Several days of meetings and negotiations with other publishers added to this euphoria. A representative from McClure’s offered Grey $15,000 for the rights to his recently completed Wanderer of the Wasteland. Barton Currie, the editor in charge of the Country Gentleman, praised his recent work, and presented a package deal of $10,000 for serialization of a novel in 1920, $12,000 for one the next year, and $15,000 for one the year following. Currie also expressed interest in Grey’s outdoor articles of five to six thousand words, and offered $800 for each. In his journal, Zane wrote, “This is extraordinary, and almost incredible.”2
The McClure’s offer of $15,000 for serial rights pressured the Country Gentleman to increase its fee to retain Grey as a contributor, and represented an astounding leap from the $1,000 that Cavalier had paid for serial rights to The Lone Star Ranger only six years earlier. After topping the annual bestseller list for 1918 with The U. P. Trail, and holding down the number-three spot for 1919 with The Desert of Wheat, Grey was on a roll; Currie realized that he would have to increase his previous payment of $7,000 in order to provide his readers a first look at Grey’s next novel. Since 1911, when the Curtis Publishing Company took over the original the Country Gentleman, the magazine’s circulation had rocketed from 20,000 to more than 400,000 by 1920, and this growth put Currie in a position to pay more money. Grey had figured prominently in Currie’s efforts to convert the magazine from a journal for farmers into one promoting an interest in country life for a more general readership.3 With Grey’s novels regularly making the best-seller lists and with Hollywood confirming the enormous audience appeal of Westerns, Currie realized that Grey was not just popular—he was at the forefront of a cultural trend.
All this attention and reward caused Grey second thoughts. He wondered if Harpers might be slighting him and became annoyed at the treatment he was receiving:
Harpers have become keen to hold me, but they have not yet convinced me of their sincerity and efficiency. The strange feature of that situation is they will save at least $150,000 in five years by letting me go, instead of meeting my demands. I am disgusted with some aspects of their work. My next book, “Man of the Forest,” has a paper cover upon which is printed these words: “God’s Country and the Woman” which is a direct copy of title and advertising used by another house for one of my contemporaries! Of all the bonehead blunders! It made me furious.4
The successful author, ca. 1925. (Courtesy of Pat Friese.)
This discontent had been building for several years. Back in August 1918, he fretted over Harpers’ financing and wrote to Dolly, “I believe they are going to slip on our money. That would be awful.”5 The year before, he had complained to Harpers advertising department about its handling of The Desert of Wheat (1919), and insisted that the lack of dignity in its advertisements would not attract the readership of the New York Times to his novels. At that time, the editor in charge responded with a long letter of reassurance urging that he not “think for a minute that any of this advertising copy is put out hastily or without due consideration.”6 But when The Man of the Forest proved to be the best-selling novel of 1920, Harpers decided that it needed to be more responsive to Grey and more supportive with its advertising. The promotion department was allotted $75,000 for simultaneous displays of his novels at selected bookstores around the country for the week of June 2, 1921. Harpers teamed up with Curtis Publishing Company, Grosset & Dunlap (Grey’s reprint publisher), and W. W. Hodkinson so that its bookstore displays were supported by posters at newsstands and movie theaters as well. As a professional trade journal reported, “During this week Zane Grey will receive more publicity than any other living author.”7
Royalties were more important to Grey than promotion. There is no record of Grey’s demands to Harpers, but his reference to a $150,000 saving makes clear that substantial sums were involved. In early March, Frank Double-day approached Grey with a lucrative contract to defect and Zane wrote to Dolly, “I would not under any circumstances accept it. Yet I signed my name to such an agreement.”8 Meanwhile, Ray Long, the editor at Cosmopolitan, was reported to have offered Grey $100,000 for the serial rights to any new novel. This represented an astounding jump from the dazzling offers Grey had received only a few months before. However, Cosmopolitan was owned by Hearst Enterprises, and for its $100,000, it wanted rights to both the serial and the novel.9 Knowing Grey’s long-term contract with Harpers was up for renewal, Long hoped Grey would defect to Hearst, and Grey’s remarks suggest that he was considering the possibility. In early April, he informed Dolly of a proposed $100,000 advance in his new contract from Harpers, and explained that his lawyers worried about its grave tax consequences and discouraged acceptance.10
