Fess is up Former Davy Crockett now king of the wine frontier

LOS OLIVOS, Calif. -- Heavy hangs the coonskin cap.

It's been almost 50 years since Fess Parker donned the fuzzy headgear that launched the first blockbuster cultural phenomenon of the baby boom generation.

At its peak, the frenzy started by Parker's Davy Crockett character helped sell 5,000 coonskin caps a day, causing the price of raccoon fur to jump from 25 cents a pound to $8. Before it was over, Crockettmania accounted for $300 million in sales of everything from Davy wristwatches to lunch boxes.

"I will immodestly tell you it was bigger than anything, ever, including The Beatles and Elvis," Parker said in a rumbly Texas drawl as he cut into a stack of hot cakes. Dressed in a work shirt and jeans, he eats breakfast frequently these days at his wine country inn north of Santa Barbara, where he pursues his second career as a developer, hotelier and vintner.

His wines earn far better reviews than his acting ever did. His patronage is sought by politicians. His generosity is well-known: He donated land for a park in Santa Barbara and he's at the front of every fund raiser's Rolodex in the Central Coast.

But, try as he might, Parker never managed to escape the shadow of the coonskin cap. The Crockett craze did not last that long, but he was so typecast by his boss, Walt Disney, that he couldn't get other acting jobs. When he finally did, it was to play another guy in a coonskin cap, Daniel Boone.

'Fabulous streak of luck'

Now 78 and looking forward to what might be his most ambitious project -- a top-drawer resort hotel on the beach in Santa Barbara -- Parker says he is at peace with his backwoods doppelganger.

"It wasn't always a comfortable fit," he says of the cap. But the passage of time has helped him rediscover "what a fabulous streak of luck I had."

A couple years ago, he made an important connection. "I've learned a thing or two from Davy Crockett," he said at the time. "I don't give up."

Crazed for Crockett

The first of three one-hour telefilms, called "Davy Crockett Indian Fighter," had its premiere on Dec. 15, 1954. By the time the second show aired a few weeks later, the country was crazed for Crockett.

Crockett collectibles flew off department store shelves. Disney sent Parker on a tour of 42 cities and 13 countries.

Then, as quickly as it began, the craze ended.

But its seeds had burrowed deeply into the brains of all those coonskin cap-wearing children. Men in business suits still approach him with tears in their eyes to say what Davy meant to them, Parker says.

Even before leaving Hollywood, Parker showed the business acumen that would make him successful. He demanded a 10 percent cut of Crockett merchandise sales, though he got only "a couple hundred thousand" because the rights got tangled up in litigation.

Still, the sum helped give him a start in his next career, real estate. He bought 30 acres on the beach in Santa Barbara and another 350 in what is now Silicon Valley. He later sold land to the Marriott hotel chain, which built a theme park. He says he "probably left hundreds of millions of dollars on the table" by not keeping the land longer.

"I don't mind, because I wouldn't have had the adventures I had," he said. "When I say I don't mind, I'm lying."

Kept name off wine

He opened the winery 12 years ago with his son, Eli, now the winemaker, and his daughter, Ashley. Since their goal was to produce a world-class wine, his family argued against using the Fess Parker name, which carried associations with skillet-lickin' and moonshine.

The label was simply Parker. The wines were good, but the Parkers found it difficult to get attention for their label. Fess Parker finally called on Davy Crockett for help, even putting an image of a coonskin cap on the new Fess Parker label.

That solved one problem, but created another.

"What would an old TV actor know about fine wine?" asked a San Francisco critic. Parker ordered his staff to send the man a couple of his best bottles, with a plea to give them a try.

"I'm happy to report," the man wrote in a review of the wine, "it goes well with crow."