Well, it looks like Tarzan kind of beat me to saying hello to you folks today.
Anyway, this is Ken Maynard and Tarzan inviting you to visit us here in the tack room of the
Diamond K Ranch.
The door is wide open, so why don't you come on in?
We've got an exciting story for you called Broken Bridge.
So pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable while we tell you tales from the Diamond K.
Fifteen minutes of adventure.
Wait a minute.
What have we here?
Well, it looks like a young fool who's got something mighty important to say.
Thanks, Ken.
Folks from the tack room of Ken Maynard's Diamond K Ranch, we're bringing you stories of adventure,
stories of circus life, fascinating tales of the Old West where cowboys still follow
the cattle trails, transcribed stories of rodeos and parades, colorful legends of the
Red Man, hidden gold and buried treasure.
The exciting tales from the Diamond K are told by Hollywood's champion of Western stars,
internationally famous Ken Maynard.
Now, Ken has a whopping big Western tale to tell you today.
So while you're getting all settled like Ken suggested a minute ago, because you won't
want to miss a word of this story, I'll tell you how Ken can say hello to you personally.
Sounds exciting, doesn't it?
Just imagine hearing Ken's voice say, hello, Roger.
Hello, Dorothy.
Or whatever your name is.
Well, that's exactly what happens when you order a Diamond K record album of Ken Maynard's
stories.
He'll personalize them, tell a story, especially for you, and call you by name right on the
record.
And wait till you see the album.
It's in full color with a picture of Ken and Tarzan on the front, and inside are two complete
Wild West tales that you can play on your own record player, anytime you want.
And the first thing you'll hear is Ken saying, hello, George.
Hello, Johnny.
Or hello, Bill.
And the Diamond K record album is personalized.
Now, say these records have pictures on them too, of Ken and Tarzan, and the records are
unbreakable, eight inch size, made of pure vinyl.
Here's how you can get your Diamond K record album for your very own.
Just send your name and address to records in care of this station, and enclose a one
dollar bill.
Can you imagine just a one dollar bill for all this rootin' tootin' western album of
records?
Their standard 78 RPM speed to play on the regular kind of phonograph that everybody
knows about.
Just send your name and address and say records, and send it to this station with a one dollar
bill.
Now, here's Ken with today's exciting story.
Say tell mom and dad.
They'll enjoy it too.
Say, gang, I got a real thriller for you.
Starts way back when I first come to Hollywood and began making pictures.
As I recall, it was my first picture, and almost my last.
I was pretty green back in them days, until a fellow who hadn't seen much more than the
broad side of a horse for most of his life was all pretty amazing.
Even in those days, it was custom to have stuntmen or doubles do most of the dangerous
work in pictures.
But in my first picture, I insisted on doing everything myself, and that's where the trouble
began.
Jack Otis as a director, an old time cowboy himself, was a stickler for realistic scenes.
I could still hear him saying to me, Ken, he'd say, moving the water tobacco from cheek
to cheek.
I want this scene done just as though it were really happening.
Well, sir, that suited me all right, and so we began shooting.
The first few days were simple enough, since most of the action took place right in the
studio.
And it wasn't until after we'd gone down to Arizona that things really began happening.
We had a company with us of about 60 people, including carpenters, electricians, and prop
men, not to mention the actors and the horses.
As luck would have it, rain hit us the second day we were down there.
Of course, in moving pictures, there's nothing dreaded more than rain.
Well, sir, we sat around, talked, and sat around some more, and walked back and forth
in the tents, and sat around some more.
Still the rain come down.
And believe me, there's no rain like Arizona rain.
Finally, after a week's delay, the rain stopped just as suddenly as it started.
Our camp became a beehive of activity.
The first project was to build a rope bridge between two cliffs.
This was to be used by me in a scene which called for the rescue of an old prospector.
Since we were already a week behind, the bridge was put up in a great hurry.
In fact, just a little too much of a hurry.
But none of us noticed it at the time.
