Everyone knew Dean Martin as the King of Cool—a singer with a drink in his hand and a joke on his lips, who made everything look effortless, especially in westerns.
But on November 22, 1967, on the backlot of Warner Bros. Studios, Martin stunned Hollywood by proving he was more than just an entertainer. In front of Clint Eastwood, the fastest gun in movies, Dean drew his revolver in a jaw-dropping 0.20 seconds, changing how everyone saw him and creating a moment of respect that became legend.
That afternoon, Clint Eastwood was taking a break from rehearsals for “Hang ‘Em High,” dressed in his iconic vest and gun belt, cigar clenched between his teeth. He noticed a crowd gathering on the adjacent set, drawn by something unusual.
At the center was Dean Martin, a man whose western attire looked authentic, not like a costume. Clint had seen plenty of actors fumble with their guns and holsters, but Dean’s stance was different—natural, practiced, and confident.
Dean was preparing for a quick-draw scene for “Rough Night in Jericho.” As the director called for quiet, Dean exchanged banter with his co-star George Peppard. “Most fellas spend so much time trying to look fast, they forget to actually be fast,” Dean joked. Then, as the cameras rolled, Dean’s hand flashed to his gun.
In just 0.20 seconds, he drew, aimed, and cocked the hammer, faster than anyone—including Clint Eastwood—had ever seen. The director was thrilled but asked Dean to slow down for the cameras. Dean just grinned, holstered his weapon with the same fluidity, and quipped, “Sometimes I forget we’re making movies, not fighting wars.”
Clint Eastwood was mesmerized. He approached Dean, asking where he’d learned to draw like that. Dean explained that he’d started practicing at sixteen, back in Ohio, and had spent twenty years perfecting his technique with help from legendary trainers and old-timers who’d lived the real cowboy life. For Dean, authenticity mattered—whether singing, joking, or drawing a gun, he believed in doing things right, not just pretending.
Dean then demonstrated even greater control, drawing his gun so fast and precisely that his elbow nudged a glass of apple juice without spilling a drop. Clint was astonished.
Word spread, and soon a crowd gathered, including Hollywood legend John Ford. Ford asked to see Dean’s skills, and Dean obliged, spinning his gun as he drew and locking it into position—all in the same impossibly fast motion.
Ford, who had directed countless westerns, removed his hat and nodded respectfully. “Son, that’s the real thing. You would have survived,” he said, giving Dean the highest praise possible.
But the most memorable moment came when Clint Eastwood, the man who redefined the movie gunfighter, removed his cigar, crushed it under his boot, and tipped his hat to Dean Martin—an act of professional respect he’d never shown another actor.
“Mr. Martin, it’s been an education,” Clint said. Dean raised his glass in a toast, replying, “Here’s to education, pal, and to knowing the difference between acting like something and being something.”
As the sun set on the studio backlot, the two legends shared a quiet conversation. Clint asked why Dean chose entertainment over a life as a real gunfighter. Dean replied, “Being good at something doesn’t mean you have to make it your whole life.
I’d rather make people laugh, but the skills are there when I need them.” Clint nodded, grateful to know that if the world ever went bad, Dean Martin would be ready—drink in one hand, gun in the other.
The story of that day spread through Hollywood, and the respect between Dean Martin and Clint Eastwood lasted a lifetime. Years later, Clint would recall that afternoon as the greatest display of gunfighting skill he’d ever seen, saying, “He didn’t just play a gunfighter.
He was one.” For those who witnessed it, the moment was about more than speed or skill—it was about authenticity and mastery revealed in a business built on illusion. Dean Martin proved he was the real thing, and earned his place among the legends of the West.
