Ruth had nothing to fear about audience reception to her act. Tom Mix's daughter had become a Big Name in her own right. There was only one Tom Mix in the world, of course, but Ruth came as close to stepping into her father's boots as anyone could. After years of practicing and of modeling herself after her father, she was able to perform his daring tricks and remarkable skills with a finesse and an obliviousness of danger very closely approaching his.
She tried her very hardest to keep the faltering enterprise going. Perhaps, given another season and a fresh start, she could have pulled the circus out of its financial chaos. But the creditors were very wary. The country was in the grip of another economic dip, and keeping the circus going would have required a fresh investment of capital that the creditors were not willing to assume.
The death of the Tom Mix Circus was a sad and terrible thing. I went to Pecos, Texas, to see the final performance, and was acutely aware that Ruth, despite the smile she carried all during her act, was sick with grief. My own eyes were heavy with tears. When the crowd poured out of the tent that night it was as though the final curtain had been run down on Tom's life. Ruth and I did something we had never done before. We wept in each other's arms.
They began to dismantle the equipment after the performance. It was to be sold as soon as possible so that a portion of the debts could be satisfied.
We left the grounds immediately after the show and tried to eat a late supper. But our food was untouched.
"I'm glad Daddy wasn't here to see it die," Ruth said.
"Your father has triumphed over a lot of disappointments in his life," I said with confidence. "I don't think this one will be, any exception."
I was right. We wrote the full particulars of the closing of the circus to Tom. His answer came from Europe quickly. He was grieved, of course, that the circus had folded before he returned from Europe and might be in a position to buoy its foundations with the money he was making through his personal appearance tour; but he was confident that he and Ruth could get a fresh start with the show when he returned. He told of the tremendous success he was having in Europe and hoped that soon again he would be able to rehire his old friends who had been let out of jobs by the closing of the circus.
We knew then that he was thinking of the future, that the old confidence and zest for life still burned within him.
The death of the circus brought a new life for Ruth. She found time to think over a proposal of marriage from an old suitor, Sheriff Howard Crags, of Raymondville, Texas. They were married, and she and her husband settled on his ranch in the Rio Grande Valley. She was there when Tom came home from Europe.
Upon arriving in New York, Tom tried to telephone Ruth immediately; but Ruth's husband was in the process of building the ranch house and no telephone had been installed as yet. Tom telegraphed Ruth to call him.
When she reached him she found that his voice was full of the verve and ebullience of the old days.
"I've just had the most fun I've had in a long time," he said. "I arranged with my bankers here to pay off all my old debts. The slate's wiped clean, Ruth!"
We had heard of the fabulous success of Tom's tour in foreign countries; however, we had known, too, from the tone of his letters that he had been lonely in Europe despite his immense popularity over there. It was ironic that a man so famous could be so alone. No doubt he tolerated the loneliness simply to make sufficient money to retire his debts.
"I'll see you in a few days," Tom said. "I'm driving to the coast to talk over a picture deal. I'm stopping in Chicago to discuss a personal appearance tour in South America too. Things look pretty bright, Ruth! "
Ruth almost choked with her happiness. "You see, Dad," she said, "you didn't lose your touch with the future after all. I knew you wouldn't."
"I'm all right now," Tom assured her. "But the future's going to look even brighter when I see you. It'll only be a few days, chicken." It was like old times for Tom to use his pet name for Ruth-"chicken."
It was over a week later that he telephoned Ruth from Tucson, Arizona. The call came through to a filling station a few miles from Ruth's ranch and the proprietor took a message from Tom asking Ruth to call him at his hotel in Tucson.
"Great news!" he said exuberantly when Ruth returned his call. "The deal is practically set up for South America! A year's contract starting in February. That'll give me time to finish the picture in Hollywood if it looks like a good thing."
"Wonderful! " Ruth said.
"That isn't all," he went on. "I couldn't be any happier if you and your husband would plan to come along on the South American tour. This time there won't be any creditors breathing down our necks and breaking up the Mix team."
"Oh, I don't know," said Ruth hesitantly. "I guess I've given up show business, Dad."
But Tom's enthusiasm over the idea couldn't be subdued.
"I have to leave for Hollywood tomorrow, because there's a rush on this film contract. Can you and Howard come out and join me? We can talk it over then."
Ruth made a quick decision. "Yes," she said. "We'll leave for California tomorrow."
"Seeing you again will make me the happiest man in the world," Tom told her. There was a long pause and Ruth thought there was something wrong with the connection. But her father's voice came again, this time deep and vibrant. "You know, Ruthie, it took a lot of things and a long time to learn. I've been a great success in one way and an utter failure in others... but now... now that I know the ones who really love me now and always have..."
Tom's voice broke off. "Oh, Daddy!" said Ruth. She was so affected it was all she could say.
Tom's penchant for fast, sporty cars had not dimmed over the years. After the phone call to Ruth he jumped into his white Cord convertible to drive to California. It was the morning of October 12, 1940.
No doubt he was driving fast. He always drove at top speed. The narrow ribbon of road that stretched over a seemingly limitless expanse of land was practically unbroken by traffic or road impediments.
Probably his mind was on the future as he drove along and he failed to give attention to the sudden rise in the road that amounted almost to a hill. He must have slowed down a bit, for the hill obstructed forward vision, but he did not slow down enough.
When he came to the top of the hill a partly constructed bridge that was being built across a gully loomed up before him.
There had been no warning sign posted, and he was totally unprepared for the obstruction. He turned instantly to start down the steep detour road that crossed the gully. But the sharp turn and steep angle of declivity loosened the heavy suitcase on the rack behind his head. It came crashing against his neck. He died instantly.
The car came to rest at the bottom of the gully, and a passing motorist discovered Tom's body a few minutes after the accident. He was lying across the seat of the car and the repose on his face indicated that death had come painlessly.
There was a note in the pocket of his jacket from the hotel of Tucson to the effect that Ruth would call him at eight-thirty from Raymondville. There was no other address to be found. At the time of his death he was a man without a home.
Tom, who had escaped death by a wisp of margin hundreds of times in his life, met his death from an inanimate object that in ordinary circumstances would have been harmless- a suitcase. It is true that Ruth and I, over the years, had always expected Tom's death at any moment. We had expected his death to be abrupt and sudden when it came, but we were shocked and overwhelmed when it finally occurred. The most pathetic aspect of it was that his passing had come at a time when he was, after all those bleak years, just beginning to recapture the glory of his former life.
He was sixty years old when he died. He had lived a full life, but had he lived on, there was so much more he could have done. When he died he was as physically fit as he had been at thirty. But, most important, his hope was full of youth too.
Olive Stokes Mix, with Eric Heath, The Fabulous Tom Mix, (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc.), 1957, pages 172-177.
© 1999, David Pierce, on editing and revisions (if any)
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