Hugh O’Brian Was Hollywood’s “Fastest Lawman”—Dean Martin’s 0.19 Second Draw Left Him SPEECHLESS 

Everyone knew Hugh O’Brien was the fastest gun in Hollywood. As television’s legendary Wyatt Herp, he’d spent six years perfecting the art of the quick draw, working with real frontier veterans and establishing himself as the undisputed king of western gunplay. But on a scorching afternoon in July 1966 at Universal Studios, Hugh discovered something that shattered everything he thought he knew about speed.

 The man who proved him wrong wasn’t a gunfighter. wasn’t a western specialist, wasn’t even supposed to be fast. It was Dean Martin. And what happened in 0.19 seconds didn’t just humble Hollywood’s fastest law man. It redefined what was humanly possible. The Universal Studios backlot was a furnace that July afternoon with temperatures pushing past 105°.

The fake western town shimmerred in the heat like a mirage, and most of the cast and crew had taken shelter in air conditioned trailers. But Hugh O’Brien was exactly where he always was during breaks on the dusty main street practicing his draw. At 41, Hugh had turned the quick draw into both an art and a science.

His television series, The Life and Legend of Wyatt Herp, had made him the most famous law man in America, and he took that responsibility seriously. Every day, without fail, he spent at least an hour working on his technique. His personal best was 0.32 seconds from leather to target, a time that had impressed real gunfighters and made him a legend among Hollywood’s western stars.

 Hugh’s practice routine was methodical, almost ritualistic. 20 draws for accuracy, 20 for speed, 10 for style. He’d completed his accuracy round and was moving into speed work when he heard a familiar voice behind him. Practicing in this heat? That’s dedication, Marshall. Hugh turned to see Dean Martin approaching, looking impossibly cool despite the blazing sun.

Dean was wearing a lightweight linen shirt, perfectly pressed slacks, and sunglasses that somehow made him look like he belonged in an airond conditioned nightclub rather than on a sweltering movie set. “Dean,” Hugh said with a grin, wiping sweat from his forehead. “What brings the king of cool to cowboy country?” Meeting with Lou Wasserman about a picture, Dean replied, referring to Universal’s powerful studio head.

 Heard gunshots and thought I’d investigate. You know me, always curious about loud noises. Hugh laughed and gestured to his gun belt. Just keeping sharp. 6 years of playing Wyatt Herb and I still practice every day. The moment you get complacent is the moment you stop being believable. Dean nodded appreciatively.

 That’s professional. Mind if I watch? I’ve always been impressed by what you do on that show. Most convincing gun work on television. Hugh felt a surge of pride. Coming from Dean Martin, that was high praise. Dean might be primarily known as an entertainer, but he done his share of westerns and was known to appreciate authentic craftsmanship in any field.

 Be my guest, Hugh said, settling into his stance. This next set is for speed. I’m trying to break my personal record today. What’s your current best? 3200s, Hugh replied with obvious pride. That’s faster than most of the real gunfighters from the old days. Wyatt Herp himself was reportedly around 0.

4 seconds, so I figure I’m doing pretty well for an actor. Dean whistled appreciatively. That is impressive. Mind if I time you? I’ve got a stopwatch. Hugh was surprised. You carry a stopwatch? Dean smiled mysteriously. Old habit from the music business. Timing is everything in entertainment. For the next 15 minutes, Hugh ran through his speed routine while Dean operated the stopwatch with the focused attention of a professional timekeeper.

Hugh’s draws were poetry in motion, smooth, controlled, precise. His best time of the session was 0.31 seconds, just 100th off his personal record. 3100ths, Dean announced after Hugh’s final draw. That’s incredible, Hugh. You really are the fastest gun in Hollywood. You holstered his weapon with satisfaction.

Years of practice. The secret is muscle memory. Doing it so many times that your body moves without your brain having to tell it what to do. Makes sense, Dean said, studying the stopwatch thoughtfully. Kind of like music, actually. When you’re performing, you can’t think about each note. You just have to trust your training and let it flow. Exactly.

