Dwier Brown:

Easing their pain

words and photos by DAVID LABELLE

Dwier Brown is wearing a pinstriped flannel baseball shirt, greeting fans, signing autographs, posing for pictures and hugging everybody. It’s a hot, mid-June day in Dyersville, Iowa. A punishing sun bakes those patiently waiting in a long line to meet the actor who played Ray Kinsella, Kevin Costner’s father in the beloved movie Field of Dreams. Watching him through a telephoto lens, I am struck by how he engages every person, hour after hot hour.

It’s a scene I might expect from a famous religious figure or superstar — not from an actor with a six-minute part in a movie made three decades ago. it is evident something special is happening here.

Dwier Brown

Photo by David LaBelle

I see a middle-aged man practically fall into Dwier’s arms after having his picture taken with the youthful-looking actor. Dwier embraces him, utters something, then pats him on the back. “This guy is too good to be real,” I whisper to myself. After 50 years of looking through a camera lens, I grow weary of empty hype and pretense; genuine emotion and sincere engagement from celebrities are rare.

I catch up with the man Dwier hugged. Wiping his eyes, he tells me about the recent passing of his father, what Field of Dreams means to him and how healing it was to read Dwier’s book and meet him.

The line continues for several more hours until Dwier runs to get dressed for a ball game on the magical fi eld that helped make him famous.

After reading Dwier’s critically acclaimed book, “IF YOU BUILD IT… A book about Fathers, Fate and Field of Dreams,” published in 2014, I realized such outpourings of emotion are common wherever he travels. Dwier is a vessel, a safe conduit to transfer energy, and a healing place for people’s pain. With a gift to make each person he meets feel special, he catches their personal stories, often accompanied by wounded and tender emotions.

I remember how, 30 years earlier, I sat silently, tears sliding down my bearded face while watching Dwier play catch with Costner on the big screen, unprepared for the flood of emotions the fi lm stirred. Field of Dreams swept across the globe and into many hearts, including mine. In just 107 minutes, the story lays open deep wounds and then heals them. I still tear up every time I watch it. Interest in Dwier continues to grow. Thirty-two years after the movie, he is still crisscrossing the country, making appearances, getting interviewed and visiting minor league ballparks. In August, along with Costner, he was a significant figure in the festivities surrounding the first-ever major league baseball game in Iowa between the Chicago White Sox and the New York Yankees, held at the new MLB park on the Field of Dreams movie site. In May, my wife and I visited Dwier in Dyersville. Then, in July, I met up with him and his wife, Laurie, at their home in Oak View.

I ask Dwier about his wonderful, healing book. “The book, that wasn’t a plan, it just happened,” he explains above the seesawing chatter of an acorn woodpecker on a backyard oak. “I didn’t know anything about publishing and ended up publishing it myself, mostly because I was under a time crunch. The 25th anniversary was coming and that was sort of what was my deadline. I just wrote and wrote and wrote.”

His book was a hit. “I followed the energy and it took me to a place I would never have imagined,” he says. “We were lucky, mostly because we didn’t know what we were doing. Laurie liked the book so much she said let’s send it to the New York Times. Then we got a review from the New York Times. It was just out of naïveté and taking a chance that it got where it did.”

“I believe in Dwier so much that it was easy to be very motivated to want to get the word out there about his book because the world needs more Dwiers,” Laurie says, smiling at her husband. “He’s such a genuine, beautiful person who really wants to connect with people. And that is such a rare thing.”

The book led to speaking engagements, and “there are other things in the works that could also be really wonderful, things that I might just be a conduit for if it ends up happening,” Dwier says.

His continued impact

People continue to share stories about their fathers with Dwier, even those not used to showing their feelings. A North Dakota man wrote: “I remember sitting in the living room that evening for the first time I saw Field of Dreams on our old TV. When the fi lm came to its conclusion, it brought up so many emotions in me as a child. I’ve never really spoken with anyone about it my entire life, but the movie has had such a profound meaning to me. It made me realize, even at that young age, that we’re not here forever. And that we need to treasure every day with the ones we love most. I treasured every experience I had with my dad as a child and I cherish all those memories to this day. When I watch Field of Dreams today, I can’t help but reflect on my own life and playing catch with my dad and how those moments that seemed quaint at the time have meant so much.”

