March 23rd, 1968, Clint Eastwood invited Elvis Presley to a private ranch to teach him real western skills. What started as a friendly demonstration turned into the most hilarious quickdraw contest Hollywood never saw. With two of the coolest men in America unable to stop laughing long enough to actually shoot.

By 1968, Clint Eastwood had become synonymous with the western. His roles in A fistful of dollars for a few dollars more and the good, the bad, and the ugly had turned him into the definitive screen cowboy. Silent, intense, deadly with a gun. the man with no name who could outdraw anyone with a squint and a flick of his wrist.

 Elvis, meanwhile, had made his share of western themed movies, but they weren’t exactly in the same category as Clint’s gritty spaghetti westerns. Elvis’s westerns involved more singing than shooting, more romance than revenge. Still, he’d handled prop guns on set and had developed a genuine interest in the Old West aesthetic.

 The two had met a few times at Hollywood events, the kind of casual acquaintance that happens when you move in the same circles. They’d always gotten along well, sharing a certain downto- earthth quality that made them both approachable despite their massive fame. Elvis appreciated Clint’s nononsense style, and Clint respected Elvis’s work ethic and the genuine kindness he showed people.

 A few weeks earlier, Elvis had mentioned to a mutual friend that he wished he could do a serious western, something with real weight like Clint’s films. The comment got back to Clint, who found it amusing and decided to have some fun with it. Clint called Elvis personally. I heard you want to do a serious western, Clint said in that distinctive, raspy voice.

I’d love to. Your movies, man, there’s something else. The way you handle those guns, it looks so real. It is real. Well, real technique, anyway. Tell you what, why don’t you come out to my buddy’s ranch this weekend? I’m doing some practice shooting for my next film. I can show you how it’s really done. Elvis, always eager to learn and never one to turn down an adventure, immediately agreed. That sounds great.

 I really appreciate it, Clint. Just one thing,” Clint added, and Elvis could hear the smile in his voice. “Bring your best western attitude. Leave the hip swivels at home.” The ranch was about an hour outside Los Angeles, a sprawling property that belonged to one of Clint’s stunt coordinator friends. It had everything needed for western training, targets set up at various distances, a mock saloon facade, and most importantly, plenty of space to shoot without bothering anyone.

 When Elvis arrived that Saturday morning, he found Clint already there along with a small film crew. Not a full production team, just a few guys who worked on Clint’s films and had come along to help set up and honestly to see what would happen when Elvis Presley tried to be a gunslinger. “You actually brought people to watch me make a fool of myself?” Elvis asked with a grin as he got out of his car.

 They’re here to film our training session, Clint said completely straight-faced. For educational purposes. Educational purposes? Elvis repeated, laughing. Right. Clint was dressed like he’d stepped off the set of one of his westerns. Dark pants, a worn leather vest, a hat pulled low over his eyes.

 Elvis had tried to dress the part, too, wearing black jeans, boots, and a westernstyle shirt, though he looked more like a country music star than a gunslinger. “All right,” Clint said, walking over to a table where several prop guns were laid out. “These are the same pistols we use in the films. They’re real guns, but we’re using blanks.

 Still loud, still have kickback, but won’t actually hurt anyone as long as we’re careful.” He handed Elvis one of the revolvers, showing him how to check that it was loaded with blanks, how to hold it properly, how to draw from a holster. The key to a quick draw is smooth, not fast. A lot of people think it’s about speed, but if you’re jerky or awkward, you’ll be slower and less accurate.

 You want one fluid motion, hand to grip, gun up and out, aim, fire. He demonstrated his movement so practiced and economical that the gun seemed to appear in his hand like magic. He fired at a target 20 ft away, and even with the blank, the sound was impressive. Elvis tried to mimic the movement.

 His hand went to the holster, grabbed the grip, started to pull, and the gun immediately tangled in the holster. He yanked harder, the gun came free suddenly, and he nearly dropped it. Smooth,” Clint reminded him, though Elvis could see he was struggling not to smile. “Let me try again,” Elvis said. This time, he drew more carefully.