 He was warming to the subject, always happy to discuss the technical aspects of his craft. Most actors just point and shoot for the cameras. They don’t understand that real quick draws about economy of motion, perfect timing, and mind if I try one? Dean interrupted casually. Hugh blinked. You want to try a quick draw? if you don’t mind.

 I’ve always been curious about it, and watching you work has gotten me interested in the mechanics. Hugh looked at Dean’s outfit, the pressed slacks, the dress shoes, the complete absence of any western gear. Well, you’d need a gun belt. My spare rig might fit you, though it’ll be loose, and you’d want to start slow justto get the feel of the movement.

Actually, Dean said, I’ve got my own gear in the car. Give me 2 minutes. Before Hugh could respond, Dean was walking toward the parking area. Hugh watched him go, puzzled. Dean Martin traveled with his own gun belt. That was unexpected. Dean returned 5 minutes later, and Hugh’s jaw dropped. Gone were the dress clothes, replaced by authentic western wear that fit Dean like it had been custommade, which Hugh realized it probably had been.

 But it was the gun belt that really caught his attention. This wasn’t movie prop equipment. This was the real thing. Handtoled leather, perfectly balanced with a holster that showed the subtle modifications of serious quickdraw work. Jesus, Dean, Hugh said. Where did you get that rig? Had it made by Arvo Ajala a few years back.

 Dean replied, adjusting the belt’s position on his hips. same guy who made Wyatt Herps gear for your show. Actually, Hugh was stunned. Arvo Ojala was the premier craftsman of authentic western equipment in Hollywood. The man who made gun belts for John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and every serious western star. He didn’t make gear for casual hobbyists.

 His waiting list was 2 years long, and his prices were astronomical. “You never mentioned you were into quick draw,” Hugh said. Dean smiled. That enigmatic smile of his. Never came up. Besides, I’m just a beginner compared to you. 3100ths of a second. That’s serious speed. As Dean settled into a gunfighter stance, Hugh noticed something that made him reassess everything he thought he knew about the King of Cool.

 Dean’s positioning was perfect. Feet placed for maximum stability, weight distributed properly, right hand hanging loose, but ready. This wasn’t the stance of a beginner. This was the stance of someone who’d had serious training. “You sure you want me to time this?” Hugh asked, suddenly uncertain about what he was about to witness.

 “If you don’t mind,” Dean replied. His voice had taken on a different quality, cooler, more focused. “The Entertainer’s easy charm was still there, but underneath it was something else, something that reminded Hugh of the real gunfighters he’d met while researching his Wyatt Herp role. Hugh raised the stopwatch, his thumb hovering over the button.

 On your mark, Dean took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on an imaginary target 20 ft away. The casual, relaxed demeanor that was his trademark remained unchanged, but Hugh could sense the coiled energy beneath the surface. It was like watching a cat preparing to pounce. All the power was hidden, ready to explode into motion at the precise moment it was needed.

Mark, Hugh said. What happened next defied every law of physics Hugh thought he understood. Dean’s hand moved. That was the only way Hugh’s brain could process it because calling it a draw implied a sequence of actions that could be observed and analyzed. But there was no sequence here. One instant Dean’s hand was at his side.

 The next instant it was filled with steel. The gun drawn, cocked, and aimed with impossible precision. The metallic click of the hammer echoed across the empty set like a gunshot. Hugh stared at the stopwatch in his hand, certain it had malfunctioned. The numbers seemed impossible. 0.19 seconds.

 He looked up at Dean, who was calmly holstering his weapon with the same fluid motion he’d used to draw it. The king of cool smile was back. But there was something different about it now. A quiet satisfaction that spoke of capabilities carefully hidden beneath an entertaining facade. “How’d I do?” Dean asked casually as if he just finished a simple card trick instead of demonstrating what might have been the fastest draw in human history.

 Hugh stared at the stopwatch again. Then back at Dean. 19 hundredths of a second, he said quietly, his voice filled with disbelief. Not bad for a song and dance man, right? Hugh felt like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. For 6 years, he’d been the undisputed fastest gun in Hollywood. He’d worked with the best instructors, practiced religiously, and achieved speeds that impressed real gunfighters.

