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Long ago, when I was a young man, my father said to me...
"Norman, you like to write stories."
And I said, "Yes, I do."
Then he said, "Someday, when you're ready...
you might tell our family story.
Only then will you understand what happened and why."
In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly-fishing.
We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in Missoula, Montana...
where Indians still appeared out of the wilderness...
to walk the honky-tonks and brothels of Front Street.
My father was a Presbyterian minister...
and a fly-fisherman.
Though it is true that one day a week was given over wholly to religion...
even then he told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen.
And we were left to assume, as my younger brother Paul and I did...
that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly-fishermen...
and that John, the favorite, was a dry fly-fisherman.
The poor without Christ are of all men the most miserable.
But the poor with Christ...
are princes and kings of the earth.
In the afternoon, we would walk with him...
while he unwound between services.
He almost always chose a path along the Big Blackfoot...
which we considered our family river.
It was there he felt his soul restored and his imagination stirred.
Long ago rain fell on mud and became rock.
Halt a billion years ago.
But even before that, beneath the rocks...
are the words of God.
Listen.
And if Paul and I listened very carefully all our lives...
we might hear those words.
Even so, Paul and I received as many hours of instruction in fly-fishing...
as we did in all other spiritual matters.
As a Presbyterian, my father believed...
that man, by nature, was a damn mess...
and that only by picking up God's rhythms...
were we able to regain power and beauty.
To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation, come by grace.
And grace comes by art, and art does not come easy.
Norman.
So my brother and I learned to cast Presbyterian style:
on a metronome.
He began each session with the same instruction:
Casting is an art that is performed on a four-count rhythm...
between 10:00 and 2:00.
If he had had his way, nobody who did not know how to catch a fish...
would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching it.
So it was with my formal education as well.
Each weekday, while my father worked on his Sunday sermon...
I attended the school of the Reverend Maclean.
He taught nothing but reading and writing. And being a Scot...
believed that the art of writing lay in thrift.
Half as long.
So while my friends spent their days at Missoula Elementary...
I stayed home and learned to write the American language.
Again, halt as long.
Good. Now throw it away.
Norman! Norman!
Wait for your brother!
However, there was a balance to my father's system.
Every afternoon I was set free...
untutored and untouched till supper...
to learn on my own the natural side of God's order.
And there could be no better place to learn than the Montana of my youth.
It was a world with dew still on it...
more touched by wonder and possibility than any I have since known.
Goddamn it, open up the door!
What the hell is goin' on?
- Where are you guys going? - Chickens!
Move out of the way. Get.
But it was a tough world, too. Even as children...
we understood that and admired it.
And of course, we had to test it.
I knew I was tough because I had been bloodied in battle.
Get him!
Don't be a sissy! Come on!
Yeah, come on. Let's see some blood here.
Paul was different.
His toughness came from some secret place inside of him.
He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.
Grace will not be said until that bowl is clean.
Man has been eating God's oats for a thousand years.
It's not the place of an 8-year-old boy to change that tradition.
Grace.
Oh, God...
rich in forgiveness, grant that we...
may hold fast the good things we receive from Thee.
And as often as we tall into sin, be lifted by repentance through Thy grace.
Amen.
Norm, what do you want to be when you grow up?
A minister, I guess.
Or a professional boxer.
You think you could beat Jack Johnson?
I think you could. I'd bet on it.
- What are you gonna be? - A professional fly-fisherman.
- There's no such thing. - There isn't?
I guess a boxer.
Not a minister?
In 1917, World War I came to Missoula...
taking with it every able-bodied lumberjack...
leaving the woods to old men and boys.
So at 16, I did my duty...
and started working for the U.S. Forest Service.
It was a life of timber and toil...
with men as tough as their ax handles...
and more mountains in all directions...
than I would ever see again.
Being too young to join me...
Paul took a job as lifeguard at the municipal swimming pool...
so that during the day he could look over the girls...
and in the evenings he could pursue his other purpose in life: fishing.
Be Thou my vision
O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me
Save that Thou art
Thou might press on
By day or by night
Waking or sleeping
Thy presence my light
Preacher, come on.
Shut up!
Have I told you what a fire sounds like coming down a mountain 6o miles an hour?
Him and his forest fires.
I've got a great idea.
- I know how we can go down in history. - How?
We borrow old man Seitert's rowboat and we shoot the chutes.
- You can't shoot the chutes. - You can try.
- You can die trying. - They'd bury us with honors. Tell him.
- We would be the kings of Missoula. - We'd be famous.
All of you would get your photographs in the paper.
I'm doing it. I am.