The next day, Grey recorded in his journal that he had signed a new ten-year contract with Harpers. Though he did not mention the terms, he believed that it was “the largest contract ever offered an American author.”11 Over the previous four years, his annual income had risen at an unbelievable rate. As recently as 1916, it had been only $27,717.92. By 1919, it had jumped to $95,908.89. Although he realized in January that he would make even more for 1920, he never would have guessed that his income for the year would reach $178,454.88.12 His new contract with Harpers, the lucrative serial rights for his new novels, and substantial payments for film rights ensured him a handsome income. His fame and the recent film adaptations of his novels so increased sales of his earlier books that his income would have approached $75,000 without new publications. On January 11, 1923, he realized that his earnings for 1922 would exceed $200,000, and he wrote Dolly, “I think I can see $480,000 in the next two years.”13 In actuality, he would make $546,633.14
As in the past, available money stoked Grey’s desire to buy, only now he had far more to spend. Over the course of 1920, he would plow the bulk of his formidable earnings into three properties. These satisfied powerful, suppressed longings, but privileged his needs and worsened his insensitivity to others. His first priority was a residence. The two-year experiment with California living convinced the whole family to make the relocation permanent. Grey’s deepening infatuation with Catalina prompted his first purchase. Over the six years of his annual visits, Avalon had grown and changed enormously. The raging fire of 1915 had devastated not only the town of Avalon, but also the Santa Catalina Island Company (CSI) that controlled the island’s development. Reconstruction proceeded slowly, and by 1918, there was still widespread evidence of the fire’s damage. In 1918, William Wrigley, Jr., president of the Wrigley Chewing Gum Company in Chicago, was attracted to the island, and he persuaded the CSI to sell him a large stake in the spring of 1919. That fall, the CSI allowed Wrigley to purchase additional stock and to gain majority control.
This infusion of capital had an immediate effect. When she returned to Avalon in 1920 after a two-year absence, Claire Wilhelm was stunned by the sweeping change that had occurred. She noticed the disappearance of the colorful tents that dated back to the founding of the Tuna Club, and the many new residences that replaced them. Two big hotels had sprung up, and they were bustling with guests. In the Sugarloaf area near the new St. Catherine Hotel, there was an imposing new casino that housed a dance floor large enough to accommodate 250 couples. Automobiles had finally arrived, and macadam streets as well. All this development spiked real estate values, and convinced Zane that a house purchase would be a wise investment. His love of Avalon and its fishing furnished more incentive.
First, he commissioned blueprints for a bungalow. Meanwhile, he contracted to rent the three-story house on Olive Street that he had secured for the family the previous year. In February, he learned that its owner, Capt. A. L. McKelvey, was preparing to sell the house. This made him fearful that it might sell during high season, and force him to vacate when rentals would be scarce. “I think I might buy the McKelvey place just to play safe,” he told Dolly.15 Since everyone liked the house and its location overlooking the harbor, he decided to buy it. In its August announcement of the closing, t
he Islander reported, “Dr. Grey is planning to make a permanent residence on the island,”16 but this was not accurate. Prior to this purchase, Zane and Dolly had already agreed to look for a grander, more accommodating residence on the mainland. Since neither cared for the rented house on Southwestern Avenue or the one on Sunset Boulevard that they had tried briefly as an alternative, they decided to remain in the Catalina house and to search for a residence they really wanted, even if it meant staying all winter.
