"DAVY CROCKETT"

Children need heroes, whether real or imaginary. Mine was a bit of both.

“DAVY CROCKETT”

Children need heroes, whether real or imaginary. Mine was a bit of both. He was a historical figure and a leading example of 20th century pop culture. Thanks to Walt Disney, tens of millions of kids who came of age in the 1950s knew about the colorful legend from Tennessee. Davy Crockett became my friend and inspiration, protecting me on many childhood journeys.

         Boomer Nostalgia Alert! As one of a legion of devoted young fans, I watched Disney’s semi-historical series on our tiny black and white TV every Sunday night. The show starred Fess Parker as Davy and Buddy Ebsen as his fictional sidekick, Russell. (Years later, Parker would portray another 19th century frontiersman named Daniel Boone. Ebsen would find TV fame as the comical patriarch on “The Beverly Hillbillies.”)

         But I was more than just another coonskin cap-wearing devotee. My attachment to Crockett went much deeper. He was an anchor in my uprooted childhood. Our family moved often, sometimes multiple times a year. These relocations were largely unexpected, unplanned and pretty chaotic. To cope, I read every book on Davy Crockett I could find whenever we moved into a new community. My first stop was always the local library. Even if I had already read this or that biography, I would check it out again. These texts were my security blanket, my lifeboat in stormy seas.

         At 7 years old, I wrote my first pencil and crayon Davy Crockett story, having learned much about his colorful life: He was born August 17, 1786 in Greene County, Tennessee. He was of Scots-Irish descent. He killed 106 bears in one hunting season. He had fought the Creek Indians, though later he supported Native American rights as a U.S. Congressman and opponent of President Andrew Jackson. His rifle was named Betsy, and it was by his side when the 49-year-old died at the Alamo on March 6, 1836.

         Some may quibble with these facts, alleging I was mixing history with hearsay and assorted tall tales. But so be it. As a boy I was proud of all I knew about the man. To this day, I still recall his birthday each August, and my memorabilia include a coonskin cap, Crockett books and an 8x10 photo of Fess Parker in full frontier regalia.

         Among countless “good” dreams in my lifetime, the greatest ever remains the one after getting an air rifle on my 9th birthday. That night I was awakened by Colonel Crockett, wearing his trademark buckskins and looking gigantic but sounding friendly. He said he was heading to the Alamo, and he wanted me to ride with him to Texas. “We need all the fighters we can muster. So grab yer gun and let’s go, pardner.” (Dialogue is reconstructed, but you get the idea.) I was so excited, I put on my Buster Brown church shoes because I couldn’t find my sneakers. And I didn’t have time to say goodbye to my family. Later I fought by my hero’s side high on the Alamo walls. But I wasn’t able to save him from his fate, and I awoke crying in the early morning light. Davy Crockett never appeared again in my dreams, but he still rescued me throughout my topsy-turvy childhood.

© 2022 www.markmasse.com

###