You'll die. No.
- Let's do it. Come on. - I'm with you.
All right.
Let's go!
I'll get the oars.
Whose idea was this?
- Which way we goin', Pauly? - This way.
I need a woman!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Okay, we'll put in upstream.
Flip it.
Okay, hop in.
Come on. We can all tit.
I don't think so.
All right. Just me, Norm and Chub.
Geez, Pauly.
I guess it's just the Macleans.
Be careful!
You ain't goin' over, Pauly.
- They'll pull to shore. - See you in heaven!
Come back a second. I gotta tell you something.
See you later, boys!
Rudder on the right.
On your right. Watch your right.
- Steer around. - Right!
Watch it! On your right.
Hang on!
Oh, geez.
Maclean!
Pauly!
Hey, Chub.
What the hell!
You crazy son of a bitch!
- You guys okay? - Where's--
Preach, you okay?
Sure.
You will go to church this day and pray for forgiveness.
Your mother spent the night sick with worry. Did you think of her feelings?
Mrs. Campbell called.
- Who gave you the boat? - We borrowed it.
Borrowed?
Boys, what have you done?
You will work off every cent of its value.
Yes, sir.
I'll work it oft. It was my idea.
What're you making?
Know what you need? Ham, cheese and sardines. Delicious.
- I don't want sardines. - I'll show you.
Those guys will tell everyone the class of '19 did it.
I should write an article.
- "Macleans conquer chutes." - I don't like sardines.
You could get it in the school paper.
Chub!
"Geez, Pauly!"
- What a skeezicks! - I don't want any goddamn sardines!
No! Stop it! Stop it!
You hit her, you son of a bitch!
You knocked her down, you bastard!
- Son of a bitch! - Please, I slipped!
I just slipped. That's all.
That was the only time...
we ever fought.
Perhaps we wondered afterwards which one of us was tougher.
But if boyhood questions aren't answered before a certain point...
they can't be raised again.
So we returned to being gracious to one another...
as the church wall suggested.
I then saw something remarkable.
For the first time, Paul broke free of our father's instruction...
into a rhythm all his own.
They're both marvelous.
I'd say the Lord has blessed us all today.
It's just that He's been particularly good to me.
The year ended with my acceptance into Dartmouth College.
Father had told me I could attend any college in the world I could get into.
I knew he earned no more than $1,800 a year...
so his offer meant more to me than anything in my life.
Do your best.
I will.
All aboard!
Norman!
So in the autumn of 1919 I boarded the Northern Pacific...
for a 3,000-mile trip east to the unknown.
To the son of a Montana minister, Dartmouth was more than an education.
It was a revelation, exposing me to a world I'd only guessed at.
As part of my degree, I was required to enlighten incoming freshman...
on the wonders of the Romantic poets.
And although I was unaware of it then...
teaching fit me.
But most of the time I sat in the card room of my fraternity house...
giving my bluenose brothers a lesson in Front Street poker.
In all, I spent six years at Dartmouth...
away from home nearly all that time.
On the other hand, Paul stayed home for college...
unwilling to leave the fish he had not yet caught.
After graduation, he took a job as a reporter for a Helena newspaper...
and moved to that town...
his connection with the family growing as slight as my own.
It was not until the spring of 1926...
that I finally did come home.
Dinner is in half an hour, so you have time for a bath.
Do I look thin?
Do I look old?
No, you look--
I wish Paul could've been here tonight. He's working late.
Norman, would you come in?
I'm sorry Paul won't be here.
The life of a newspaperman.
You know how Paul likes to--
I do.
Sit.
I also hear that he--
I hear everything, don't l? God forbid my flock keep me in ignorance.
Yes.
You can bet everyone from here to Helena knows the details of your education.
It is an achievement.
To what use shall you put this achievement?
- I'm considering the Forest Service. - As a career?
No. For the summer.
As a break.
That's a good idea. The body fuels the mind.
- That's what I was thinking. - And after?
I'm not sure yet.
You've had six years to become sure.
Have you considered an advanced degree?
The law? Medicine?
The ministry?
I've applied for several teaching positions.
- Have you? - College level. I haven't heard yet.
No, it's early.
You have taught classes already, haven't you?
Yes.
Did you find that rewarding?
That is to say, do you feel this could be your calling?
My calling?
Dinner, gentlemen.
If it's so tunny, how come I'm not laughing? Yes, pee in their pants.
- Paul Maclean? - In there.
The Anaconda Mine rules say no breaks...
not even for the john, so they stand there and pee in their pants.
- What about the late-- - George Masterson.