The annual departure of the summer crowd and Avalon’s small, provincial school gave Dolly second thoughts about staying on the island, and she immediately went searching for a home on the mainland. She was drawn to Altadena, a hill town overlooking Pasadena, which she recalled from her memorable honeymoon trip to the top of nearby Mount Lowe. There she found a residence that fulfilled her expectations. Just prior to the turn of the century, two Midwesterners, Frederick Woodbury and Andrew McNally, founder of the Rand-McNally Publishing Company, had decided to build large homes in Altadena, and afterward they campaigned for their Chicago friends to relocate there. One person who did so was Arthur H. Woodward, the president of the International Register Company that manufactured cash registers. Motivated by poor health, Woodward was strongly influenced by the narrow escape of his wife and two children from the disastrous fire at Chicago’s Iroquois Theatre in 1903. He was adamant that the house be completely fireproof. His architect, Elmer Grey (no relation to Zane), was an affiliate of Myron Hunt, who built the Huntington Library, the Rose Bowl, and the Pasadena Central Library. Woodward’s Spanish-Mediterranean-style mansion, constructed during the winter of 1908–9, had solid masonry walls and reinforced concrete floors covered with oak hardwood. Its ten rooms comprised approximately 7,000 square feet, and the building sat on five acres of land, two blocks west of the McNally residence.17
By the time the Woodward house appeared on the market in September 1920, the grounds were elaborately landscaped, with fruit trees of every variety peculiar to California. Grey was especially fond of the area’s rural tranquility and the spectacular views from the building’s many windows. Two years after his purchase that fall, Zane had Elmer Grey design a third story and terra-cotta tile roof. As he later explained in an essay entitled “Why I Live in Altadena”: “The greatest appeal to me has always been in the beauty that abides here. I need but to look out of any window to get a magnificent view. To the north the great mountains sweep on. On a clear day I can see south to the ocean and the peaks of Catalina. Everywhere is warm, dry sunshine, the fragrance of innumerable flowers.”18 Though Grey would claim, “In Altadena I have found those qualities that make life worth living,” he never intended to spend more than a few months here or at his Avalon house. A local newspaper announcement of his fall 1920 purchase noted that “for many months each year he will be off on long trips conducted into the most remote parts of the globe.”19 This point was quickly verified when Zane departed to go hunting in Arizona in early September and left Dolly to arrange the move and purchase furnishings.20
On this fall hunt, Zane took his brother R. C. and his wife; “Lone Angler” Wiborn and his wife; Sievert Nielsen; Claire Wilhelm; Elma Schwarz; and Dorothy Ackerman. “Babe” Haught and his two sons, Edd and George, were contracted as outfitters and guides. This was Grey’s third visit to the Mogollon Rim, which overlooked the Tonto Basin of east-central Arizona, and it was also his most ambitious outing. His initial visit in 1918 was cut short after less than three weeks by news of the spreading influenza epidemic. Anxious to return as soon as possible, Grey opted for a shortcut against the advice of Babe Haught, and got the group into an arduous trek. Nonetheless, he was so impressed with the area and its hunting possibilities that he returned a second time in 1919. Problems from the first trip convinced him to purchase several fine rifles, to ship his favorite horse, Don Carlos, and to hire George Takahashi, a chef who would remain with Grey for the next fifteen years.21 For the third visit in 1920, Grey arranged for three wagons of supplies, twenty-one horses, and a party of more than a dozen. Even before Grey’s outings assumed such size and extravagance, an outfitter once joked that guiding the famous author was “like moving a house plant.”22
The base camp was situated high above the Verdant Canyon and near Beaver Dam Canyon, approximately 1,000 feet below the location of the 1919 campsite. His party enjoyed unseasonably warm weather for most of its stay and had great success shooting turkey, deer, lynx, mountain lion, and bear. The elaborate planning and equipment eliminated much of the hardship and adventure of the early trips, and Grey was ecstatic with the results.
The enthusiasm and active involvement of his three female companions contributed significantly to the trip’s success. In her journal, Claire Wilhelm reflected on her experience and wrote, “Every day I become fonder of this wonderful place. I should like to return here every fall.”23 She was petrified but undaunted by a high-exposure climb to a breathtaking overlook and “thrilled” when R. C. included her on a turkey hunt. She was a rapt audience for Babe Haught’s stories around the campfire, and was amazed at his ability never to repeat himself. Had she kept a more detailed accounting, an informed reader would undoubtedly recognize how these stories worked their way into Zane’s novels.
