THE DEATH OF THE LONE RANGER
by Allan R. Andrews
American Reporter Correspondent

Moore commandeered the role he made famous on television and turned it into his Hollywood alterego. His 1996 autobiography is interestingly titled, "I Was That Masked Man," as if providing the ultimate answer to the question that ended almost every episode of the television series, "Who was that masked man?"

Among all the actors and actresses whose imprints and stars pave Hollywood's Walk of Fame, Moore's alone bears the name of the character he was tied to by virtue of his playing the role in 169 half-hour episodes of "The Lone Ranger" and in two full-length feature films, all of them in the decade between 1949 and 1958.

For those who grew up on television, Moore was The Lone Ranger.

But Moore's approach to his public persona as the Ranger was less an heroic identification than it was a public relations gimmick, despite his consistent effort to represent the white hat of virtue in his appearances. His role, made bigger than life by television's ubiquitousness, represents neither the beginning, the end, nor the mystery of the influence of The Lone Ranger.

The first real Lone Ranger was radio announcer Earl Grasser at station WXYZ in Detroit, a station owned by George Trendle, an entrepreneuring lawyer who had hired Fran Striker, the writer that created the character of the Ranger, and launched the series in 1933. Grasser died in an automobile accident and was replaced by another WXYZ announcer, Brace Beemer, who remained the voice of the Ranger until radio was surpassed by television.

[Ed. note:  Beemer died in 1965.  Many tributes exist to him in his hometown of Mt. Carmel, Illinois.  An example would be:  http://www.friendsville1.homestead.com/bracebeemer.html ]

When Trendle hired Clayton Moore to be the television version of the Ranger, Moore was advised to listen to old transcriptions of Grasser and Beemer to get the commanding voice of the Ranger down.

In an informative 1995 speech in New Jersey, Fran Striker, Jr., said his father's creation - a cross between Robin Hood and Zorro -- was "a composite of those human traits, those values and ethics, . . . that every parent hopes their child will grow to acquire." Striker noted the Lone Ranger did all this without the magical powers of his contemporary storied heroes such as Superman.

Striker points out that The Lone Ranger has as his most trusted companion an Indian, Tonto. Striker claims this told the radio audience that racial prejudice had no place in the Ranger's thinking or behavior.

I've often noted that Gene Autry had his Pat Buttram, Roy Rogers had his Pat Brady, Wild Bill Hickok had his Jingles, the Cisco Kid had his Pancho, and John Wayne had his Gabby Hayes. In each case, these sidekicks were meant to provide comic relief to the taming of the Wild West.

Not so with The Lone Ranger. Tonto is a noble and virtuous warrior; in fact, comic relief is rare in the episodes of The Lone Ranger. This cowboy knows his iconic stature and intention as does the "faithful companion," whose legacy is the honoring phrase taken from the language of the Potowatomie Indians of Michigan, "kemo sabe," which though spelled a variety of ways has only one meaning -- faithful friend.

Another overlooked Lone Ranger is actor Lee Powell, a Californian who played the role in the first motion picture serials starring the Ranger and produced by Republic Pictures in the late 1930s. Powell took his role on the road with a circus - his future father-in-law's circus, as it turned out - and was billed as "The Original Lone Ranger of Talking Picture Fame."

In 1942, Powell enlisted in the U.S. Marines and was a true fighting hero in the Pacific. In 1944, he was killed on the island of Tinian in the Marianas. He is buried in Hawaii's Punchbowl, the resting place of many heroes of the Pacific war.

An attempt to bring The Lone Ranger back to the silver screen in 1981proved a box-office flop, largely because of the weakness brought to the role by an unknown actor, Klinton Spilsbury. That film, "The Legend of The Lone Ranger," provided some decent performances by Jason Robards as President Ulysses S. Grant and Christopher Lloyd as the evil Butch Cavendish, but the film's long and disjointed narrations as well as its inappropriate music for the voice of Merle Haggard doomed it (although it remains one of my children's favorite videos).

The movie provided more drama off screen than on as the producers went to court to keep Clayton Moore from appearing and billing himself as the masked man. Moore won a moral victory when the film flopped, and he was eventually freed to tour as The Lone Ranger again.

As a role for an actor, The Lone Ranger makes interesting demands. The actor must perform always wearing a mask and is constantly riding away from fame, fortune and recognition. The Lone Ranger doesn't sing, performs no rope tricks or trained horse stunts, and not only refuses to kiss the heroine but also treats every woman as the queen mother. The only person, besides Tonto, with whom he allows his masked persona to be dropped is a mission padre.

The role demanded anonymity, humility and virtue, hardly the stuff of Hollywood legends. The Lone Ranger is, however, the stuff of idealistic boyhood and perhaps of moral manhood.

For most of us, the death of our Lone Ranger comes totally apart from the voices and actors succumbing to accident or age. I've tried to capture this mystery in a poem:

THE DEATH OF THE LONE RANGER

He galloped into an era unmasking
foibles in electronic heroes and
tarnishing spangles with slick songs.

His tacky mask, a harlequin's ploy,
coyly hides his love-need; he misplaces
his loins on a pale Arabian stallion.

His magnanimity with silver bullets,
squandering precious metal,
sullies his ride into radio's West.

Beside him rides Tonto -- a little lower than
the Ranger; a sidekick, a faithful companion,
a bit of a bloodhound, but not a brother.

I query my mirror of age: "Who is he,
this masked stranger?" It ciphers my years
and replies: "He dies in this decade."

A finale. Rossini's "Overture"
succumbs to synthesizers, and I must
conquer desperadoes without him.

Allan R. Andrews can be contacted at arandrews@toadmail.com

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Copyright 1999 Joe Shea The American Reporter. All Rights Reserved.