I'll take that widow. She's 23 and built like--
- You take the Anaconda. - I'll interview the grieving widow.
But I'm the boss, Maclean.
Fine by me, boss. Brother!
Look at you.
Boys, this is my big brother, the professor.
Gentlemen.
Sit.
- Thanks for visiting me last night. - Yeah, damn.
I am sorry. Wanted to be there.
Wanted to hear the old man say, "Norman, could you come into my study, please?"
Geez, the professor.
We should celebrate.
A little early for me.
The East is making you soft.
Is that right?
Do much fishing out east?
None.
None?
What do you say? Big Blacktoot.
- You set? - Yeah.
- Take this hole. It's a good one. - That's all right. You go ahead.
It's a good hole.
Too tight. Try a roll cast.
The fish are out further.
Just a little further.
Cast your line into the current. It'll give a better base and add distance.
You're just rusty. That's all.
He called it shadow casting...
keeping his line above water long enough and low enough...
to make a rainbow rise.
And I realized that in the time I was away...
my brother had become an artist.
My coach comes up to me and says, "Mac, how'd you like to meet...
John L. Sullivan?"
The John L. Sullivan, the last bare-knuckle champion of the world.
It was then I knew I was home.
Standing on the steps of the Missoula Library once again...
late at night, telling stories to the same boys...
who had sat on those steps and listened a hundred times before.
And who had, in my absence, become men.
It goes to show the world is full of bastards...
the number increasing rapidly the further one gets from Missoula, Montana!
Amen!
That's why you need to stick around here from now on.
Where's the gargle?
Yes, pass this way.
Every girl you need to know will be at the 4th of July dance...
without mama.
Find you a little Sheba.
Gentlemen, it's been swell.
Where're you going?
Heavy date, Paul?
- With a poker table. - You see them new signs?
"Does your husband misbehave? Grunt and grumble, rant and rave?
Shoot that brute some Burma Shave!"
- The road to where? - Lolo.
Lolo Hot Springs.
Being back in my father's church seemed to complete my return.
More than anything else, I realized it was my father's words...
that made me feel most at home.
In the glow of awakened memories...
when the deepest feelings of the heart are all astir...
we are reminded of the poet who sings...
"Backward, turn backward, O time in your flight.
Make me a child again...
just for tonight."
Recognize anybody?
You've been gone too long, son.
- Who's that? - Who?
There.
Oh, yeah?
A little infatuation?
Who is that?
Jessie Burns.
From Wolf Creek. Her brother went to Hollywood.
Jessie Burns.
Would you like to dance?
Would you be a doll and get us a drink?
Jessie, who's that?
- Here you go. - Thanks.
You're a lifesaver.
How ladylike!
I have to be careful or I'll wipe off all the powder.
Phantom of the Opera.
Pack up all my care and woe
Here I go, singing low
Bye-bye, blackbird
I heard Louis Armstrong sing this song once...
in a little speak in Greenwich Village, New York.
Really?
Best jazz in the world. Colored jazz, you know?
The real McCoy. Not like Paul Whiteman or the Kliquot Club Eskimos.
My mother loves the Kliquot Club Eskimos.
Does she?
Dance?
Yeah.
Let the fireworks begin!
- Guys, come on. - Jessie, come on.
I have a wonderful idea.
What better lesson for those girls than a trip to the reservation...
to learn a real Christian message of giving, don't you think?
I'll organize it. Don't lift a finger.
Thank you. This is the most charitable idea I've heard in years.
Do you know those Indian children don't even have shoes? Do you need the phone?
- No, I don't have to. - No, you go ahead.
- If you need to use it-- - No, I have work to do.
Hello, Mrs. Hatcher.
Hello. I'd like--
She's fine. I'd like--
Yes, everybody's tine.
I'd like the Burns residence in Wolt Creek, please.
Yes, I know it's long distance.
Thank you.
Hello.
Is Jessie there?
This is Norman Maclean, but I don't think she--
Hello.
No, I'm the one who brought you the drink.
No, we didn't get a chance. The tireworks started.
We talked about music.
And I said I heard Louis Armstrong sing the--
Yeah, that's me.
I was a little nervous.
Because...
you were so je ne sais quoi.
I thought I could come and listen to the Kliquot Club Eskimos with your mother.
Yes.
I called because I wanted to see you again.
How about Saturday?
8:00?
I'll see you then.
Bye.
Hey, here they are.
Brother!
Jessie, this is my baby brother Paul.
- And this is Monasita. - Mabel.
Shall we?
- What do you say, Pauly? - Murph.
- Preacher. - Preacher?