And after a quick rehearsal, we got set to shoot the scene.
The script called for me to leave Tarzan on a far cliff, walk across the bridge on the
foot to the other cliff, and carry back the old prospector who was too weak from hunger
to walk himself.
Well, as the camera started rolling, our director told us to go to it.
I got off Tarzan and started to cross the bridge.
The canyon, 100 feet below, seemed a long way down as I walked swayingly between the
cliffs.
I must confess, I felt quite a bit easier when I reached the other side.
The old prospector, who weighed about 145 pounds, seemed pretty light when I threw him
across my shoulders and got ready to return across the bridge.
But I'd only taken a few steps out when I realized that our combined weights were going
to be too much for the bridge to hold.
The crew on the other side screamed a warning that the moorings, which had been anchored
in the rain-soaked mud, were pulling away.
With tremendous thrust, I threw the prospector back where we had started me to grab to get
myself back, but it was too late.
The bridge pulled loose, and for quite a few dizzy moments, I thought I was a goner.
Even today, I can feel the sickening sensation in my stomach as I clung desperately to the
bridge while dangling 100 feet in the air.
I could hear Tarzan whinning as though to say, Hold on, Ken, and I could hear the others
as they frantically tried to think of some plan to save me from what seemed like sure
death.
I remember looking back at them just as someone swung a lasso toward me.
I grabbed for the rope and missed.
This in turn threw me off balance, and as my one hand clutched desperately to the bridge,
I could feel myself slipping.
Phew, that was an exciting moment, I can tell you.
Uncomfortable, to say the least.
And say, speaking of comfort for just a minute, do you know if a man doesn't feel good and
comfortable, he can't do his best work or enjoy his play?
Just for your information, I feel my best when I'm dressed comfortably.
And you know my favorite outfit when I'm working or just loafing around?
Well, it's my K-shirt and a pair of jeans.
You'd be surprised how many young buckaroos are graying with me.
Bunches all across the country are riding in asking for a K-shirt like mine.
I've told you about it before.
It's a comfortable cotton knit shirt made like a T-shirt in the color of desert sand
with my own Diamond K Ranch brand in bright red on the front and tarsening me looking
right at you.
Now, if you want to join the gang that's wearing my own private K-shirt, all you've got to
do is write down your name and address and tell me what size.
A 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, or 12, and then close a one dollar bill.
Then mail it in to K-shirt and care of this station.
Your K-shirt will be sent to you from Hollywood as soon as your letter is received, so send
it now.
Well, sir, you can just bet that I wouldn't have given a wooden nickel for my chance of
pulling out of that one.
I'd just missed the rope thrown at me and my other hand was slipping as I clung to the
bridge in midair.
You can imagine my amusement when I felt something tugging at my belt.
With a quick glance I turned and could hardly believe what I saw.
The old prospector on the ledge above me had lowered his pick over the edge of the cliff
and by sheer luck had been able to catch the belt in my pants.
As he slowly pulled upwards I swung my arms around and got a new grip on the bridge.
For a second I thought the day was saved, but just for a second.
The strain of pulling me up was too much on the soft ledge of the cliff and as the dirt
crumbled beneath him the old man let go of the pick.
As it crashed into the rocks one hundred feet below in the canyon I wondered to myself if
I would be next to hit the rocky bottom.
By this time the men on the other cliff had calmed down and decided about a new plan for
my rescue.
Since it was too dangerous for me to try to catch any rope they might throw, they decided
to try to throw a rope around the end of the bridge.
By that I mean the end hanging down into the canyon.
After four or five tries they were successful and I could feel the bridge begin to pull
up.
It didn't take them long to see they'd be unable to lift it themselves though.
With a frisbee of inspiration I thought of Tarzan, my horse, who had been standing by
peering at me over the edge of the cliff ever since the bridge broke.
I hollered, Jack, get Tarzan, he'll help pull it up.
The corner of my eye I could see Tarzan move excitedly as he heard me call his name.
Good old Tarzan, he wouldn't let me down.
