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The Mystery of Everett Ruess

Page 16

by W. L. Rusho


  I am learning things all the time, and I certainly have never felt any handicap with Fiske and Schermerhorn. I could not do the things they are doing, but on the other hand, they are shoved into such a rut by their work that they cannot follow any of the broadly cultural lines that I follow, and I certainly do not regret my freedom. On all sides I meet people who are not able to follow things up as I am doing, and it is not I who envy them.

  You can be ashamed of me if you like, but you cannot make me feel ashamed of myself, in that direction at least. Waldo has an entirely different problem, and I don’t think it is profitable to compare us as you do.

  As for me, I have tasted your cake, and I prefer your unbuttered bread. I don’t wish to withdraw from life to college, and I have a notion, conceited or not, that I know what I want from life, and can act upon it.

  Concerning my return, I want to spend about a month in Hollywood anyway before leaving for Arizona, but I may not go there until March or April. Meanwhile, I can hardly pretend to have exhausted the possibilities of San Francisco in three months, and several considerations incline me to prefer it to Los Angeles. Not only does it still have something of newness to me contrasted with the (yes) staleness of L.A., but I sense a vitality here which is totally lacking in the people down there.

  Furthermore, I really have more friends here than I do there, and there are many leads remaining to be followed up.

  I would have sent you one of Mrs. Dixon’s photographs, but she did not think they were good enough, and wants to make some others.

  I hope you will send the boots up, repaired as I asked. I will be glad to get the money order but I must ask you to send the other too, as ten dollars barely pays my rent, and I can’t commute, telephone, buy art materials, eat, etc. on the differences between ten dollars and ten dollars. I spent my last three cents today for a postage stamp for you. I could send the letter postage due, as you and Mother often do, but I prefer not to.

  As to the way I’ve spent my money, I think it has done credit to my emotions, and I don’t regret it. On occasion, I have calculated things to a very fine point, but you may well cease hoping that I will ever be practical in the accepted sense. I would sooner die.

  However, I have used my ingenuity in such a way that four pairs of tickets to various concerts have been gladly given to me, and I traded for three fine photographs the other day. I took Mrs. Dixon to the first of the concerts. It was Roland Hays, and she said she would remember his song “Der bist die Ruh” all her life. It was sung as beautifully as anything I have heard.

  I had dinner with the Schermerhorns yesterday. Charles asked me to give you his regards.

  Love from Everett

  January 7

  Dear Father,

  Your letter of the third reached me the other day. Three dollars seems an exorbitant price to pay for repairing the boots, and I can ill afford it. I had an excellent job done on them in Arizona, when they were in worse repair, for $1.50. However, if you’ve done it, it is all right. Send the rest of the money now; I need it.

  I have had two beautiful new ideas today, and it may be that I can do something with them. A few days ago, the owner of a shop for rare books and old prints took eight of my prints on consignment, but I won’t get much out of it, even if he does sell them. A while ago I was reliably informed that Paul Elder’s are and have been on the verge of bankruptcy for a long time, and that I should take my stuff out as soon as possible, as they would not pay me anything even if they sold all my stuff. This from a man who had let them have 200 dollars worth of stuff, and had no returns from them.

  Mother told me that you saved the eucalyptus tree growing on Lemon Grove Street. I’m proud of you.

  Last night I heard a fine concert in company with a poet friend. Some nocturnes of Debussy were beautifully rendered, as was also the Death and Transfiguration of Richard Strauss.

  I have been reading Dunsany and Sven Hedin.

  I now intend to start my trip up the coast the first week in February. I feel the need of doing some first-hand work. I hope the February allotment reaches me in time for an early start, before I have to pay more rent.

  I have been having some interesting and valuable experiences here in San Francisco. I cherish them, for I know that there will never be another period in my life like this.

  I hope you are all busy and happy.