And Dean Martin, Dean Martin, the kuner, the comedy actor, the man who made everything look effortless, had just obliterated his best time by more than 1200s of a second. Dean, Hugh said slowly, that’s not humanly possible. Funny thing about the human body, Dean replied, lighting a cigarette with hands that weren’t even trembling.

 It can do remarkable things when you train it properly. How long have you been practicing? About 12 years, give or take. Started when I realized I was going to be doing westerns and figured I better know what I was doing. Turned out I had a natural aptitude for it. Hugh was quiet for a long moment, processing what he’d just witnessed.

 12 years of practice, a natural aptitude. Training with Arvo Ojala. Dean hadn’t just stumbled onto this skill. He’d cultivated it with the same professional dedication he brought to everything else. Why don’t peopleknow about this? Hugh asked finally. Dean shrugged. Never seemed relevant to mention it. I’m an entertainer, not a gunfighter.

 When I do westerns, the directors usually want me to slow down my draw for the cameras anyway. Audiences need to be able to see what’s happening. So, what we just saw, that’s just for me and for anyone who thinks entertainers can’t be serious about other skills. The implications of what Dean was saying began to sink in. Hugh had built his entire career around being the authentic western hero.

 The actor who brought real gunfighting skills to his roles. And all this time, Dean Martin, who was known for making everything look easy, who seemed to coast through his western roles on charm and charisma, had been carrying skills that made Hugh’s best efforts look slow. I don’t understand, Hugh said. With speed like that, you could be doing entirely different kinds of westerns, action films, serious gunfighter roles.

You could be the next Clint Eastwood. Dean smiled and took a drag from his cigarette. Hugh, I make people happy. I sing songs that make them feel good. I tell jokes that make them laugh. I make movies that entertain them. That’s my job and I love it. The quick draw thing is just a hobby, a way to make sure I’m competent at what the scripts call for.

A hobby? Hugh repeated flatly. You just drew in 1900s of a second as a hobby. Well, Dean said with a grin, I like to be good at my hobbies. As the two men stood there in the blazing sun, Hugh found himself grappling with a fundamental shift in his understanding of his colleague. Dean Martin wasn’t just a talented entertainer who happened to do westerns.

He was quite possibly the most naturally gifted gunfighter in Hollywood who happened to prefer singing to shooting. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Hugh said finally. “What’s that?” Every interview I’ve ever given about being the fastest gun in Hollywood, every magazine article that’s called me the most authentic western star on television, it’s all been wrong.

 You’ve been faster than me this entire time. Dean looked genuinely concerned. Hugh, that’s not “No, it’s fine.” Hugh interrupted, and to his own surprise, he meant it. “Actually, it’s more than fine. It’s incredible. Do you realize what you just did?” That wasn’t just fast. That was record-breaking fast. That might be the fastest legitimate quick draw ever recorded.

 Dean nodded slowly. Could be. Arvo thinks I might be able to hit 0.17 on a perfect day, but I’ve never quite managed it. Hugh shook his head in amazement. 17 hundreds. That’s not human speed. Sure it is. It’s just trained human speed. like a pianist who can play passages faster than normal people can think or a dancer who can move in ways that seem to defy gravity.

The human body is capable of remarkable things when you push it to its limits. As they talked, Hugh began to understand something about Dean Martin that few people ever glimpsed. Beneath the laid-back, seemingly effortless persona was a man who pursued excellence with relentless dedication. Whether it was music, comedy, acting, or apparently gunfighting, Dean approached everything with a professional’s commitment to mastery.

 I have to ask, Hugh said, “When you’re filming westerns, when the script calls for a quick draw scene, do you actually use that speed?” Dean laughed. God, no. The cameras can’t catch it, and it looks fake because it’s so fast the audience doesn’t believe it’s real. For movies, I slow it down to about half a second.

 Still fast enough to look impressive. Slow enough for people to see what’s happening. So, what we just saw that’s just between us? And anyone else you want to tell? Dean said. I’ve never made any secret of it. It’s just never seemed relevant to bring up. Hugh thought about all the interviews, all the publicity about his own quickdraw skills, all the times he’d been called Hollywood’s fastest gun.