“People call me John all the time when I am at appearances,” Dwier says. “I never bother correcting them because I know what they mean. They do want me to be John Kinsella. They want me to be their dad. Or they want me to be this iconic dad who can make everything all right. If I can give them that little sense of peace or grace, why not? It seems like a great way to go through life, to casually accept where they are and tell them it’s OK. That’s a pretty cool thing to do. “I am an easy cry because I am very empathetic with other people’s pain,” continues Dwier, who has kind brown eyes. In his actor training with the Meisner Method, “the question you ask is: Where’s the pain? Where is the character’s pain? Because that is sort of what we act out of as human beings, is what we are trying to heal or avoid or overcome or soothe. You can’t argue with anybody’s pain. If it seems superficial to you, it’s not to them.”

The personal toll

I suggest that traveling so much, receiving so many emotional stories and staying engaged must take its toll. “It’s hard to explain to anybody, but sometimes after a baseball game — and all I am doing is sitting there and meeting people — I am exhausted. I want to go home and have a glass of wine and unwind,” he says. Laurie quickly adds: “I don’t think it is a burden for Dwier. He is exhausted after an event because he takes in everybody’s energy intentionally, but he also gets so much from it.” Dwier agrees: “I look forward to it. Who is it going to be today that’s going to make my day? Who is it that needs to say something to me? Or that I need to see? That is why I am so vigilant and watching because, frequently, the people who need to talk to you most are not the ones that come up. I see somebody hanging about the fringes and I try to draw them in. It’s been extraordinary.” That happened at a game in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where Dwier saw a boy aged about 14 or 15 “just hovering around.” When Dwier called him over, the boy started crying. The boy’s teacher came up later and thanked Dwier for talking to him. “I guess this kid has had a pretty rough life ... but for some reason, the fact that he thought I was a star and that I took the time to just say hi to him and all that.

With his wife Laurie “The world needs more Dwiers”

I still remember that kid. I was just so moved.”

Through it all, Dwier insists he is not trying to ease his own pain. “When I think about it, I have had a relatively drama-free life, in a way, other than my father dying a little younger than most. I don’t have drug addiction in my family, my kids have all been healthy. I have been lucky. I don’t feel like I have a lot of pain, but I do think I have a lot of empathy for it. I guess I am not afraid of it, really. I welcome it. I think we all have to go through our pain to get to where we have to go.”

He dreamed of being a star

Though Dwier says he “really doesn’t think of himself as famous,” he says he dreamed of being a star. “Dwier has always believed he was going to be famous, from the time he heard the voice while climbing the pear tree in the back yard of his Ohio home,” Laurie says. “He was 10 years old and a voice came to him and said clearly that someday he was going to be famous.” She starts to tell the story, then stops, looks at her husband and asks if he minds her sharing it. “No, go ahead,” he says. She continues: “So, when he was little, he had this moment that was like God or something, that said ‘you are going to be famous!’ And it was like this very clear voice that he remembered.”

Dwier said he has always wanted to be in movies that make a difference, like It’s a Wonderful life. Eighteen years after hearing the voice in the pear tree, the aspiring, relatively unknown actor played the ghost father of an already famous actor named Kevin Costner, who hears a voice in a cornfield in Field of Dreams. That six minutes — on a magical fi eld in an Iowa cornfield — changed his life and millions of other lives forever.

But it took him years to recognize the impact of his role. “For most of the time since Field of Dreams has been out, I was kind of embarrassed about all the attention because it was such a small part. It was really only after I wrote the book, I thought, ‘you know what? I got this one. I did what I could do with it. Nobody else could do it exactly the same. I might as well just take credit, own it.’”

Letting go of a dream

In a conversation with Dwier at the Dyersville dairy he is remodeling, he is emotional talking about his acting career. After appearing in dozens of movies, plays and television shows during his 40-year career, 62-year-old Dwier shares some frustrations.

“I just got tired of the auditions and the cumulative work of my life being denigrated in a way that I have to go read for a one-line part, so it is the business of it that made me kind of frustrated,” he says. Tears welling, he continues: “I always hoped I would stop acting before I became bitter, and I think I got very close. I mean I watched so many people who I thought were just jerks have very successful careers. And I tried to be this good person, and in Hollywood I genuinely feel that diminishes your appeal to producers. And that, to me, is just frustrating. Why in this world do we reward terrible people?” he asks rhetorically. “It is certainly not the way you were told as a kid — ‘be good and you’ll win.’ It’s really not like that.”

Even with those frustrations, Dwier isn’t closing the door on acting. “If a part came along that was doing good things and was perfect for me and I didn’t have to audition for it, I think I would still be happy to do it. I think there is more I could bring to my acting.” Producers have asked Dwier about hosting a reality-type show, which would be a new experience. “But what would be great,” he tells me, is “I would be doing just what you are accusing me of doing — being empathetic and talking to people. That part of it would be fun.”

