Steinbeck (34 page)

[Monterey]
October 24 [1944]

Dear Pat:

No word from you so I don't know whether you got back or not. Anyway, we bought a house in Monterey. You may think this precipitate but it is a house I have wanted since I was a little kid. It is one of the oldest and nicest adobes in town—with a huge garden—two blocks from the main street and yet unpaved and no traffic. Four blocks from the piers. It was built in the late 1830's before the gold rush and is in perfect shape. We are very happy to get it. And we'll move in about the 10th. I'll send you some pictures of it. I hope to live in it for a long time. It is something you can close up and not worry.

All colds are over now. The weather is brilliant as usual this time of year. Gwyn is here deep in plans for decorating the new house. It was built by the Soto family and is called simply Soto House. Its garden is eight city lots and no new neighbors and the whole surrounded by adobe wall. You'll like it. And it is a laughing house.

that's all
John

[Soto House]
[Monterey]
[November 1944]

Dear Pat:

I seem to be flooding you with letters, but here is a story I think you will like. You remember I told you I was going to get an office to work in. In Monterey there is only one office building, owned by a man named Parsons. I tried to reach him for three days and this morning got him by phone. I said, “I want to rent an office for a couple of months.” “Very well,” he said, “we have some vacancies. What is your name?” “Steinbeck,” I said. “And what is your business?” “I'm a writer,” I said. There was a long pause and then—“Do you have a business license?” “No,” I said, “none is required in
my
business.”—Another long pause, then “I'm sorry—we don't want people like that. We want professional people like doctors and dentists and insurance.”

Isn't that wonderful? So I cleaned out the wood shed and set up a table and I'll work there. I just thought you'd like to know that I can't get an office in my own home town and that the building owner never heard of me. Sic transit or perhaps it never existed.

So long
John

[Monterey]
December 2, 1944

Dear Mildred:

Beautiful cold morning. Friday night Gwyn pinned one on me. One of those fine natural binges that is not planned and is easy and natural. So last night I went to bed early and now I'm waiting for the Christian Science man.

Pat writes that advance sales on Cannery Row are beyond his expectations—60% beyond, he says. But you know Pat. Perhaps his enthusiasm exceeds his figures. Gosh, it's a beautiful day. Brilliantly sunny and clear. Some night next week Gwyn and I are going out with the sardine fleet. She has never been and it will fascinate her. It is a very spectacular thing and very exciting when they come on the fish.

I can look out at the garden from here where a little Spanish man is trimming the overgrown bushes and trees and doing a fine job of it. Sunday morning is a good time here. It's the Sundayest morning you can imagine. It lacks only chickens talking. When I was little I imagined that chickens made a very special kind of gobble talk on Sunday morning.

Well, the Xtian Science man came and he seems very nice and cagey and clever. He wondered if people wouldn't get the wrong impression. I said that some people always got the wrong impression. There wasn't much he could say without giving the impression of snobbishness. When he left, he said, “I just leave this thought with you. If they practiced prostitution
and
Christian Science, they were not good Christian Scientists.” And I said, “Well, that's all right, because they weren't very good prostitutes either.” So he laughed and we parted on a friendly basis. He said they would have to make a statement and I said I would be upset if they didn't.

Nurse's day off. Gwyn is making formula. And we're going to have baked beans tonight—Boston style.

Love to all
John

Monterey
[January 23, 1945]

Dear Jack and Max:

Things are lightening up a little here. The nurse was sick and poor Gwyn has been taking care of both the baby and the nurse. I thought Gwyn would end up in the hospital but she is all right and is getting some sleep finally.

Thom is fine and gay. Getting to be a kind of personable child. He has been very happy ever since his last tooth came through.

And I'm in the last stretch of the Pearl. I should finish this draft in about a week. Fernandez [Emilio Fernandez, who would be the director] is supposed to come up some time around the first to the 15th of Feb. to work on shooting script. I won't go to Mexico until I know the cameras are rolling. I know how the delays are.

Cannery Row took a frightful pounding by the critics and they went too far. Annie Laurie phoned to say that her telephone rang all the time from studios wanting to buy it and what should she do. So I told her she was on her own—to sell or not sell—whenever she was ready: She has a magnificent sense of timing for such things. And she knows what we want. A lot of money, control of the script. And this time I am going to ride herd on it. I'll act as consultant—for a consideration. I thought the adverse criticism would hurt the book but she says quite the opposite. The sales are tremendous and that's what interests the studios—not the critics.

There has been frost every day for a week. I've never known Monterey to be like that.

I guess that's about all. I've got to go to work. The Pearl is really in its last stages. It's a brutal story but with flashes of beauty I think.

Let me hear from you.

John

[Monterey]
[Spring 1945]

Dear Pat:

This is a private letter really. We're going back to Mexico in a few days. And I'm glad to go. You remember how happy I was to come back here. It really was a home coming. Well there is no home coming nor any welcome. What there is is jealousy and hatred and the knife in the back. I'm beginning to think I made a mistake. I don't mind that but I'm not going to let a mistake ride me on through. This is no new thing. I've tried to conceal it and explain it and analyze it and make a joke of it and to ignore it. It's much more than a feeling.

Our old friends won't have us back—always except Ed. Mostly with them it is what they consider success that gets in between. And the town and the region—that is the people of it—just pure poison. I laughed about being refused an office. But the local gas board cut off my gas in spite of the fact that I had a job with the War Food Administration. Ours is the first request to repair a house that has been rejected. 60 homes are being built for rent but we can't get a plank to replace a rotten board in the kitchen. These are just two of many things. I hate a feeling of persecution but I am just not welcome here.

But I'm not going to jump any guns. We're going to be in Mexico four or five months and then we'll give it another try and if it doesn't work we'll clear out.

Maybe you can figure something, but this I can tell you, I was happier in New York. Living is people, not places. I have no peers here—in notoriety and so called success—and the people who are coming up are ferocious. There's no one to talk to except Ed. You see, Pat—I would and can forget all the publicity etc. but these people can't and won't.

This isn't my country anymore. And it won't be until I am dead. It makes me very sad.

John

Cuernavaca, Mexico
May 3, 1945

Dear Elizabeth:

Just got your letter yesterday. Naturally I am very glad and frankly relieved that you like The Pearl. It was so full of experiments and I had no idea whether they would come off at all. Gwyn made some recordings of the basic music—the Family and Pearl themes. The Evil music is not finished. Gwyn is going to try to have a pressing sent to you. These themes are ancient Indian music long preceding the Conquest. And I think they are beautiful. Anyway, I'm terribly pleased that you like the story and that Pat does. I hope that you and he will consider very carefully whether another little book is a good idea. I can't imagine how Colliers could print it because of its length but I wish they would. They are getting such a good reputation.

No, it didn't seem far away when the President died. The only violence I heard of was Alice Leone Moats' father who came out on the hotel porch and said, “Well, I hear Rosenberg is dead,” and a Spanish girl slapped him across the mouth and walked away.

Interesting. Scripps-Howard wired me asking me to write about Ernie Pyle. I did and wired asking how to send it. They replied by wire that it was too late. This was ten days after his death and he was no longer news to Scripps-Howard whom he had been practically supporting.
Sic
etc.

I guess the Germans will fold in a couple of days. It seems so unreal. When they go down they're much better than up. Hitler and Goebbels yesterday. Berlin. Hoped for for years and you can't really believe it when it happens.

Will be seeing you in the fall. Love to all,

John

Cuernavaca
June 26 [1945]

Dear Annie Laurie: