R.I.P James Arness
Posted: Sat Jun 04, 2011 9:26 pm
Farewell to Marshal Dillon
- Jun 04, 2011
James Arness was a big man — bigger than life and more nuanced than Matt Dillon, the “Gunsmoke” character with whom he became synonymous.
Whereas Dillon appeared to have no interests besides keeping the streets of Dodge City quiet, chasing down bad guys and having an occasional beer with Doc Adams and Miss Kitty at the Long Branch Saloon, Arness was a fun-loving rogue.
He stood 6 feet 7 inches tall, according to his 2001 autobiography, and every inch was filled with the joy of living. No gentle giant, he pursued adventure with zeal. He spent his youth hunting, camping, sailing and hopping rides on freight trains, skipping school as often as he could get away with.
Matt Dillon was all about following the rules and making sure everyone else did, too. Jim Arness was all about pushing the envelope.
Can you imagine Matt Dillon, the fictional, hard-fisted marshal of Dodge City, Kan., in the 1880s, on snow skis? On a surfboard? Piloting a plane? Singing in a Methodist choir?
When Matt Dillon walked into the Long Branch and demanded to know what a stranger was doing in town, you knew that stranger would soon be either on the floor, behind bars or in a grave. Challenged by some trail tough, he didn’t waste any words; he just ground a fist into the punk’s face. Any man fool enough to go for his gun was as good as dead. Matt Dillon was a one-man justice-delivery system.
Yet, there was much of Jim Arness in Matt Dillon, and much of Matt Dillon in Jim Arness. Dillon’s punching, shooting and riding were authentic Arness. So were his devotion to fairness, his concern for protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty, and his humor.
With so many fists and bullets flying in “Gunsmoke,” the occasional punch line was welcome comic relief. Arness got to deliver them about as often as other members of the ensemble cast, and when you saw his eyes twinkle, you know one of his friends was about to get zapped. Doc, Chester, Festus, or even Miss Kitty, he treated them with equal respect. Any one of them might be the target of Matt’s one-upsmanship, but they were just as likely to aim a zinger at him.
“Gunsmoke” benefited from some of the best writing in the history of television and from years on radio before that. By the time Dillon and company made it to the small screen, the characters were already well established and beloved. Yet they continued to develop over the 20-year TV run from 1955 to 1975, and James Arness was Matt Dillon for all that time.
For most of those who watched “Gunsmoke,” he remained Matt Dillon until the day he died, and will forever be Matt Dillon.
James Arness died Friday. He was 88. He enjoyed his life, he treasured his fans and he loved his country.
On a train home to recuperate from a leg wound he received at Anzio in World War II, he wrote in his autobiography, “We traveled through the heartland of America, the Southern states and the mountains of Appalachia, and beautiful countryside everywhere. I felt such joy — I just got this marvelous feeling, thinking about America and all it meant to me. I was proud to have fought in a war to save my country.”
Before his death, he prepared a parting statement to be posted on his website after he was gone. In it he credited his wife, Janet, as the best part of his life, recalled his military service as having made him realize “how very precious life is,” and thanked his fans.
- Jun 04, 2011
James Arness was a big man — bigger than life and more nuanced than Matt Dillon, the “Gunsmoke” character with whom he became synonymous.
Whereas Dillon appeared to have no interests besides keeping the streets of Dodge City quiet, chasing down bad guys and having an occasional beer with Doc Adams and Miss Kitty at the Long Branch Saloon, Arness was a fun-loving rogue.
He stood 6 feet 7 inches tall, according to his 2001 autobiography, and every inch was filled with the joy of living. No gentle giant, he pursued adventure with zeal. He spent his youth hunting, camping, sailing and hopping rides on freight trains, skipping school as often as he could get away with.
Matt Dillon was all about following the rules and making sure everyone else did, too. Jim Arness was all about pushing the envelope.
Can you imagine Matt Dillon, the fictional, hard-fisted marshal of Dodge City, Kan., in the 1880s, on snow skis? On a surfboard? Piloting a plane? Singing in a Methodist choir?
When Matt Dillon walked into the Long Branch and demanded to know what a stranger was doing in town, you knew that stranger would soon be either on the floor, behind bars or in a grave. Challenged by some trail tough, he didn’t waste any words; he just ground a fist into the punk’s face. Any man fool enough to go for his gun was as good as dead. Matt Dillon was a one-man justice-delivery system.
Yet, there was much of Jim Arness in Matt Dillon, and much of Matt Dillon in Jim Arness. Dillon’s punching, shooting and riding were authentic Arness. So were his devotion to fairness, his concern for protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty, and his humor.
With so many fists and bullets flying in “Gunsmoke,” the occasional punch line was welcome comic relief. Arness got to deliver them about as often as other members of the ensemble cast, and when you saw his eyes twinkle, you know one of his friends was about to get zapped. Doc, Chester, Festus, or even Miss Kitty, he treated them with equal respect. Any one of them might be the target of Matt’s one-upsmanship, but they were just as likely to aim a zinger at him.
“Gunsmoke” benefited from some of the best writing in the history of television and from years on radio before that. By the time Dillon and company made it to the small screen, the characters were already well established and beloved. Yet they continued to develop over the 20-year TV run from 1955 to 1975, and James Arness was Matt Dillon for all that time.
For most of those who watched “Gunsmoke,” he remained Matt Dillon until the day he died, and will forever be Matt Dillon.
James Arness died Friday. He was 88. He enjoyed his life, he treasured his fans and he loved his country.
On a train home to recuperate from a leg wound he received at Anzio in World War II, he wrote in his autobiography, “We traveled through the heartland of America, the Southern states and the mountains of Appalachia, and beautiful countryside everywhere. I felt such joy — I just got this marvelous feeling, thinking about America and all it meant to me. I was proud to have fought in a war to save my country.”
Before his death, he prepared a parting statement to be posted on his website after he was gone. In it he credited his wife, Janet, as the best part of his life, recalled his military service as having made him realize “how very precious life is,” and thanked his fans.