The abandoned dairy

In the movie, Costner’s character, Ray Kinsella, hears a voice he cannot ignore. Though it will mean taking huge financial risks, maybe even losing the farm to answer the voice and “ease his pain,” he decides to plow under his corn crop, to the disbelief of relatives, neighbors and townsfolk. Similarly, Dwier has a feeling he can’t ignore beckoning him to “build” or “at least renovate” a decaying structure. During one of more than 33 visits to Dyersville since filming the movie, an abandoned dairy caught his eye. Dwier says he keeps returning to the Field of Dreams because, “to me, a lot of the entry I have into people’s lives is from the movie. It’s those people whose hearts are most open because of the movie.” When Dwier noticed the “for sale” sign at the old dairy, it was as though the building was calling to him. “Why would I want to buy a building here?” he asked himself and his wife. She asked her husband what he planned to do with the building, reminding him, “It is going to be really hard and it is really far away.” “You kept mulling it over,” Laurie says. “It was kind of haunting you.” “Because the price there is so ridiculous, I thought, ‘could I actually buy this?” Dwier recalls. “What would I do with it?’ I sort of had this vision of a little neon sign out front that says ‘Kinsellas,’ very much like Ray, like in the movie,” he says, laughing. “We don’t look for things in our lives to complicate them. We love hanging out with each other all day. But it was like, I can’t stop thinking about the building.” “I love what a big dreamer he is,” Laurie says. “So, I trust him completely once he decides to go for it. He couldn’t let it go. Then he said, ‘I think I just have to buy it.’ It was just more like a spiritual intuition decision, which I think is how we tend to operate in our lives in everything.” Dwier partnered with friend and development partner David Feigin of Ojai to buy and renovate the iconic Tegeler Dairy building in downtown Dyersville, just a few miles from the Field of Dreams.

“Why would I want to buy a building here?” Dwier renovating the old Dyerssville dairy

The iconic Kinsella shirt and glove

Dwier gave my wife and me a tour of the building in May. Like an excited schoolchild anxious to show us a class project, he guided us through the huge, musty space while narrating the dairy’s celebrated past. He cherishes every time-worn detail and speaks with adoration and admiration for the structure and its history, as if nursing back to life a living creature. “Almost every kid I have talked to in Dyersville has a memory of coming in here when it was an ice cream parlor,” he says. Back in California in July, he grabs his phone and excitedly shows me pictures of the ongoing renovation. His dark eyes dance and an unreserved joy I have not seen spreads across his face. “We stripped o all that stucco and there’s this beautiful limestone underneath it. I mean, I think it’s just spectacularly beautiful! It had its own charm before, but now, just looking at these windows that were built when Abraham Lincoln was inaugurated just boggles my mind.” He then shows me what he has fixed or built — a bench, a broken chair, a backyard deck. “I realized years ago, because of my dad, I’m a remodeler,” he says. “I like taking something that is already there and making it nicer, di erent or usable again.” “That’s a metaphor for your entire life,” I observe.

Hoping to meet Dwier. “They do want me to be John Kinsella. They want me to be their dad. “

“Right. Right!” Dwier agrees. “This is something I do. I like rewriting better than writing. I like to take things that are not being used and make them more useful.”

Even broken people, I think.

Coincidence or part of a master plan?

The parallels between Dwier’s personal life and the fictional lives of John and Ray Kinsella in the movie are eerily unmistakable. Like many young men, Dwier had a difficult relationship with his father made better with time. And, like fictional John Kinsella, who dies relatively young, then comes back from the dead as a ghost, Dwier’s father died suddenly, 30 days before Dwier began filming one of the most famous father-son scenes ever. He often shares how he went from attending his father’s funeral in Ohio to playing a ghost father in Iowa who gets the chance to heal a broken relationship with his son. He says he even felt his father’s presence while fi ming. And like Ray Kinsella, who hears a mysterious voice in a cornfield, Dwier hears an affirming voice as a young boy while climbing a pear tree that tells him he is going to be famous.

He is reluctant to step over the line and say his life is part of a master plan, though he moves close to it. When I consider 300 actors auditioned for that part, including well-known Jim Carrey, and Dwier — then a relatively unknown actor — is chosen to be part of a cast that includes celebrities such as Costner, Burt Lancaster and James Earl Jones, to name a few, Dwier’s role in the movie appears more than serendipity. “It feels more like providence,” I suggest. “And you didn’t write that script, yet it’s almost as though you ended up living it, after the fact.”

