He did not write his own biography, unlike everybody else on the Enterprise. But he left his papers and memorabilia organized so that somebody else could. Terry Lee Rioux has done a commendable job drawing together details from Kelley's papers and interviews with people who worked with him in TV and movies, or were his friends during his early years in Long Beach.
Our crusty Dr. McCoy isn't someone you can really imagine having a dewy-cheeked youth. He was the Star Trek character we knew the least about, and Kelley was the most private of all the cast. So this book does a great service in opening up his life to us, in a remarkably tender and sensitive way. In fact, Rioux does something daring for an actor's biography: she acknowledges that humans have spiritual lives, and that Kelley's upbringing as a poor preacher's son in Conyers, Georgia gave him a faith and a spirituality that both protected and haunted him.
The other remarkable accomplishment of the book is that, in following Kelley's development as a young Georgia boy coming of age in Long Beach, California (beaches, surfing, racial diversity, gambling, drink, tobacco, and girls), rapidly discovering himself as an actor with real talent, Rioux recreates the energy and atmosphere of a sunny Navy port town just before World War II breaks out - and how it all changes after Pearl Harbor. She works the same magic with the crumbling of the Hollywood studio system, the blossoming of television, and the rise and fall of TV westerns, all seen from the POV of a struggling actor who seems to keep missing the big break.
The book's verbal failings - such as rushed, cliché'd sketching of world events - can be attributed to editorial pressure to get the word count down. More glaring is the lack of photographs. There are no portraits of Kelley as a boy, nor of his family: the Reverend David Kelley, mother Clora, and older brother Casey, who became a successful businessman. Nor are there stills from Kelley's work: the early movie break, Fear In the Night, or TV episodes from Bonanza, You Are There, and Gene Roddenberry's lawyer series pilot starring Kelley, 333 Montgomery. Rioux gives such careful attention to the development of Kelley's craft and his struggle to get work, it's shocking to not have visual proof of that effort.
Rioux' theme of spiritual strength, often embodied in Kelley's 57-year love affair with his wife, Carolyn, can take on a tone that slides into worship. But as a theme, it pays off. After Star Trek ended, Kelley's encounter with a dying child whose one wish was to meet "Dr. McCoy" apparently changed the actor's attitude about his iconic role and his purpose in forever being "Bones."
There's another connection that Rioux doesn't make, but jumps out at any reader who has done time in therapy. She makes the arresting statement that when soldiers (Kelley among them) returned from World War II, they wanted to get back to living and "forget the war ever happened. " It's telling, then, that the Western had phenomenal popularity in the late 40s and all through the 50s. Westerns are morality tales about good and evil, right and wrong, choices with life-and death consequences, men with guns and the bonds that form between them in desperate situations. This kind of morality play became the foundation of "Star Trek," and Gene Roddenberry even described his idea as "Wagon Train to the stars" so TV executives would understand what he was talking about. Cheap, B-movie Westerns on screen and TV were Kelley's bread and butter in the 50s and early 60s, his face and voice were recognized as part of that imaginary world. In a way, these morality plays helped expose and heal the soul-wounds of war. One can say that Kelley's familiar humanity helped carry a world's wounded consciousness forward to a hopeful future, in Star Trek.
I closed this book feeling that DeForest Kelley, actor, was truly a healer. Not a doctor - but thank God he played one on TV.