 It had been the cornerstone of his professional identity, the thing that set him apart from other Western actors. And all this time, Dean Martin had been sitting quietly in the background, capable of drawing twice as fast as anyone in the industry. You know what I respect most about this? You said finally.

 What’s that? You let me have the reputation. You never corrected the record, never tried to claim the title, never used your skill for publicity. You just quietly went about being better than everyone else without needing the world to know about it. Dean’s smile was warm and genuine. Hugh, you earned that reputation. You’ve worked harder at this than anyone in the business.

 You’ve brought authentic skills to your roles, and you’ve made Wyatt Herp a character people believe in. The fact that I can draw a little faster doesn’t diminish any of that. A little faster, Hugh repeated with a laugh. Dean, you just drew in time that would have been legendary in the real old west. You’re not a little faster. You’re in a completely different category.

As the afternoon sun began to set behind the false building facades, casting long shadows across the dusty street, Hugh found himself looking at Dean Martin with completely new eyes. This wasn’t just a colleague or a fellow entertainer. This was quite possibly the most skilled quickdraw artist of the modern era who happened to prefer making music to making headlines.

 Dean, can I ask you for a favor? Shoot. Would you mind would you mind showing me how you do it? Not to copy your technique, but just to understand it. I’ve been working on this for years, and I’d love to know how someone gets to your level. Dean’s expression grew serious. Hugh, I’d be honored.

 But you understand what I do might not work for you. We’ve got different builds, different natural abilities. What works for me might actually slow you down. I understand. I’m not trying to become you. I just want to learn from the best. For the next hour, as the Universal Studios backlot cooled in the evening air, Dean Martin gave Hugh O’Brien a master class in advanced quickdraw technique.

 He broke down his method, the precise positioning, the breathing technique, the mental preparation that allowed him to move faster than human reflexes should allow. He was a quick study, and by the end of the session, he’d managed to shave 300s off his personal best time. Not enough to approach Dean superhuman speed, but a significant improvement nonetheless.

“That was incredible,” Hugh said as they packed up their equipment. I’ve learned more in the last hour than I did in 6 months of regular practice. You’re a natural teacher yourself, Dean replied. Watching you work earlier, seeing how methodical and professional you are about it, that’s inspiring. You approach this with the kind of respect it deserves.

As they walked back toward the main studio buildings, Hugh found himself reflecting on the afternoon’s revelations. His identity as Hollywood’s fastest gun might have been challenged, but something more valuable had taken its place. The understanding that true mastery could exist quietly, without fanfare, without recognition.

 Dean, he said as they reached the parking lot. Thank you, not just for the lesson, but for the reminder that being the best at something and being famous for being the best at something are two different things. Dean smiled and extended his hand. Hugh, it’s been an honor. And just so we’re clear, you’re still the most authentic western star on television.

Speed is just one part of what makes someone convincing in these roles. You’ve got the whole package. They shook hands. Two professionals who had found mutual respect in the most unexpected way. Hugh watched Dean walk to his car, still processing everything he’d witnessed. The next day, reporters would ask Hugh about his practice session at Universal.

 Word had somehow leaked that he’d been working on his quick draw with another actor, but Hugh kept the details to himself. When pressed for specifics, he would only say, “I learned something about the difference between being fast and being the fastest. Sometimes the most skilled person in the room is the one you’d least expect.” Dean Martin never spoke publicly about that afternoon, either.

 When asked about his western roles, he would deflect with jokes about how hard it was to look tough while singing songs. The entertainment press never discovered that the king of cool might also have been the king of quick draw. But in the small community of western actors and stuntmen, the story spread quietly. Hugh O’Brien, known for his professionalism and honesty, let it be known that he’d seen something extraordinary that day.

 and gradually a new understanding emerged. Dean Martin wasn’t just a singer who acted in westerns. He was quite possibly the most skilled quickdraw artist in Hollywood history who simply preferred making people smile to making them afraid. Years later, when Hugh was asked about the fastest gun he’d ever seen, he would always give the same answer.

 Dean Martin, 1966, 19 hundreds of a second. I was there. I timed it myself. And I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.