I keep pushing and ask again, “Do you feel sometimes like your life is part of a master plan?” Dwier stammers, starts a sentence, stops, then starts a new one, tapping his fingers on the wooden table where he sits. Exhaling he says, “Well, I guess I’ve always felt like I have been able to step back and see a larger picture.

Even at that, when I wrote my book, it became even more clear. You know, I hadn’t even thought about the story of that stone in our basement and how that ended up being my father’s gravestone. I mean I was crying my eyes out at 2 in the morning when I was writing that because I thought, ‘Oh my gosh, this is so amazing.’ He returns to the question.

“Yeah, I guess I think of it as being a pretty interesting journey that makes a lot of sense when I sort of realized that my dad couldn’t express his emotions, and I sort of got to finish that journey for him, in a funny way. It’s almost like a relay race, where he handed me the baton. I was not good at expressing my emotions, but sought out all the things I needed to make that happen, and in that way, kind of completed a part of his life that he couldn’t do himself. I felt really good about that. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know where my son’s life fits into that. But I think I see that because I choose to see that. In some ways, I think it’s there. I don’t think a lot of people take the time to put all that together, I guess. “I don’t know what incredible thing is going to happen next, but I am quite certain it will. And if it doesn’t and this is as good as my life gets, I would be completely ecstatic about that. I had a great run and it’s only from retiring I realize that. I always thought of my career as a failure because I didn’t get to where I wanted to. But I realized that most I have met are not very happy in the fi rst place. I realized I thought

I wanted to be a star, but what I wanted to do was learn how to express myself,” says Dwier, who grew up in a house “where self-expression was neither valued nor encouraged.”

A long way from Iowa

Dwier now lives in Oak View, a town with an almost identical population of Dyersville, both around 4,600. And though Oak View is 1,600 miles by air from Dyersville, Dwier is keeping a foot in both places. “You know, it’s kinda cool, though, I mean going back to Iowa as much as I do, it just kind of feels like home.”

As good as it gets

“We just keep thinking our life is better than we could have ever imagined,”Dwier says. “My gosh, my life is so incredible and I think it is because I’m grateful and I appreciate the goodness I’ve gotten. I don’t dwell on the things that maybe aren’t the way I would like them to be.”

Laurie says: “Our main focus has always been on our love for each other. Everything that’s come out of this journey so far, and Dwier writing his book, it’s never been about chasing money or fame.”

“You’ve brought a lot of that to my life,” Dwier tells his wife. “We still now and then say, ‘I can’t believe we ended up together, this is just too crazy,’” Dwier says.

“We are a pretty good team,” Laurie adds. “We really enjoy everything along the way. We could be the happiest people who ever lived. Like really, in the history of the world, if not the happiest, the top 1%.” Dwier adds, “We are the 100th of a percent.”

Dwier “might have wanted to be this really famous person, but then we would have never met,” Laurie says. “Now, here we are, and it’s hard to imagine being happier.” She adds that it’s kind of like Garth Brooks’ song “Unanswered Prayers.” “Sometimes I thank God, for “Unanswered prayers,” she says. Dwier agrees. “There is nobody famous that I know that I would trade places with.”

End

I think comforters and healers are sent into the world, most unaware they’ve been chosen. I believe Dwier Brown is both. Though he is likely to remember a few hundred of them, he may never know how many millions of lives he has comforted, perhaps transformed, by his performance in Field of Dreams, by his redemptive book, or by “seeing” and “hearing” others who need to share.

Author’s note: He continues to ease their pain.

Thirty years after watching Dwier Brown on the big screen, Dave LaBelle met him during a visit to the Field of Dreams in Iowa. Dave’s son Tucker, who works at the movie site, introduced the two after learning that Dwier lives in Oak View, the LaBelle family’s hometown. As irony would have it, the two basically traded places. Both grew up in the country, Dwier in Ohio and Dave on Creek Road. Dave, who now lives in Ohio, also lived and taught photography at Kent State University, less than 30 miles from where Dwier grew up. Dwier has two children: Lily Maxwell Brown, 28, who works in the theater and with local campaigns, and is married to Amaury Saugrain, a computer engineer from Paris; and Woody, 22, a recent graduate of UC San Diego. See www.dwierbrown.com for movies and television shows, interviews and upcoming events.

Dwier Brown with Photojournalist, David LaBelle

By David LaBelle