I could always count on Tarzan and as the men tied the rope to his saddle horn I felt
a sigh of relief.
I heard Jacko to say, pull away Tarzan, and slowly but surely the bridge stretched out
once more again over the canyon.
Wasn't until I heard them shouting that the bridge was ready that I realized I was no
better off than I was before.
Because well, pictured buckaroos, here I was holding on to the end of the bridge farthest
away from the men and Tarzan.
Surely I could have pulled myself up.
Now, but having hung for what seemed like hours and hours to me, I didn't have the strength
in my arms to do it.
Just as my hopes were beginning to fade again, I heard a soft voice just to the left of my
head.
It was the old fellow who was playing the part of the prospector.
Very calmly he said, don't worry Ken, I'll save you this time.
At the risk of his own life he crawled slowly out on the bridge until he was directly above
me.
He leaned dangerously over the side, I could feel him fastening a rope around my chest.
With a half laugh the old fellow said, now Ken, I can't do this all by myself.
You're going to have to sort of give me a hand here.
In fact, you better give me both your hands, he said.
All right old timer, I said, you're a boss, just make it quick, whatever you do.
As he counted to three, we both tensed our muscles for the pull and sure enough, just
like sometimes when you're swimming, I seemed to get a second wind.
With the men and tires and straining to hold the bridge tight on the other side, the old
timer and I chugged and pulled for all we were worth.
As I climbed on top of the bridge once again, I wasted no time making a dive for the cliff
and solid ground.
Believe me partners, I've had many thrills in my life, but I think that was just about
the biggest one of them all.
Lying there on the ground, getting my strength back, I thought to myself, Ken, this is a
hard way to make a living.
Why it's almost as hard as breaking broncs in the corral.
Of course, the old fellow and myself had to stay over on the cliff until they'd repaired
the bridge.
When they finally had, you could be mighty sure we made them test it out beforehand.
Not that we were afraid to go back, mind you, it's just that we weren't hanging for any
more excitement that day.
That night, seated around the campfire, our director, Jack Otis, laughingly said, Ken,
I guess that'll cure you of not wanting to double or stunt man your pictures.
With a big smile, I said, Jack, it's just the opposite.
If I live through this first one, I can handle anything you can throw at me.
With a look of surprise, he said, all right, Ken, have it your way, but I've really got
a dandy story lined up for your next picture.
It's all about a fellow who falls off a bridge in midair.
Well, sir, I can still hear Jack hollering as I picked up a frying pan and started chasing
him across the desert.
Oh, say, wasn't that a wonderful story?
Ken had had so many exciting adventures himself, he just never runs out of adventurous stories.
Of course, he has his favorites and two of them are the ones he tells on his Diamond
K Western record album.
They're full of action and suspense, wonderful stories you'll want to hear again and again.
And you can hear them any time you want when you have this Ken Minard record album for
your very own.
While you can't buy these records in any store, the only way you can get one is to send your
name and address to records in care of this station and enclose a one dollar bill.
Now, that's a mighty little price for all the fun you'll have with this album of Western
stories.
And it will be personalized with Ken saying hello to you and calling you by name right
on the record.
So don't wait any longer.
If you haven't already sent in or if you want another record album for a gift, send your
name and address and the name of the person the gift is for if you want Ken to say hello
to somebody else.
Then mail it to records in care of this station with just a one dollar bill.
Now, here's Ken to tell you about his next story.
Sure do hate to see you folks leave.
I'll be looking forward to seeing you back here at the Diamond Key Ranch for another
story of the West.
Next time we meet, I'll tell you the fabulous story of Windmill Jones.
So till then, this is Ken Mayard in Tarzan.
Closing the door of the Diamond Key Ranch.
In the meantime, get them one dollar bills in the mail for some real Western fun.
You've been listening to Tales from the Diamond Key told by Ken Mayard, internationally famous
cowboy and Hollywood's champion of Western stars.
Tales from the Diamond Key was transcribed and produced in Hollywood.