Less reticent is Vine Deloria Jr., a Native American historian and author of the prize-winning nonfiction book Custer Died for Your Sins, who calls Hopkins about as trustworthy as an Indian-treaty writer. "He's the biggest liar the West has ever seen," Deloria says. "You wonder why Disney is doing it, and all you see is the dollar signs."
Historical horse epics (think Seabiscuit) certainly have huge box-office potential. But why not just fess up and label Hidalgo pure fiction? "That's all we want," says O'Reilly, who sent Disney a pile of exhaustive research debunking Hopkins.
Disney isn't interested, and neither is its studio Touchstone Pictures, which is releasing the film. For one thing, movie trailers have been trumpeting the "based on a true story" line for months. For another, "there's no tangible evidence that disproves the story of Hidalgo," insists a Touchstone source who asks not to be identified.
Oddly enough, it was a Disney venture that started the whole imbroglio. A year ago, filmmakers shooting a Hopkins documentary for the History Channel, which is partly owned by Disney, asked the Long Riders' Guild for fact-checking help. A few phone calls later, O'Reilly says, the Hopkins myth was unhorsed.
The Long Riders concluded that Hopkins's legend was sheer self-promotion. A newspaper and a horse magazine had published his wild tales, which were later passed down in books, including one by Shane author Jack Schaefer. When Hopkins died in New York in 1951, he also left behind unpublished memoirs detailing flabbergasting exploits on Spanish mustangs—thus the Hidalgo premise. But when it came to proof, the trail went cold. Archives had no record of Hopkins—not even a birth certificate.
To Disney's credit, the History Channel will air this controversy in The True Story of Hidalgo, slated for broadcast March 4. The show features the O'Reillys and other Hopkins critics but gives equal time to Hidalgo screenwriter John Fusco, who believes Hopkins was a genuine hero—just an undocumented one. Given the shoddy record keeping of the times, Fusco explains, it's possible that Hopkins did amazing things but somehow didn't leave a paper trail.
It's also possible that Hidalgo audiences won't care one way or the other. Directed by Joe Johnston (Jumanji, Jurassic Park III), the film promises to be a visual knockout, complete with scenes of Hidalgo outrunning a sandstorm from hell. The O'Reillys, meanwhile, feel they've done all they can, so when the movie opens, they'll be busy with other matters—like their four-year, 25,000-mile around-the-world horseback trip, pegged to start this year. Between them, the two have already done everything from riding 2,500 miles (from Russia to England) to playing buz khazi (in which Afghan horsemen fight over a headless goat). But this will be their biggest epic yet. "It'll be wonderful to leave the Hopkins mess behind," says Basha.
Stuck with the cleanup will be people like Juti Winchester, a curator at the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, in Cody, Wyoming, who will have to explain to the curious public why not a single exhibit mentions Frank T. Hopkins. "I can't help but pity him," Winchester says. "You read the stuff he claims and you want to say, 'What planet was he on?'"