  Love from Everett

  January 27

  Dear Father,

  I returned from Berkeley today and found your letter of the thirteenth. The article in the Unitarian was quite interesting, I thought, and surprisingly clear and unprejudiced. After I had heard considerable fanfare from various quarters, I went to a Christian Science meeting with the Boyntons and was very much disappointed. The church especially seems a refuge of weaklings. I mean to visit one of the Catholic churches here some morning. Last night I read part of Transition and found it rather depressing.

  At the Turner’s the other day I was reading The Sense of Beauty, and was startled by the resemblance between an essay of his on work and play and a much-criticized one I had written on the same theme.[18]

  The boots reached me all right, and doubtless you were right about their condition. I have never had a shoe or boot that would last more than a month, or two at the most, of outdoor service without resoling and heeling. These boots lasted for only a month of Sierra wear.

  It will be fine if you will send the twenty dollars now, as I will then be able to plan more skillfully. I expect to leave this place next Saturday.

  I certainly enjoyed transforming my room today. Before even opening my mail, I took all my belongings from the storeroom, eliminated the blank, staring look of the walls, put spots of color here and there to relieve the drabness, and changed the place from a coffin to a place that could be lived in. It is quite homelike now.

  What you say is partly true, in your remark that I have done what I wanted most in spite of the world crisis. I found three letters today from friends in various quarters, of whom it is by no means true. They have been wallowing in the shallows of life this past year—not growing or having new and enlarging experiences; driven partly or wholly by circumstances into lives that they themselves consider ignoble, stale, and depressing.

  A few nights ago, Joe Whitnah, Ed Bates, and I had a jolly discussion, and went to bed serene in the belief that the world is hell bent for destruction, writhing from one snare into another, becoming more and more hopelessly involved in vicious, unbreakable circles, and gaining momentum on the wretched road to Ruin. One feels the need of believing something, and this is less repugnant to the intellect than the other outlooks, or so it seems to me.

  Love from Everett

  February 9

  Tomales Bay

  Dear Family,

  For a week I have been staying at the sheep ranch of Khan Alam Khan, formerly of Afghanistan. His wife is German, and there are three boys fostered here—Italian, American, and Negro. There is also another woman who is a pianist. I first met Khan through Schermerhorn.

  The ranch is on the ridge of a vast hill, looking down upon the sea. Lines of lacy eucalyptus and twisted cypress break the wind. On the slopes are large rocks and into their crevices are fitted the laurel trees, their crests shorn by the winds.

  In addition to several hundred sheep, there are chickens, turkeys, dogs, cats, horses, and cows. There has been every kind of weather, but now the wind, rain, and fog have left us for a while. I’ve made several pictures.

  In a few days I shall continue on up the coast. This morning I am going up the ridge to photograph a rock.

  Love from Everett

  February 12

  Valley Ford

  Dear Family,

  I’m on the northward trail again, riding to Monte Rio. Last night was a beautiful experience. I walked mile after mile, over vast, rolling hills, down canyons with rushing streams. At sunset I started back to the ranch, but I had started a bigger circle than I thought, and walked for an hour or tw
o until I topped a rise and heard the roar of the surf and the bleating of sheep and saw the lights of home. Northward now.

  Everett

  February 18

  Rockport

  Dear Father, Mother, and Waldo,

  Since yesterday I have been staying here at Rockport. It is an abandoned lumber town; there are rows and rows of empty houses and disused machinery. I walked here from a ranch near New Haven, where I had spent a night, and one of the three caretakers invited me to stay with him. Being rather footsore, I was glad to accept, and it has been rather pleasant. This morning we were out spearing salmon in the creek, and my friend caught three big ones. He and one of the other men are curing them in a smokehouse.

  I have been interested in studying the people as I go up the coast. I have been curious to observe what various people get out of life, but most of them are disappointing under close observation. Also I’ve been observing reactions to the economic situation. I was startled by the intelligence of one of the ranch hands, but most of the people are living the super simple life and have no energy for thinking.

  My host here says that on the first of this month the government will take over this and all other companies that have not paid them back taxes and cannot.

