John Wayne Makes 3 Kids Happy

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‘Duke’s’ – the Greatest’ – The Carrs Can Prove It

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David Carr                                Mike Carr       Billy Carr             John Wayne

The gun’s gotta hang just right

Screen shot 2015-01-22 at 23.59.41By PAUL HOCHULI

Press Amusements Editor

This is addressed to the skeptics who live in South Park Addition in the neighbourhood of 5126 Malmedy Road.

So, you don’t think the Carr twins, David and Billy, and their younger brother, Mike, know John Wayne, the movie star? You think they’ve just been bragging?

Well, you’re wrong. They do know him. What’s more, they split a dish of ice cream and a Coke with him when he arrived in town to premiere his latest release, “Hondo.”

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And they’ll see him on the stage today in the Majestic when he’ll do the premiere honors himself. As special guests, no less, of their pal, John Wayne.

Maybe we should set the scene for you before going into details.

David, Billy and Mike are sons of Mr. and Mrs. David Carr. The twins are five, are designated “A Boy” (David) and “B Boy” (Billy) in recognition of the three-minute interval in their births. Mike is three, a sort of tag-along, sometimes known as “C Boy.” And all are red-headed.

Wayne has been a sort of Santa Claus to the three youngsters. Every Christmas they’ve received gifts from him – in the same way good little boys get them from Santa.

You skeptics might say the gifts came from a doting daddy, who wanted his kids to have the things they asked for on Christmas, that John Wayne knew nothing about six-guns and the games Santa brought.

But if you’d been in Wayne’s Shamrock suite yesterday, watched him buckle “real” John Wayne holsters and guns” on the kids, you’d know different.

A Letter

You’d know, too, if you read the letter Mrs. Carr sent to John. It was waiting for him when he arrived yesterday.

I am the mother of twin boys, aged five, and their brother, who is three. They’re red-headed monster who have no talent whatsoever.

However, they don’t give a hoot for Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, or even Roy Rogers, who is just the King of the Cowboys.

They worship a guy they call John – Duke– Wayne, the king of them ALL.

How this started, my husband or I don’t know. I just did, and we are aware that your at the biggest, fighingest and ruggedest guy in the world. ‘A boy’ keeps telling us you can skate, sing, shoot, smile, talk, etc.., better than anyone anywhere.

This is just a sample of what we hear day in and day out about ‘Duke,’ whom I can a few other things when I’m tired of hearing about him.

On the other hand, your name comes in handy when I’m trying to get them to eat something they don’t want, or take medicine they don’t like.

And when they are bad. I can do more good by saying ‘John Wayne doesn’t like bad boys,’ than I can by spanking. Thanks for these things you do to help me.

When they heard you were coming to town they yelled for you, told everybody you were their friend, that you had sent them Christmas gifts every year. They just know you are coming to Houston to see them.

So, if you can arrange to see three red-headed boys, all dressed alike, please say ‘hello.’ Then, if you are human like the rest of us, get depressed and blue, and try to think of some good you have done, think about what your mean to three boys in Texas.

Every night they say a prayer for you, and I myself, can only thank you, John Wayne, for being what you are to my boys.

When Duke read the letter, wheels began spinning. He shopped for the best gun belts, holsters and “six-shooter,” he could find. He ordered up ice cream, and issued a personal invitation to the three to be his guests.

The grown-ups at a Cork Club cocktail party could wait – and did.

Then kids arrived, spic and span, in tow of their proud mother, and equally proud mother, and equally proud grandmother, Mrs Irene Vostatek, who makes her home with her daughter’s family.

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At first, the boys were tongue-tied in the presence of their idol. But not for long. Who can keep kids of that age tongue-tied for any length of time.

They were climbing all over Wayne – or “Duke,” – as he insisted they call him – spilling ice cream, admiring the gifts he had given them, paying close attention when he instructed in the are of the “quick draw.”

“Do you think I could whip your daddy?” Wayne teased.

“A boy” [David] is qualified to become a diplomat. He thought just a second, while loyalty to his pay and to his daddy fought for supremacy.

“Aw, Duke,” he finally spoke up for the trio, “you only fight the bad people. You wouldn’t fight the good people like my daddy.

The subject changed when Mike, in all seriousness, turned to his grandmother, whom he called “Irene.”

“Irene,” he said, “Duke is 15 feet tall. If you wanted to kiss him, you would have to stand on a chair.”

“That’s my boy,” Wayne laughed.

So, you skeptics around 5126 Malmedy Road, don’t ever say that David, Billy and Mike aren’t pals of the guy they – and a lot of other people, including myself – think is the greatest fellow in the world.

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