 The gun came out of the holster cleanly, but as he brought it up to aim, his natural showmanship kicked in. Without thinking about it, he added a little flourish, a slight hip movement, almost like a dance step. The gun went flying out of his hand, landing in the dirt about 5 ft away. The film crew burst out laughing.

Elvis stared at the gun on the ground, then looked at Clint, who had his hand over his mouth, his shoulder shaking with silent laughter. Did you just Did you try to hip swivel while drawing a gun? Clint managed to ask. I didn’t mean to, Elvis said, starting to laugh himself. It’s just muscle memory. Your muscle memory involves hip swivels? Apparently, they spent the next hour practicing, and slowly Elvis got better.

He learned to draw without dancing, to bring the gun up smoothly to aim properly. He wasn’t fast, and he certainly wasn’t as cool as Clint, but he was getting the hang of it. “You know what?” Clint said after Elvis had successfully drawn and fired at a target without incident. “I think you’re ready for a real test.

” “What kind of test?” Elvis asked wearily. A quick draw contest. You and me. First person to draw and hit the target wins. Elvis looked at Clint, then at the film crew who were suddenly very interested. Then back at Clint. You’re serious? You want to compete against me? You, the guy who’s been doing this professionally for years.

 What’s the matter? Clint asked, raising an eyebrow in that signature expression. Scared. Of you, please, Elvis said, though he was grinning. You’re on. But if I win, you have to admit that rock and roll is cooler than westerns. And if I win, Clint countered, you have to watch all three of my westerns and tell me honestly if you still think your western movies count as westerns. Deal.

 They set up for the contest. Two targets side by side, each about 20 ft away. Clint and Elvis stood in front of them, hands hovering near their holstered guns, trying to look serious and intimidating. One of the crew members agreed to give the signal on three. 1 2 3. Both men went for their guns. Clint’s draw was smooth, professional, exactly what you’d expect from someone who’d done this a thousand times.

 He had his gun up and aimed in less than a second. Elvis’s draw was enthusiastic. He grabbed the gun so fast and pulled so hard that he yanked the entire holster off his belt. The gun came free, but the holster went with it, flying through the air and hitting the ground with a thud. Both men froze. Then Clint’s carefully maintained serious expression cracked. He started laughing.

A real laugh, the kind that comes from deep in the belly. Elvis was laughing too, holding the gun in one hand and the detached holster in the other. Did you just Did you draw the entire holster? Clint gasped between laughs. I was trying to be fast, Elvis protested, laughing so hard he had to bend over. You said smooth, but also fast.

 I said smooth, not fast. Smooth. Well, now my holster is over there. Elvis pointed to where it had landed. The crew was in hysterics. One of them was actually on the ground holding his sides. They reattached Elvis’s holster and tried again. This time, they both managed to draw their guns properly. But as Elvis brought his up to aim, he made eye contact with Clint, who was trying so hard to keep a straight face that his jaw was clenched.

 Elvis started giggling, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. “Come on, man,” Clint said, though he was fighting laughter himself now. “You have to at least aim.” “I’m trying,” Elvis said, his gun waving around as his shoulder shook with laughter. “You’re making that face.” “What face? This is just my face. It’s your serious western face.

 It’s hilarious. Clint tried to glare at Elvis, which just made Elvis laugh harder, which made Clint start laughing. And suddenly, neither of them could hold their gun steady because they were both cracking up. They attempted the draw five more times. Each attempt ended in failure for a different reason. Once Elvis drew perfectly, but then immediately struck a pose like he was about to sing Jailhouse Rock, complete with a sneer.

 Another time, Clint drew smoothly, but then looked over to see Elvis attempting the most exaggerated bow-legged cowboy walk while simultaneously drawing and lost it completely. Finally, after they’d both calmed down a bit and wiped tears from their eyes, they managed one successful draw. Both pulled cleanly. Both aimed properly. Both fired.

 Both missed their targets entirely, but at least they’d completed the action. “That counts as a tie,” Elvis declared. “That counts as both of us being terrible,” Clint corrected. But he was smiling. “All right,” Elvis said. “How about this? Since we’re clearly not going to have a serious quickdraw contest, let’s make it interesting.