  The sea has been gloriously beautiful these stormy days, grey green combers rolling in—white foam reaching over the dark beaches. The surf crashes against the cliffs, leaps into the air, and slowly, gracefully subsides into the sea. At other places, there are long strips of foam racing in ahead of the combers far out at sea. Sometimes on the dark stormy sea the hidden sun shines through and makes an unearthly radiance. Other times the grey waves glisten like new metal under the crests when they topple.

  So it has been a jolly time; life has been quite adventurous and highly irregular. Tomorrow I expect to go over to the redwood highway. The maximum daily travel north on this coast road is about ten or twelve cars, and sometimes there are none. I expect to go as far as Crescent City.

  Love to all, Everett

  February 26

  San Francisco

  Dear Father and Mother,

  I am burning all three candles as I listen to the magnificent music of my Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. I am fairly well established in my new room; it is better than the other, and I had a jolly time making it my own.

  The city seemed senselessly hideous and squatted when I reentered it today, after the clean spaciousness of green hills and blue seas. But it was good to see and hear from my old friends. I know some fine people in this city.

  As I strolled downtown today, I noticed a theatre bill for Walter Hampden, and stopped in to buy inexpensive tickets for Macbeth and Hamlet. As I walked away I felt that I had done quite well.[19]

  This will be a busy week, but I think that on Monday I will be ready to mail or freight my belongings and be on the road south. I am not sure yet whether or not I want to stop off at Carmel and Morro Bay. I’m not sure how my finances will hold out either, but I may sell a picture or two this week, and I’ll probably have ample more.

  Love to you both, Everett

  Oaks, Morro Bay. Blockprint by Everett Ruess.

  March 2

  San Francisco

  Dear Father, Mother, and Waldo,

  I am writing this at the Dixon’s tonight. Mrs. Dixon and I are driving up to Khan Alan’s Sunday, to photograph the Khan. I sold her on his profile.

  Last night I sold a picture, so this afternoon I bought a ticket on the southbound boat. It is the Emma Alexander and leaves Tuesday, arriving in Wilmington at Berth 153 at five o’clock Wednesday. It cost me four dollars. I get my meals and berth, but I don’t know just what the accommodations will be. Could one of you plan to meet me with the car? I will have a good deal of luggage. I haven’t had any mail since I arrived here, but I presume everything is all right. Ben Boynton tipped me off about the boat. Mr. Boynton wished you well. He is working now on the Tevis case. Tevis wants to go bankrupt, and have an income of $37,000 per annum.

  Love from Everett

  Back at his parents’ home in Los Angeles, Everett spent a month making preparations for his forthcoming trip to northern Arizona. Waldo, who was expected home shortly, offered to drive Everett to Monument Valley.

  March

  Dear Waldo,

  I was happy to find your letter when I returned home last night. I spent the evening with my friends who planned to drive me to San Bernardino. I know they would be glad to take me, and I should like to make the last trip with a friend, but your plan sounds much simpler and more convenient, and I shall tell them about it.

  I won’t take many of my pictures, as they are hard to carry only prints, a few photographs, and blank paper. I’ll remember your shoes. I went to the flower show at Dudley’s on Saturday, and had a delightful time. I met Mr. Epling, a botany professor at UCLA, who was very interesting, and rode in with Miss Weir, who bought one of my prints. There was a gorgeous display of golden iris.

  As to my prophecies about the Flagstaff country if I were on foot, they were rather obscurely presented, I suppose. What I meant was, the arrangements would be difficult and expensive, and I’d probably have to hitchhike to Tuba City or beyond for burros, then drive them on foot all the way back to the railroad where my stuff would have been left, load them there, and drive them back again on foot—which, you may imagine, would not be the pleasantest or most profitable use of time. It is hardly likely that I’d be able to hitchhike with the burros although I did once.

  These last months in the cities have been very strange; there have been many beautiful moments. I have seen more of beauty than ever before, and my relations with people have been riper, with more complete understanding than before.