- How are you, Murph? - Long time. Long time.
Good to see you.
You know the house rules as good as I do, Paul.
No lnjuns. Period.
I don't like the house rules, Murph.
Me neither.
What are you going to make me do, Pauly?
Get us a table for four.
- Last time, Paul. - Hello, Judge.
You can get him back. Get drunk and dance naked on the table.
And beat the hell out of the son of a bitch.
- Molly, my darling. - Hi, Paul.
They've got swell hooch here. They even wash the glasses.
Drink?
What'll it be? Jessie? Jessie.
I'll have a martini, Paul. It is Paul?
Righty-o. The usual for Norm. Gin and prune juice.
Make that a double.
Excuse me.
I'd like to order a drink, too.
Whiskey, double.
So, what are you doing now, Mabel?
I sell bait.
You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen.
Should I get it bobbed?
No, not in a million years.
"The candle burns at both ends.
It will not last the night.
But, ah, my toes, and oh, my friends...
it gives a lovely light."
That's nice.
How about to my editor, the old curmudgeon? Excuse me.
He took me off the Anaconda story. I'm a reporter at The Bee.
- I know. - How do you know?
I'm famous.
- Fishing newspaperman. - You know he fishes, too?
- I thought everybody knew. - You've been away a long time.
- I'd say so. - It's seems my editor--
- The old curmudgeon. - Yes, exactly.
He's been getting calls. No names, just threats.
Real threats?
It's nice to know you're touching a nerve button.
What did they say?
- What did they say? - You'll have to cut it out of him.
The usual. The boys will come down and pay me a little visit.
Fit you with a pair or concrete galoshes, see?
Exactly.
I have to dance.
Watch out!
Wow!
Now, The Muskrat Ramble.
Watch it!
I'm nowhere near as good as my brother, but would you do me the honor?
I'd love to.
"Dear Jessie, As the moon lingers a moment over the Bitteroots...
before its descent into the invisible...
my mind is filled with song.
I find I am humming softly...
not to the music, but something else.
Someplace else.
A place remembered.
A field of grass where no one seemed to have been except the deer.
And the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you...
dancing in my awkward arms.
Norman."
Yes?
What's wrong?
It's okay, Mother. Who is this?
I'm Norman Maclean.
No, he doesn't have to post bond.
He covers the police beat and has friends here.
Just look at him and take him home.
What did he do?
He hit a guy and the guy is missing a couple of teeth.
Why did he hit him?
It says, "A remark was passed concerning the Indian woman he was with."
The guy deserved it.
We're picking your brother up too much lately.
Is that right?
Besides, he's behind on the big stud poker game at Lolo.
It's not healthy to get behind on that game at Lolo.
- Is he hurt? - He's not hurt. He's just sick.
He drinks too much.
At Lolo, they don't drink too much.
You better go in and get your brother.
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed
I just had a drink about an hour ago
It went right to my head
No matter where I roam
By land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home
It you need any money, Paul...
or anything else, I want you to know that--
She lives past the slaughterhouse.
I can help.
Turn here.
Well, chickens haven't come home to roost yet, Al.
Not bad.
Are you all right?
- Clara, was that your jelly? - Yes, it was.
It was wonderful. And is this Norman?
Yes, it is. Yes, we're very proud of him.
- Nice to have you back. - Thank you.
Her daughter's turned into a beauty. There she is.
Twenty only a week ago. She's bright as a light.
Mr. Murchison, how are you?
How are you?
- Quite well, thank you. - Good, good.
- And this is Paul? - No, this is Norman.
- Oh, Norman! You're looking good. - Yes. Hasn't he grown up?
- Paul's here. Come on. - I'm sorry, I can't.
I'm meeting Jessie Burns' family. Her brother's coming in from California.
Oh, well, now.
- I'm late. - Should we have this girl to dinner?
Perhaps, Mother.
Well, well!
Hello, Paul.
- Hi, Sam. Let me borrow those. - Sure. Why not?
- Hello, Father. - Son.
First shot, bangs it right up there.
The Burns family ran a general store in a one-store town...
and still managed to do badly.
This is Norman.
They were Methodists, who my father called "Baptists who could read."
- Pop. - It's a pleasure.
This is my mother.
A pleasure to meet you, Norman. Jessie tells me you're a poet.
- Related to the fishing newspaperman? - That's my brother.
- Jessie says you just got your degree. - Yes.
Jessie was at the university. She was majoring in--
Flapperism.
Science, I believe. Wasn't it?
- She dropped out. - Aunt Sally!
She could learn from you. Stick-to-itivity.
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