 I’ll show you my world, you show me yours.” “What do you mean?” Clint asked. I’ll do my best Clint Eastwood impression and you do your best Elvis impression. Whoever does better wins. Clint considered this. That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Let’s do it. Elvis went first. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, narrowed them into a squint, and attempted Clint’s signature expression.

 Then, in the deepest, raspiest voice he could manage, he said, “You feeling lucky, punk?” The impression was actually not bad, except that halfway through Elvis’s natural charisma broke through and he added a little smile which completely destroyed the intimidating effect. That’s not bad, Clint admitted. But I’m pretty sure I never said that line.

 You’re mixing me up with dirty hairy, which I haven’t filmed yet. Wait, you’re going to say that in a movie? That’s a great line. Never mind. My turn. Clint stepped back, adjusted his stance, and suddenly thrust his hip to the side while pointing at an imaginary audience. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said, but in his regular voice, which was completely wrong for Elvis.

 Elvis doubled over, laughing. “What was that? That was terrible.” “That was Elvis,” Clint protested, but he was laughing, too. “That was not Elvis. That was I don’t know what that was. The hip thing. You do the hip thing. Not like that. It’s more It’s more Elvis demonstrated his signature move. Smooth and natural. Clint tried again, but his version was so stiff and awkward that it looked like he was having a muscle spasm.

 “You know what?” Elvis said, trying to catch his breath from laughing. “I think we need to accept that neither of us can do what the other one does.” “Agreed,” Clint said. Although I still think my Elvis impression was better than your western draw. Your Elvis impression was like watching a robot malfunction. Your quick draw included a dance move.

They argued about it good-naturedly while the film crew packed up the equipment. As they walked back to the cars, Elvis shook his head with a rofful smile. You know, Elvis said, I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing. says, “The guy who’s competed and won at everything his whole life,” Clint replied.

 “Music’s different. That’s natural. This stuff,” Elvis gestured at the ranch. “This is your world, man. I’m just visiting.” “And you tried it anyway. That takes guts. Most people wouldn’t even attempt something they know they’ll be bad at.” “Hey, at least I can hold on you a gun without throwing the holster across the ranch,” Elvis said with a grin.

 You did that once. Once. The afternoon ended with both men agreeing that while neither had won the quick draw contest, they’d both won at having a ridiculous amount of fun, the film crew had captured the whole thing on camera, and there was talk of maybe editing it together for a gag reel, though it never ended up being released publicly.

 Years later, when both men’s careers had evolved, and they’d become even more legendary, stories about that day at the ranch would occasionally surface, usually told by the crew members who’d been there. The story always got laughs, not because it was about Elvis Presley and Clint Eastwood being bad at something, but because it was about two incredibly talented, incredibly famous men being human, being silly, being willing to laugh at themselves.

 In interviews, when Clint was asked about Elvis after Elvis’s death, he’d sometimes mention that day. Elvis was genuine. A lot of stars are different when the cameras are off, but Elvis was the same guy. Kind, funny, willing to make a fool of himself for a laugh. We spent that whole afternoon being idiots with guns.

 And I don’t think either of us stopped smiling the entire time. The footage from that day, the film of Elvis and Clint attempting to outwestern each other and failing hilariously, was eventually shared with their families. It became a treasured record, not of two perfect icons, but of two friends having fun, of moments when being cool mattered less than being real.

 The lesson from that day at the ranch isn’t about quick draw contests or who could do the better impression. It’s about not taking yourself too seriously. About understanding that you can be the best in the world at what you do and still be terrible at what someone else does. About finding humor in failure and friendship in competition.

 Elvis never did get to make his serious western. And Clint never recorded a rock and roll album. But they both left that ranch with a great story, a lot of laughs, and mutual respect that came from being willing to look ridiculous in front of each other. Sometimes the best competitions are the ones nobody wins. The ones where everyone laughs so hard that the scoreboard stops mattering.

 The ones where falling on your face is just as valuable as standing tall. Because at least you tried something new, had fun doing it, and shared that fun with someone who understood.