During the Great Depression John Steinbeck traveled through the Central Valley, recording observations of impoverished agrarian communities for the San Francisco Chronicle. In the midst of one such assignment, Steinbeck declines an invitation to the Jackson family home in San Francisco (Joseph Henry Jackson was his editor at the time). Also included: report of the failed theatrical production of Steinbeck’s novella, Tortilla Flat. The play would, despite Steinbeck’s wishes, come to be produced as a film in 1942; he acquired his estate in Los Gatos with the proceeding royalties.
To Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Henry Jackson
Dear Joe and Charlotte:
It would seem that things are piling up which will keep me from going up this weekend. It is pouring rain today. By now you probably know what happened to Tortilla Flat. It was, says Carol, the worst thing she ever saw. The lines were bad but the directing and casting were even worse. The thing closed after four performances, thank God. We are really pretty happy about the whole thing because we think this may be so discouraging to Paramount that they will not try to make a picture at all now.
I get sadder and sadder. The requests and demands for money pour in. It is perfectly awful. WPA worker in pencil from Illinois–”you have got luck and I got no luck. My boy needs a hundderd dollar operation. Please send a hundderd dollars. I will pay it back.” That sort of thing. Getting worse every day. Maybe Cuernavaca isn’t so far off at that if this doesn’t die down. “Liberal negro school going to close if money isn’t forthcoming. Can you stand by and see this close after fifteen years?” Someone told a Salinas ladies’ club that I had made three hundred thousand dollars this year. It is driving me crazy. “If you will just send me a railroad ticket to Boise I can come to California and get rid of my rheumatism.” They’re nightmarish. Some may be phonys but so damned many of them aren’t. Nearly every one is a desperate catching at a million-to-one chance. The damned things haunt me. There’s no way of getting over the truth and that we have very little money. It’s nibbling me to death.
I think Carol is having a marvelous time. She is so rushed that she can hardly breathe but in spite of that she gets off a letter nearly every day. I think she is taking New York and picking its bones. She is seeing everything and doing everything. We will be poor little provincials to her from now on. I’m really glad she went alone because I am prone to say oh to hell with it and not go the places I’ve wanted to go (my grammar will give you a mild idea of my mental condition).
bye and
thanks for asking me.
john
FURTHER READING
“The Harvest Gypsies”: Steinbeck’s articles on migrant workers in California.
A review of the film adapted from Tortilla Flat.
A few of Carol’s sketches, with some notes on the Steinbeck marriage.