A relative of mine was the producer of the film back in 1974. It's a good movie and an even better book. He wrote this up in storyworth when asked to talk about his relationship with Wilson Rawls, and it's pretty interesting stuff. I didn't know until recently Rawls was an ex-con. Apologies for the punctuation errors, they're my relatives, not mine.


"My association with Wilson Rawls came about as a consequence of my interest in his book Where The Red Fern Grows. I had spent two years working on a film project made in Mexico City (The Fearmaker) with a group of would be producers. The film turned out to be a failure. Having raised money and expending savings of my own in this adventure, I learned the hard way, many of the pitfalls in making a movie. Some of the more salient lessons I learned were: Don’t make a film just to make a film, know who your target audience is, don’t make a movie without having a solid distribution plan in mind and finally be prepared to commit lots of money for the marketing of the film.

In the aftermath of the Mexico debacle, I took time to consider the future and what kind of films I would produce. It was during this period I came across the aforementioned book. Over the years, my wife Liz has been big on children’s literature. She had mentioned a book she thought I should take a look at. Shortly thereafter, a friend had told me about a favorite book being read aloud to fifth and sixth graders was Where The Red Fern Grows. When I asked what the story was about, I was told it was about a boy growing up in the Ozarks during the depression. The boy wanted hound dogs in the worst way, so he could make them the best hunting dogs (racoon hunting) in all the Ozarks. I was also told how sad the ending was since the two hound die in the end. To be honest, I wasn’t highly motivated about the book and especially how it ended. I believe the friend loaned me his copy and I got around to reading it. Of course, it never occurred to me that by reading the book, my whole future would be shaped in a way I never expected.

I was deeply moved by the struggles of the Colman family in the story. I identified with depictions of determination, faith and family solidarity. Almost immediately, I sought out the author who was living in Idaho Falls Idaho at the time. After tracking down Mr. Rawls phone number, I made a call expressing interest in obtaining story rights to make the film. As I recall, he was very friendly but seemed to know little about screenplay rights other than to say I should speak to the people at Doubleday Publishing in New York. Shortly thereafter, I called New York City telephone information and they gave me the general phone number for Doubleday. I called the number, and an operator answered. “Can you tell me whether Doubleday has the film rights for a book called Where The Red Fern Grows? There was a pause and then the phone operator switched me to another department. A lady in the auxiliary rights department answered wanting to know how she could help. Trying to sound official, I simply asked the question, “I understand you represent the motion picture rights for the Book Where The Red Fern Grows, is that correct? The lady speaking seemed to know nothing of the title, so she took my number and said she would get back to me.

A few days later, a woman called from a separate office from Doubleday. Apparently Doubleday had assigned some of their smaller titles out to small companies independent of Doubleday. She was very aware of the title and spoke of how the book was reaching large numbers because it was being read aloud to school children by their teachers all over the country. When I told her of my interest, she suggested I give it some thought and to make an offer and get back to her. Over the next few days, I spoke with people I knew in the industry to try to get a sense of what I should offer. I found few if any like projects and decided to come up with an offer out of the blue sky. After I read about how most deals were option purchases, and how if an agreement for the total amount was reached, I could pay ten percent of the total upon signing and pay the balance in one year. I’m not certain why I decided to offer $25,000 but it seemed like a fair number. As far as I knew the book had not reached ‘best seller’ status and I believed I was the only one interested. It also meant that I would only have to come up with $2,500 to tie the deal down for a year and it was my plan to raise the funds necessary to do the project over that period. If I was unsuccessful, all I would have lost was the twenty-five hundred dollars. I found a ‘boiler plate’ contract agreement and adapted it to the one I would send.

A few days after I sent the agreement, I got a call from the lady I was dealing with saying they had accepted the terms I had laid out and that they would make a more formal agreement and send it back. I was on cloud nine after receiving the call. Surprisingly, I got a call from two other interested buyers who were lamenting the fact that I beat them to the punch. Both suitors would later become involved in the project, one of them as an Associate Producer.

I started getting concerned when after a couple weeks I had not received the signed formal contract the lady had promised. I made a call and learned that in the Wilson Rawl’s contract with Doubleday, there was a clause stating that Rawls had the right to approve of the producing company. Doubleday had overlooked it and the lady I had worked with was terribly embarrassed. I realized I had grounds for a solid lawsuit with Doubleday, but I opted to make arrangements to travel to Idaho Falls and meet with Wilson Rawls. It was the winter of 1971, when I borrowed a camel coat from my father in law and prepared for a round trip to Idaho Falls and back to Burbank in one day. I called Mr. Rawls and set up an appointment. Since my credit cards were maxed out from the airline purchase, all I had with me was a couple twenties. It would be sufficient to get me taxis to Mr. Rawls place and back to the airport in time for my return flight.

