A Badman Who Went Straight--to Hollywood : Outlaw Al Jennings was pardoned by President Theodore Roosevelt and ultimately helped shape the Western film genre.

If Al Jennings had been as tall as his tales, he might have become one of Hollywood’s early leading men, instead of a technical adviser and character actor who helped shape one of the film industry’s most enduring genres--the Western.

Unfortunately, the gun-packing man who was variously an evangelist, outlaw, lawyer, author, actor and politician before becoming one of the San Fernando Valley’s most colorful characters stood a scant five feet in height, even with his boots on. Real badmen like the notorious Frank Dalton scorned him as “the guy who held the horses” while the real desperadoes held up the banks.

Jennings was born in Tazewell County, Va., in 1863, the son of a preacher-lawyer-musician. He was 11 years old when he ran away from home because his father had killed his pet squirrel for stealing corn. “I could always kill a man without batting an eye,” Jennings later said, “but I couldn’t stand to see an animal harmed.”

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The pint-size boy roamed from state to state, finally settling in Colorado. There, while working as a ranch hand, he learned to draw fast and shoot straight. He also met such legendary Westerners as Jesse James, Bat Masterson, Doc Holiday and Wyatt Earp.

“When I was 14, standing around Dodge City with Bat Masterson,” Jennings once said, “an actor wearing a stovepipe hat and a long black coat got off the train. Bat pulled his gun and said, ‘I’ll plug that hat.’ He fired and the man fell dead. ‘Guess I shot too low,’ Bat said.”

Fascinated by the law, Jennings read every legal text he could get his hands on. He moved to Kansas, where he was admitted to the Comanche County bar at age 20. In 1892, Jennings--ever restless--was elected district attorney in El Reno, Okla.

But two years into Jennings’ tenure, his brother Ed, also a lawyer, was shot in the back and killed by men who were disgruntled over his victory in a trial.

Jennings, swearing vengeance, stepped outside the law. He tracked down the killers and shot three of them to death in a gunfight that left him with an ankle wound and a $5,000 price on his head.

He subsequently joined and became the leader of a band of outlaws called the “Long Riders.”

But stealing cattle and robbing trains wasn’t a very profitable business, Jennings recalled.

“Guess we robbed about 15 to 20 trains and most didn’t have any money on them, so we had to take up a collection from the passengers--just like in church.”

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Jennings’ technique as an armed robber frequently was the stuff of film comedies. Once, he was nearly run over when an engineer ignored him as he stood menacingly on the tracks, attempting to flag down the train.

Jennings’ luck ran out in the late 1890s, when he was captured without a shot being fired.

He was tried and sentenced to life in prison for blowing up a train’s U.S. mail car while trying to open the safe. His booty in that stickup consisted of $12.60, a bunch of bananas and a jug of whiskey.

Still far from friendless, Jennings persuaded a U.S. senator to champion his cause and President William McKinley reduced his life sentence to five years. In 1904, President Theodore Roosevelt pardoned him.

That same year, Jennings hung up his guns to marry a woman named Maude, who would stand at his side--and tower over him--for more than half a century. The couple initially settled in Oklahoma, where Jennings resumed the practice of law before plunging into politics. While campaigning for governor he became a little disillusioned, saying, “There’s more honesty among train robbers than among some public officials.”

He lost the election by a handful of votes, prompting another career change. This time, he decided to try his hand at writing, beginning in 1914 with his personal experiences as an outlaw in a book titled “Beating Back.” In 1921 came a book about a fellow prison inmate, “Through the Shadows With O. Henry,” an account of his friendship with the famous short story writer.

Meanwhile, Jennings and his wife were lured west to Hollywood.

His storytelling won him a job as a technical adviser and actor in more than 100 early Westerns, including the biographical “Al Jennings in Oklahoma.” In 1945, he sued a radio station for defaming his character, and his flair as a teller of tall tales kept jurors spellbound as they listened to his life story in court.

He told them that the popular “Lone Ranger” radio serial had libeled him by falsely accusing him of trying to persuade a 17-year-old boy to join his outlaw gang. Worse, the program’s writers had belittled his prowess as a gunman. “They made me mad. They had this Lone Ranger shooting a gun out of my hand, and me an expert.” The jurors were entertained, but Jennings lost the case.

By the 1950s, Jennings had resumed having occasional brushes with the police, who frequently were called to investigate gunfire at the modest ranch he occupied at 18824 Hatteras St. in Tarzana. In the middle of the night, at age 94, he grabbed his six-shooter and pursued a chicken thief. In the excitement, he accidentally gunned down one of his own roosters.

In 1957, concerned neighbors called the police when Jennings and actor Hugh O’Brian, television’s Wyatt Earp, faced off in a shooting duel with blanks.

Two years later, Jennings picked up his old Colt .45 from the mantle and began emptying the bullets from its chamber. As his old friend, Al Graves, stood by watching, Jennings started showing off with his gun and shot his friend in the elbow. He had forgotten the last bullet.

In 1961, Jennings died at age 97. He was buried next to Maude at Oakwood Memorial Park in Chatsworth--with his boots off.