Guinn “Big Boy” Williams — He Dug His Way In (1929) 🇺🇸

August 10, 2023

Guinn “Big Boy” Williams might never have been in pictures if he hadn’t been commissioned a second lieutenant in the army.

by Helen Louise Walker

And he entered pictures in a novel manner. He dug his way in — with a pickax. Honestly! And if his horse hadn’t died, and if it hadn’t been for that plumber, and if he hadn’t had such well-developed muscles in his arms — everything might have been different.

Oh, well, all right! I know it sounds involved. But I’ll straighten it all out in just a minute.

We’ll begin with the commission and work along from there. It was like this. Big Boy joined the army during the War and won his commission when he was nineteen. After the armistice was signed, he went home to the ranch in Texas and found that his father had secured an appointment for him to go to West Point.

Big Boy was a little dismayed at the prospect, he had already had quite a lot of army life — and he had made other plans.

“You see,” he drawls, “I figured that I was already a second lieutenant. The idea seemed to be for me to go and work like everything for four years at West Point, and when I got through — I would be a second lieutenant! Seemed kind o’ silly! So I said I’d rather play baseball. I’d had an offer from the White Sox.”

The elder Williams didn’t care for that. They couldn’t seem to compromise on their divergent plans for Big Boy’s future. So Big Boy left home.

Baseball, it seems, didn’t wear so well, and it wasn’t long before Big Boy was wandering about the country, cashing in upon his early ranch experience by riding and roping in rodeos.

What more natural at this point than that he should come to Hollywood to do stunt riding in pictures?

He arrived with two dollars and a half in his pocket and looked about him for a motion-picture studio. He found Larry Semon and his company working out of doors on a comedy. Here is where the pickax enters the story. A large hole in the ground was required for the picture and Big Boy, standing by. considered that the efforts of the workmen employed to dig the hole were distinctly half-hearted.

“I hadn’t had any exercise for days,” he said. “I went over to a man and said. ‘Say! Would you lend me your pick for just a minute?’ The bird was glad enough to turn it over to me. and I tore into that hole like nobody’s business. Pretty soon everybody began to watch me — I guess they thought it was funny that anybody could he so enthusiastic about digging! Semon came over and asked me if I’d like to do some work in comedies.

See? What did I tell you?

He still had the notion that a hard-rifling cowboy should make good in Westerns he drifted out of comedies, and sought employment in the wide-open epics.

“I found out that in the old-fashioned, cheap Westerns they had a good-looking guy for the lead, and had somebody who could ride to double for him. I got to be the double,” Big Boy relates mournfully. “But I wasn’t licked yet. I thought I’d get me a good horse and train him the way Fred Thomson and Tom Mix had — and I’d get to do some pictures where I could do my own riding.

“Well, I got the horse. And, say! What a horse he was! I’ve ridden horses and broken ‘em, and worked with ‘em all my life, but I’ve never seen a horse like that one. Beautiful, intelligent, gentle, easy to train, spirited — he had everything. I spent a lot of time and money on him — getting ready to make pictures with him. And then he took the flu and died.

“That did nearly finish me. After that I had appendicitis, and the doctor said I wasn’t to get on a horse for at least a year.”

There was a lugubrious silence at this point in the narrative. We were lunching: at the “Munchers” on the Fox lot, and Charles Farrell joined us. Charlie and Big Boy are great pals.

“Tell her about the plumber!” urged Charlie. “Oh, the plumber! That was a part in a picture,” Big Boy explained. “It was an independent picture, and it wasn’t so much of a part, but I was plenty glad to get it. It turned out to be a pretty good role for me — an easy-going, good-natured, funny, diamond-in-the-rough sort of chap. Lots of comedy. And it went over pretty well.” “Pretty well!” snorted Charlie. “Very well,” admitted Big Boy. “I’ve never had an idle moment since. Of course the role in Noah’s Ark did me a lot of good. It was the same type of character.

“Funny thing about Noah’s Ark. When George O’Brien and I got those parts in that picture, we thought it was on account of our ability as actors. We felt pretty good about it. Or at least I did. But we figured out afterward that we weren’t chosen because we could act at all. Uh! Uh! We were picked because we were husky guys who could pack a lot of weight without collapsing.

“You know — you saw the picture. George had to carry Dolores Costello all around, and I had to carry about two tons of suitcases! You gotta have muscles to act in pictures like that one. There was hardly a scene where we didn’t carry something.”

He looked extremely adequate as a candidate for muscular roles as he sat stowing away roast beef, while Charlie toyed with chicken salad. Big Boy urged his friend to have a “steak or something” and insisted, worriedly, that he eat a piece of custard pie with cream on it.

“When I first knew Charlie, he didn’t eat any lunch at all!” he told me in a for-heaven’s-sake voice, adding, “I eat steak for breakfast!”

And Charlie volunteered proud remarks about how well Big Boy was doing in “Lucky Star,” Charlie’s new picture in which Big Boy plays the heavy.

“I wasn’t a bit sure I wanted him to do this part,” Charlie said, “though of course I wanted him to work with me. It’s a real heavy, you know, and I thought it might not be good for him. He has played those lovable characters for so long that he has made a name for himself in them. But he’s doing awfully well in this —

I guess it won’t hurt him. What do you think?”

I was sure it wouldn’t harm the big actor in the least — which seemed to relieve the Farrell boy amazingly. There is real affection between these two.

They were going out to Big Boy’s ranch to ride that afternoon, it being Saturday and the director of Lucky Star having a desire to play golf, which released the company from work.

Big Boy’s cowboy proclivities persist, you see, even after ten years in Hollywood. He has a miniature ranch with a well-stocked stable, and a bunch of calves which he keeps, one gathers, for roping purposes.

“I get sort of homesick for Texas and ranch life,” he admitted, with just a bit of embarrassment — like a small boy caught in some sentimentality. “It isn’t that I like it better than Hollywood,” he added with swift loyalty, “and I suppose that I wouldn’t go back there to stay if I could. It’s just that once you have known that sort of life, you can never quite get away from it. The space, the silence, the cleanness of it. You miss the animals and the companionship that grows up between men and the beasts they take care of.

“I like to ride. But I want to be going somewhere. It wouldn’t be any fun for me to go out and canter up and down a bridle path, all dressed up! I want to sleep out there and get up in the morning and feed my horse and rub him down, and then saddle him and start out.

“I’m teaching Charlie to ride a Western saddle and rope a calf,” he broke off, adding proudly, “You ought to see how quickly he’s picking it up!”

Charlie accepted this tribute with becoming modesty, and presently we parted, the two hurrying off. arm in arm like two schoolboys on a holiday.

I like Big Boy. I like his simplicity and his grin and the gusto he has for life. And when he gets a part which suits him, I think he is a fine actor.

That’s a lot to be said in any man’s favor!