James Drury answers the motel room door wearing his trademark black hat, wranglers, suspenders and ostrich boots.
He looks older than his 8x10 glossies, but still handsomely charming for 80.
He offers me a chair across the table from him, and we settle into a conversation so comfortable I quickly forget he's a western TV legend and not my grandfather.
We had spokentwice before on the phone, him talking at length about how he spent much of his childhood in Salem. Many people don't know that about Drury.
Thatmeeting in the motel took place more than five years ago, and it marked Drury's first visit to Salem in more than two decades. It also would be his last.
Drury, 85, died April 6 of natural causes at his longtime home in Houston, Texas.
But a part of his heart and soul were forever linked toSalem, where he learned to ride a horse on hismaternal grandfather's100-acre ranchnear Bunker Hill Road, the same grandfather he would pattern his character after in"The Virginian."
Drury's life in Salem
He learned to bean outdoorsman and a marksman in the Ankeny Hill area, skills that would come in handy for his legendary role in the popular TV series that aired nine seasons from 1962 to 1971and can still still be seenin the Starz Encore Westerns lineup.
From the archives:Remembering James Drury of 'The Virginian' and his ties to Salem
The engine on Drury's 2008 Crown Victoria is probably still warm when I arrive that fall evening at his motel off Market Street NE. He drives to all his celebrity appearances —refusing to fly since 9/11 because security would make him remove his boots—and agig in Kanab, Utah, is in his rear view mirror
He typically travels alone, the 1,121-mile drive from Kanab to Salem taking 16 hours, 53 minutes. He often flies in his assistant, Karen Lindsey from Ohio, to take care of any details.
Some of his posse, a group of more than 1,600 loyal admirers in a Facebook fan club, are staying at the motel, too. They posted a sign for him, "Welcome Home to Salem, Boss."
He always requests a ground floor smoking room. He hasa bum hip and pesky sciatic nerve, and he's been smoking since he was 8.
He tells me how one Fourth of July his father gave him a cigarette to light the fireworks, and he took one puff, then another. He used to steal cigarettes from his dad until he got caught.
On the table in the motel room are a carton of Pall Mall Reds, a box of 5-hour energy shots, a 12-pack of Coca-Cola, and a tin of Altoids —fuel from the road trip.
He sips a cup of coffee and smokes a cigarette while we talk more about his life as a celebrity.
Life after 'The Virginian'
He loves meeting and talking with people who remember "The Virginian."The best part is when he hears from grandfathers who say their grandkidswatch the showwithout being asked or told.
"That's really been a boost to my ego and makes my heart sing,” Drurysays, the cigarette dancing between his lips as he talks.
But it's the hat I can't take my eye off.
Drury seldom goes out in public without one similar to the one worn by the ranch foreman he played.Hetells me he has more than 50 black cowboy hats and always wears one while makingappearances at western events, festivals and autograph shows.
He gives me a run-down on how the state fair appearances will go. He'll take the stage for a half-hour presentation, makingsure to talk about growing up in Salem, the family ranch, and the TV series that made him a household name, then open it up forquestions.
After the presentation, he'll be available for photographs and autographs. He’ll stand up and take a photo with everyone who wants one, free of charge. An 8x10 glossy with his signature is 20 bucks. His handler brings a collection of more than 50 to choose from.
On this trip,he brings with him a stack of childhood snapshots that he shares with me in the motel room, but certainlynot for print.He points out "Gray Bob," his horse, and him leading kids on horseback during a birthday party.
He's 3, maybe 4, in another one, wearing some sort of flower costume and a sour look on his face.
"There's no way anyone can use this," he says, quickly movingon to the next one of him as a teenager, from a distance, relieving himself in the ocean. He jokes he could sell that one asan exclusive to the National Enquirer.
Four months earlier, my column about his Salem roots had publishedin the Statesman Journal. I reportedhow much he'd love to visit sometime, maybe even for an official appearance. He hadn't been back since his mother, Beatrice, died in 1992.
Drury wasso serious about returningto Salem he disclosed what seemed to bemodest travel demands, which I also reportedthat April in 2014—a $2,000 appearance fee, 50 cents a mileand, last but not least, ground floor accommodations at a motel.
By mid-August, not coincidentally, I hear the Oregon State Fair is wooing Drury. I call his Houston home, and he confirms it's true. In fact, we talk the same day he receivesthe final contract to sign, booking him toappearonfour consecutive days of the fair.
"I'm excited," he tells me by phone. "I haven't been back to Oregon for at least 20 years, maybe more. I love Oregon so much."
We arrange to meet in person when he gets to town.
Fast forward a couple weeks, and we're sitting in that motel room, him sporting that black hat and those snazzy ostrich boots. He's charismatic from head to toe, just like the cowboy he played on TV. In case you're not up on "The Virginian" trivia, his character never had a name in 249 official episodes.
Drury is much less mysterious, though, as evidenced by our casual conversation.
From the archives: James Drury attracts crowds at 2014 Oregon State Fair in Salem
To be honest, I didn't have a lot of questions for him, having exhausted most of my list during previous phone interviews. I was there for less than an hour,not wanting to overstay my welcome and knowinghe probablyneeded rest after the long drive.
His adoring fans would want him to be fresh.They would be expecting the gallant cowboy who rode into their living rooms on a white Appaloosa and captured their hearts.
Drury would ride in on a red scooter that fall at the state fairgrounds, because of a hitch in his giddy-up, but he would notdisappoint. Hundreds posed for pictures with himand purchasedautographs that first day, and he was as genuine as he was entertaining.
On behalf of Salem, thank you for the memories, Mr. Drury.
Capi Lynn is the Statesman Journal’s news columnist. Her column taps into the heart of this community — its people,history and issues. She has worked for 31 years and counting at this newspaper.
