MASKED RIDER OF THE SILVER SCREEN by Tom Rizzo

On this day, Sept. 15, 1949, The Lone Ranger—starring Clayton Moore, and Jay Silverheels as Tonto—premiered on ABC television and ran until September 12, 1957. Moore appeared in about 170 episodes between 1949 and 1957. 

Years ago, I met Moore to interview him after an appearance at a Columbus, Ohio, car dealership that paid him $275 an hour to “unmask” that year’s new car models. I knew the owner of the dealership and told him I would have done it for a hundred bucks.

“Appreciate the offer, but we’re trying to attract a crowd, not your friends and relatives.”

Hmm, touché.

Moore, born Jack Carlton Moore, September 14, 1914, grew up in Chicago and spent much of his youth practicing gymnastics. He eventually joined a trapeze act called The Flying Behrs at age 19.

Moore traveled to Hollywood in 1938 and found work in films as a stuntman and bit player. 

He appeared in a number of serials as well as B-westerns. After a serving in the military, he returned to Hollywood and took a number of supporting roles, mostly in westerns. 

According to IMDB, one of his movie roles caught the attention of George W. Trendle, who produced the successful Lone Ranger radio series. Trundle, in the process of casting the lead role, approached Moore to offer him the role.

“Mr. Moore, would you like the role of the Lone Ranger?”

“Mr. Trendle, I AM the Lone Ranger.”

If there was any hesitation about his confidence, his performance in this 1949 pilot for the Lone Ranger series quieted the doubters.  

The day I met the Masked Rider of the Plains, I spotted him standing on a riser surrounded by Lone Ranger fans. 

The aging actor wore the all-too-familiar Lone Ranger costume but, in place of the famous half-mask, he wore large sunglasses. 

“Before I say anything else,” he told the fans gathered inside the showroom, “I’m required by law to tell you that my name is Clayton Moore who used to portray The Lone Ranger.”

Later, during our interview, Moore couldn't mask his disappointment at losing the right to wear The Lone Ranger mask. 

The Wrather Corp., at that time, owned the rights to Moore's character and planned a feature film starring a younger man as The Lone Ranger. 

The issue ended up in court. Wrather won the argument that two Rangers would confuse the public. (Courts, movie producers, and politicians always seem to consider the public a bit feeble-minded and stupid in these kind of matters). 

During our conversation, Moore shook his head slowly as if still in disbelief at the disheartening turn of events.  

“Here's a company that said to me for all these years: 'as The Lone Ranger, don't to this, don't do that. Uphold the name of The Lone Ranger.' I've done that for 30 years. I have lived the part of The Lone Ranger.”

In what was believed a backlash of fan support for Moore, the movie flopped at the box-office, sort of giving Moore the last word. But, to his credit, he never displayed any public pleasure at the film's disappointing showing. 

In fact, in his 1996 autobiography—I Was That Masked Man—Moore said he would "never wish failure on anyone,” displaying strict adherence to The Lone Ranger persona. Always a class act. 

Moore counter-sued, but the legal proceedings went on for years until Jack Wrather—without explaining why—simply dropped the case. Wrather died a month later. His widow Bonita sent a letter to Moore, in which she wrote: “please be advised that Wrather Corporation hereby grants to Clayton Moore the rights to wear The Lone Ranger mask.”

I remember watching Moore that afternoon at the dealership captivate his audience as he revealed the legend of the masked rider's origin. And, he was more than believable. 

"From a personal perspective, what kind of impact has the The Lone Ranger character made on you?"

He flashed a warm smile. "I'm sure the character I've been portraying has helped make a better person of me. More tolerant. More considerate."

For a second, I was skeptical and thought he might have been carrying the Lone Ranger persona a little too far. But I was wrong. Clayton Moore was the real deal. Genuine and steadfast in his beliefs. 

“Sounds like you’ve taken a page out of The Lone Ranger Creed," I said.

“I tell the truth,” he countered in a soft but firm voice. “Part of the Lone Ranger Creed is: I believe that everything changes on this earth but the truth. And it goes on forever.”

If I had any doubts about the sincerity of the role he cherished, I remember watching The Late Show with David Letterman one evening. One of his guests, Jay Thomas—actor, sportscaster, and writer—told a great story about Clayton Moore.

Thomas said he appeared on a radio show where Clayton Moore was a guest back in the early 70s. At the end of the broadcast, Moore's transportation to the airport didn't show up so Thomas agreed to give him a ride. 

Moore, still wearing his LR outfit—including mask—climbed into the back seat of Jay’s Volvo. Thomas and his producer—both of whom wore extremely long hair that was stylish at the time—sat up front. 

During a stop in heavy traffic, the driver ahead of them backed up and hit the Volvo and then took off. Thomas decided to give chase and finally caught up the guy. Thomas and his producer jumped out of the car and confronted the other driver. 

“What are you going to do?” the man asked. 

“We’re going to call the cops,” Thomas replied.

“Oh really. Who do you think they’re going to believe, you two hippie freaks or me?”

At this point, Clayton Moore climbed out of the backseat of the Volvo, approached the hit-and-run driver, rested his hands on the handles of his six-shooters and said,  “They’ll believe me, citizen.” 

When I left the interview and made my way out of the showroom, one of the salesman corralled me.

“This guy really thinks he’s The Lone Ranger,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, rotating his eyes to the ceiling.

Obviously not a believer.

"Stranger," I said to him, feeling the need to provide cover for one of my childhood heroes, “he is The Lone Ranger.”

____

Tom Rizzo blames the The Lone Ranger, Durango Kid, Randolph Scott, Tim Holt, and Paladin for triggering his lifelong obsession with the American Frontier—and for convincing him that outlaws must face justice, no matter how many guns they carry or how high the odds. 

A novelist and naturally curious amateur historian, Tom’s new three-volume collection, Tall Tales from the High Plains & Beyond features dozens of quick-read true stories featuring characters and events of the Old West, crafted with a fictional technique that drops readers into the middle of the action. If you enjoyed the story above, please share it with your friends. And visit Tom's Blog and rediscover the Old West.