others convinced I was Davy Crockett. Of course, my parents had bought me a coonskin cap which I wore everywhere, including bed. I had an air rifle which I would jam into the dirt in order to be fully loaded before I shot an imaginary bear. My rubber knife was always sharp. I even had a fringed jacket that I had found it in a trash pile behind the Salvation Army store. My mother had reluctantly cleaned it for me, but neglected to tell me it was a little girl’s jacket. Didn't matter, I was Davy Crockett.
My parents purchased tickets to see the movie Alamo. We had reserved seats and a tall thin lady carrying a tray of goodies and cigarettes walked the aisles before the movie began. I was so excited I couldn't sit still. I fidgeted in my shorts, knee highs, bow tie, jacket and coonskin cap. As the movie started I kept looking for the David Crockett. To my horror it wasn't Davy, but just some actor who I later found out was named John Wayne. My mother leaned in close and told me that Davy had given his permission for Mr. Wayne to portray him. Disappointed, but awed by the giant screen and the swirling colors I quietly watched in awe as the defenders of the Alamo and the soldiers of the Mexican army spoke of their respect for each other before the final bloody battle. It didn't hurt so much when the actor portraying Davy died in front of the chapel because he wasn't really Davy, just an actor.
In time, as I got older and was allowed to watch TV and began to go to movies, I began a lifetime of respect for John "Duke" Wayne, but Fess Parker was the only real Davy Crockett to me and Davy must have talked to my mother because he gave her permission for her and my father to call me Davy. They did until I became a teenager.
Fess Parker was a good man.