  A few nights ago I went to a Young Communist League demonstration. There were posters with captions like “We Can’t Eat Battleships,” and sound talk about the stupidity of armament and the wretched condition of the lower classes. But in about five minutes, the Red Squad came with six men, who leaped our of a car, laid about with their clubs, snatched the posters from the boys and tore them up, seized all the papers, kicked the girls in the legs, and chased the boys and girls for several blocks, trying to separate the group. Such are Free Speech and Free Assemblage in America.

  I look forward to the time when we will be going places, together on the road. You are surely a good brother to me.

  Love from Everett

  Battlements of the Colorado. Blockprint by Everett Ruess.

  April 6

  Dear Waldo,

  As to car troubles peculiar to Arizona—in all the traveling I did there in at least a hundred different cars and on all sorts of roads, I remember only two misadventures—a flat tire, and running out of gas. Which, of course, proves nothing.

  So, Waldo, this amounts to asking you to change your decision if you feel you can do it without being half-hearted. If you cannot, let me know if you will drive me across the border, as it is crucially important for me to get started. I have made most of my purchases already, and I will meet you in San Bernardino next Thursday evening at the appointed place unless you have thought of a better one.

  This morning I was reading an interesting book called The Fantastic Traveler, of a boy who creates a dream world more real than his actual world.

  I’m enclosing a list of some books in the library. Susanna Ott of the History Department is a friendly, interesting woman. She took me downstairs to show me some pillars in the library from the palace of Croesus, Crete, built some 2,500 B.C.

  Did you ever read Schliemann’s biography? He was a man who believed that the Odyssey and the Iliad were based on fact, not legend and fable. He believed that there really had been a city of Troy, and though no one else would believe in him, he finally uncovered the city itself. Arabia Felix is an interesting book too, excellently illustrated.

  Let me have a reply soon.

  Love from Everett

  When Waldo dropped Everett off at Kayenta in April 1934, it was the last time th
at the two brothers ever saw each other.

  April 14

  Dear Father and Mother,

  We arrived here safely this afternoon after a very adventuresome day yesterday. Am starting back now.

  Love from Waldo

  April 19

  Dinnehotso, Arizona

  Dear Father and Mother,

  Yesterday I walked here from Church Rock, near Kayenta, with a pack on my back. It was eighteen strenuous miles, but I stopped once to make a painting of a distant mesa. I am giving it to the trader here, in return for which he is bargaining for my burros, and providing hospitality. I expect to have a couple by tomorrow. They were rather scarce near Kayenta, and language was a barrier. However, I did have a jolly day riding the range with Dog Ears Begay, lunching at different hogans and inquiring for kellys (burros).

  Today I rode with Charley Ashcroft, the trader’s son, in his Ford. We went over the rock and sage and sand to Twisted Water and Mexican Water. Once we stopped to gather garnets. They are common on some of the sand hills, but good ones are rarely found.

  Waldo enjoyed his part of the trip very much, I think. I was sorry I could not show him more of the country.

  The saddle blanket came Tuesday, and I was very glad. The country here is all that I could wish it to be, and I am happy again.

  Love from Everett

  One of Everett’s favorite passages from Willa Cather’s Death Comes For the Archbishop—and marked by Everett in the family copy—is the following:

  It was the Indian manner to vanish into the landscape, not to stand out against it.... [The Indians] seemed to have none of the European’s desire to “master” nature, to arrange and re-create. They spent their ingenuity in the other direction; in accommodating themselves to the scene in which they found themselves. This was not so much from indolence...as from an inherited caution and respect. It was as if the great country were asleep, and they wished to carry on their lives without awakening it, or as if the spirits of earth and air and water were things not to antagonize and arouse. When they hunted, it was with the same discretion; an Indian hunt was never a slaughter. They ravaged neither the rivers nor the forest, and if they irrigated, they took as little water as would serve their needs. The land and all that it bore they treated with consideration; not attempting to improve it, they never desecrated it.

 

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