![marlboro man marlboro man](https://chano8.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/2361442_l.jpeg)
That didn’t necessarily suggest a vote for the Grand Old Party.īad health never plagued the Marlboro Man. As for his thinking life, he believed in the Native-American version of the world, held sacred sweats in his own lodge, and was known round Riverton by his Indian name, Strong Mountain, as much as by Darrell Winfield. Obediently he endured the endless takes required to get the right shot of him lighting up on horseback, hunched against the sunset, or flipping open that red-and-white pack to hold it just so in his big, hairy hand. The money he earned was useful for the family and, in 1974, to buy his own place, but his life was just the same. A humble soul, he made nothing of his Hollywood connection, save joining the Screen Actors Guild. As the right-wing American ideal, he obviously voted Republican.
MARLBORO MAN FREE
He epitomised resilience, self-sufficiency, independence and free enterprise. Marlboro Man was fuelled not merely by nicotine, but also by well-earned pride. The house rang with giggling and games and was warm with the smell of home cooking. Together they had Brian, Janet, Nancy, Linda, Debi and Darlene then the grandchildren, three of whom they brought up themselves then the great-grandchildren.
![marlboro man marlboro man](https://di2ponv0v5otw.cloudfront.net/posts/2022/08/17/62fdad007f29dd61cf4b37fc/m_62fdad14a0e6c6a7a24ee193.jpg)
He got married at 18 to Lennie Spring, a local rancher’s daughter, having courted her secretly for months. For one heart-stopping moment, in one ad, he rolled over in his blanket at dawn to reach for-what? A woman? Or, perish the thought, a man? Neither his hat, of course, and his boots, with the spurs still on them.įamily filled Mr Winfield’s life. As one scholar said (for he inspired much philosophising), he personified the Aristotelian aesthetic in which all that was accidental and particular was stripped away, leaving only the metaphysical essentials of what a perfect man of action should be. He had no home, though he was once in a ramshackle shed, holding his tin cup out roughly for coffee.
MARLBORO MAN TV
In the world of the TV ads, no family tied the Marlboro Man down. When he smiled, and he smiled a lot, he looked rather like Ronald Reagan. He often had the neighbours round to his horse-ranch at Riverton they said he was a tease and a joker. He enjoyed team-roping, and liked to play backgammon and gin rummy. The gritty, hard-trek part of his life had been done when he was six, when his destitute farmer parents had left dust-bowl Oklahoma for California. He liked to smoke, collected bits and spurs, and mainly read books about the West. Mr Winfield certainly wore those clothes and roped those cattle they were his. Flinty and unconcerned, he would light the next smoke from a flaming stick plunged into his camp fire.
![marlboro man marlboro man](https://i.redd.it/lsrwm7o6kcx11.jpg)
He was alone by choice in the vastness of the hills and plains, running his cattle and closely encountering wild white horses: alone save for that manly cigarette lodged in his thin, grim lips. This was a mysterious wanderer, a modern Odysseus journeying who knew where or perhaps a Jungian archetype, ranging the primeval savannah as man had done for most of the past 10,000 years. And his life, of course, was already fully known. There was also something inexorable about him, some terrific look, which “scared the hell” out of the creative director. He fitted the physical template exactly: a noble, weatherbeaten face, a grey Stetson, lariat coiled on his shoulder, easy one-handed grace on a horse. He needed no name, because it didn’t matter. In Wyoming they found cowboys aplenty, but it was Mr Winfield, a lowly wrangler, who caught the creative director’s eye. But merely to dress some Joe in denims and apply the Man-Tan did not a cowboy make. They had decided more than a decade before that cowboys best epitomised masculinity. In 1968 the men from the Leo Burnett advertising agency, uneasy Chicagoans let loose in the wild West, were out looking for authenticity on Philip Morris’s behalf.