It was freezing (not much more than 30 degrees ffarenheit) when I got off the plane in Idaho Falls and caught a taxi to Mr. Rawls place. I was nervous and exhilarated at the same time. As I walked up the snow shoveled path to the Rawls house, I carefully rehearsed what I would say. I knocked, he came to the door. He had a look of surprise I thought, possibly because of my youthful look and rosy cheeks from the cold. Standing before me was this tall older gentlemen in a plaid shirt. Trying to sound confident and professional, I said. “Mr. Rawls if you allow me to make your story into a film, I will keep the full title of Where The Red Fern Grows (there was controversy as to whether the film should have a shorter title) and I will absolutely stay true to your story!” He had an almost quizzical look on his face before he responded … “Well then it is yours!” And he invited me in.

Sophie Rawls, Wilson’s wife made us lunch as we talked the day away. He told story after story about his love for writing but how embarrassed he was to show his work to anyone else. He had been working on the book that would later become Where The Red Fern Grows for years. He had quietly resolved that he would submit his hand written manuscript (using a carpenter’s pencil) to Reader’s Digest. In proof reading the manuscript, he was suddenly mortified by his lack of punctuation and proper grammar. With tears in his eyes, he threw the entire manuscript into the fireplace and never spoke of it until years later. When he finally confessed to Sophie, who had been a school teacher and who had taught English, of his passion for writing, she responded by saying, “My heavens, I can fix your grammar and punctuation.” Her confidence in him, gave him the courage to start the book all over again.

After talking about the film and life stories, I looked at my watch and realized the afternoon had come and gone. I had a taxi take me to the airport. I was too late and there were no other flights. I was stranded in freezing weather and it began to snow. I didn’t have enough for a motel. Since my home town of Cokeville was only 120 miles to the south, I would hitch hike. It still wasn’t that late, but there were fewer and fewer vehicles on the road because of the snowy condition of the roads. I could have called Wilson Rawls, but I wasn’t sure how that would look, so I stood out freezing until a older auto came fishtailing down the slippery roads. Miraculously, the guy came to a stop and invited me in. The smell of alcohol nearly blew me over, but the heater was on full blast, and I was happy to join him. I could never understand what he was saying about his destination, but I knew he was headed south on the main highway that would get me closer to Cokeville. He turned in to a small town called McCammen Idaho. His domicile was a canvas covered sheep wagon and he graciously invited me in to spend the night. He had a high up bunk bed and a stuffed chair on the floor. He lit a fire in the stove and I slept semi-comfortably on his stuffed chair. Early in the morning, I looked outside and was greeted by the shining sun. I said goodbye to my new friend who was sleeping it off, made my way to the highway and got a ride all the way to Montpelier. (30 miles from Cokeville) My father graciously picked me up in Montpelier and we drove to Cokeville where I spent the day before making arrangements to get a flight from Salt Lake City to Burbank.

I don’t look back on that very momentous day and remember the misery. I can only remember the joy I felt after spending a day with Wilson Rawls. There is an interesting epilogue to the story that goes something like this:

After a year and a half from the day I spent in Idaho Falls, Idah0, we started shooting the film in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. I had learned that the farm we had constructed next to the Illinois River was only a mile and a half from where Wilson had spent his youth. I made a call and invited Wilson and Sophie to come out to the set. What I hadn’t know is that when he and his family left Tahlequah in the thirties, Wilson had never been back. In the last couple of pages in the book, Rawls speaking as Billy Colman wrote the following:

“I’ve never been back to the Ozarks. All I have left are my dreams and memories,
but if God is willing, someday I’d like to go back … I’d like to walk among the hills
I knew as a boy and I’d like to see the carving of Dan and Ann on an old Sycamore
tree.” etc.

I remember the day as clearly as if it was yesterday. Wilson and Sophie had been chauffeured out to the set where we were preparing to shoot a scene with Billy training his new puppies. The trainer and Stewart Petersen (as Billy) were just taking the puppies out of the crate for the scene. The dog trainer took the puppies out of their crate and introduced them to Wilson. He was tearfully speechless as the puppies tried to lick his face. And when we introduced him to Stewart (as Billy) he commented that it was like looking into a mirror all those years ago.

Nearing completion of post production on the film, I made a decision to invite Wilson to be the narrator. I received a bit of flack because he was not a professional actor or narrator. But by making that decision, the spirit of Wilson’s writing and now his actual voice attached indelibly to his story, in my mind gave the film a spiritual quality it never could have achieved otherwise."