One week before the party broke camp, a fast-moving storm dumped two feet of snow on the encampment. Rather than a deterrent, this snow yielded the trip’s most memorable experience and this description by Claire:
Tonight the snow in the moonlight and starlight glistened and shone. On the smooth surface it looked as though it had been dusted with diamonds. It was the most beautiful and wonderful night I’ve ever known or seen. Made me think of a fairyland scene. Before dusk the sky to the southward was a bronze gold again. The snow was a blue white in color from where the sun’s retreating rays had vanished. In the afterglow, the ridge tops were a soft-golden hue.24
Overnight, the temperature plunged, and the thermometer failed. Because its quicksilver had completely retreated into its reservoir, Claire knew only that the temperature was well below zero. When she awakened, she noticed that “my hair was frosty and cold” and “crystals were on the upper exposed blankets,” but she still judged it to be “a glorious, beautiful morning.”25 This dauntless enthusiasm won her high praise from the adventurous Nielsen. “He said I was the whole life and spirit of the camp, that I had a disposition that people could envy,” she wrote in her journal. “I think Nielsen is truly sorry we are going to leave. Said the men would be a lot of cranky bear hunters—not afraid to say in the absence of ladies what they thought of each other.”26 Grey was so exhilarated that, prior to his departure for Altadena, he arranged for Haught to sell him three acres of land on his nearby ranch, and commissioned him to build a lodge for his visit next year.27
This colorful lifestyle and his best-selling novels made Grey a model of American achievement for the 1920s. For its July 1924 issue, Success magazine profiled the popular author, and relied on his description of the year before to convey the success and glamour of his life:
One year is a good deal like another with me now—at least the last ten of them anyway. Last year was typical of what I do by way of work and play.
January and February, I spent at Long Key down in Florida where I wrote, read and fished and wandered about on the beach. … The Spring I spent at my home in Altadena, California, where I wrote and studied, and played with my family. … June found me at Avalon, Catalina Island, a place I have found as inspiring as Long Key, and infinitely different. Here I finished a novel and then began my sword-fishing on the Pacific. This is a strenuous game, a test of eye-sight and endurance. … In September, I took Mr. Lasky and his staff to Arizona, to pick out locations for the motion picture, The Vanishing American. … In October I went to my hunting lodge in the Tonto Basin. … November and December found me back again at Altadena—hard as nails, brown as an Indian, happy to be home with my family, keen for my study with its books and pictures, and for the long spell of writing calling me
to its fulfillment.28
This portrait made good copy, but like most portraits of Grey since, it left out as much as it revealed. In November 1923, when he returned to Altadena “hard as nails, brown as an Indian, happy to be home with my family,” Grey resumed the journal, in which he had not written since May, and confided:
In Sept. when I went fishing and went to Arizona, I was under the doctor’s care, and advised that I was not in condition to undertake hard riding. But I went. If he had known my mental condition he would have scouted my physical ills.
Last spring and summer saw the climax of my troubles. I suffered betrayal and loss and remorse. Altogether I had the ordeal of my life and it was no help to realize that I had only myself to blame—that I had been savage—selfish—proud—intolerant and supremely egotistical. What I got I deserved. But that in no wise lessened my pangs. I learned what it was to endure the tortures I had visited upon others.29
The reasons for Zane’s plunge into his worst depression ever are not easily explained. Despite his candid admission of his mistakes and the careful analysis of his emotional anguish in his journal, he is frustratingly reserved about its causes. In his compulsive need to record the nuances of his black moods, he trusted his memory for the specifics, but may have worried that someone else might read his entries. The surviving evidence suggests two important points about his torment: (1) it was not provoked by any single person or event, and (2) it sprang from reversals with his women, writing, and fishing that spanned several years. Over the summer and fall of 1923, these problems converged and grew much worse.
The volatile ingredients for this devastation were stable when Grey went to Long Key following his exhilarating meetings with publishers in January 1920. From there, on the occasion of her birthday, he dispatched Dolly a letter of best wishes and gratitude for her loyalty and support: “It seems to me you have made a grand success of your life; and meanwhile have been my prod; my inspiration. The travail you went though is nothing to the result. Only a means to an end! Think of the women who suffer as much, and fail miserably. It makes me happy just to think of you.”30
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