Fan Favorite: Great American Authors | John Steinbeck: The Observer | 4

Imagine it's a hot July night in 1924. You're a World War I veteran, traveling with a crew of itinerant workers heading north from California toward Oregon. You've heard there might be jobs at the lumber mills there. You and your fellow travelers, who proudly call themselves hobos, have made camp for the night near a rail yard north of San Francisco. You're sipping bootleg whiskey and swapping stories with the other men, and among them is a young college student who says he's dropped out of school to travel and work. He's been scribbling in a notebook as you and the others tell tales of life on the road. Hey, what are you writing in that notebook, kid? Just a note for a novel I'm working on? A novel? Yeah, haven't you ever wanted to write a novel? No, read a few, but write one no, I don't think so. Well, I don't blame you really, it's the hardest damn thing in the world. It doesn't seem so hard to me. You just tell folks a story, don't you? Well, that's the thing, I don't have enough stories and I guess what the notebook's for, to collect tales from people I meet. So far though, I'm mostly hearing dirty jokes and obvious lies. You like this kid. He seems shy, but also sure of himself. You hand him your flask. Well, what kind of stories are you looking for? The young man takes a sip and then grimaces, handing the flask back. I guess I want a real personal story, a human story. I'd be willing to pay two dollars for a really believable humanistic story. Humanistic, huh? Well, I got one. Back when I was 14, my father died and I hit the road searching. Searching? Searching for what? My mother. She'd gotten a job as a housekeeper somewhere on the Oregon coast, but the problem was I didn't know where. I got lost in the farms and fields for four days. Wandering around with no food, hardly any water, didn't see a soul. That sounds awful. What happened? Well, here's where it gets interesting. Knowing you've got the kid hooked, you continue your story as he scribbles in his notebook, nodding eagerly to keep you talking. You want those two dollars, of course, but there's something else that inspires you to open up, something about this kid that puts you at ease. You kept this story bottled up for years. But now you feel like it will be in good hands. Maybe someday, people out there in the world will get to hearing it. It is American History Tellers. Our History, Your Story. In 1939, John Steinbeck published The Grapes of Wrath, his epic tale of poor migrant workers during the Depression. The book Social Commentary sparked controversy and it was banned in some cities, but it was also an instant success that solidified his place as one of America's most beloved authors. Steinbeck's 30 books included such classics as Of Mice and Men and Canary Row and captured the toils of marginalized workers and ordinary Americans. His stories were drawn from a childhood in California's Salinas Valley and the time he spent as a young man among itinerant workers during the Great Depression. Steinbeck was also a war correspondent and non-fiction writer whose lifetime of storytelling earned him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962. But his success and fame masked a life of domestic strife and illness. He struggled with alcohol and with his roles as a father and husband. But Steinbeck's legacy as a champion of the every man would endure. This is Episode 4 in our 6-part series on Great American Authors, The Observer. John Ernst Steinbeck Jr. was born on February 27, 1902 in Salinas, California, a farming town of 2,500 people just inland from the Pacific Ocean. His father John Sr. managed a flour mill. His mother Olive, a former teacher, was loving yet strict. Though they were of modest means, the Steinbecks lived in a large Victorian home in downtown Salinas. John Jr. was a shy, observant child, often doted on by two older sisters Esther and Beth and trailed everywhere by a younger sister Mary. John spent much of his youth outdoors, alone hiking the nearby Gableon and Santa Lucia Mountains. When his parents built a small vacation cottage in nearby Pacific Grove, John happily explored the caves and beaches of Monterey Bay. The cottage on 11th Avenue, just blocks from the shore, would become one of the most important places in John's life, a constant source of inspiration and escape. When John was nine years old, his father lost his job at the mill and the family would struggle financially for years afterward, with his father sometimes sinking into dark moods. Meanwhile, though John's mother could be stern and severe, she doted on him, calling him Musgrat and My Little Squirrel. She filled the house with books and by age 14 John had become a voracious reader and storyteller. Encouraged by his mother and a high school teacher to try writing, John would lock himself in his bedroom to draft poems and short stories. Friends later described John as a serious and solemn boy. One friend said that the only time he saw John show any emotion at all was at the death of the family pony, Jill. In his senior year at Salinas High School, John joined a military training unit called the Cadets, which sometimes worked on local farms since many farmers were off fighting in World War I. This work introduced John to the ranch hands and migrant workers who would later populate his novels. John's main ambition was still to become a professional writer. With that goal in mind, in 1919 at the age of 17, he enrolled at Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. His favorite instructor was Edith Miralies, a beloved professor who served punch and cookies to her students. John took her creative writing class twice. Miralies felt Steinbeck's work showed promise, but that he was too wordy. She told him to avoid overly elaborate writing and simply say what he was trying to say. Her straightforward advice resonated with Steinbeck. In a letter to a friend, he wrote, her only really vicious criticism is directed toward turgidity, and that is a good thing. As Steinbeck's writing improved, Miralies helped him get two short stories published in the Stanford Spectator Literary Magazine. But except for his writing classes, Steinbeck's college career was lackluster. He dropped or failed classes that he had no interest in, and driven by wanderlusts sometimes disappeared for weeks at a time to work as a farm laborer, ranch hand or factory worker. Finally, in early 1921, he dropped out of Stanford altogether and returned home to Salinas to the disappointment of his mother. For the next several years, he took on odd jobs, working on a highway construction crew at a sugar plant and as a waiter at a Chinese restaurant. He returned to Stanford though in 1923, but finally left for good in early 1925, having never graduated. He wrote to a friend, I've had all the college I deserve. In the summer of 1925, the now 23-year-old Steinbeck was working as a handyman and driver at a resort near Lake Tahoe, but he often felt frustrated at not finding enough time to write. That fall, he decided to move to New York to be close to the heart of the book publishing industry. There, his sister Beth's husband helped him get a job on the construction crew building Madison Square Garden. The job was difficult and dangerous. Steinbeck even witnessed a coworker fall to his death, so he was relieved when an uncle landed him with a job as a reporter for the New York American newspaper. But Steinbeck struggled at that job too. His editors thought his stories were overwritten and they fired him. So by the summer of 1926, Steinbeck was nearly broke and decided to return home to Salinas. He'd later say New York City had beaten the pants off me. Later in the fall of that year, Steinbeck found work as a caretaker for a wealthy family's estate on Lake Tahoe. This job gave him plenty of time to write. He revived a story he'd begun at Stanford about the adventures of a 17th century pirate named Harry Morgan. John sent the first pages to Professor Mirely's, who told him it was beautifully done. So Steinbeck spent the next two years living in a cabin reworking the story into a novel he called Cup of Gold. While he was working on the novel, in the summer of 1928, John met Carol and Idael Hennig, sisters vacationing from San Francisco. He and Carol were instantly attracted to each other. And that fall, Steinbeck moved to San Francisco to be closer to her. He was in love. Carol Hennig quickly became a trusted reader and editor of John's work. The budding writer was normally prickly about criticism and feedback, but he appreciated Carol's ideas and edits. She typed the manuscript for Cup of Gold, which John sent to a friend in New York who acted as his agent. The friend eventually found an interested publisher who bought the book for $250. Published in August of 1929, Cup of Gold earned a few positive reviews. Steinbeck knew it wasn't his best work, but he had made him a published author and that was the important thing. He told a college friend, I know that Cup of Gold is a bad book, but on its shoulders I shall climb to a good book. Just two months after Cup of Gold hit bookstores in October of 1929, the stock market crashed, triggering the start of the Great Depression. Steinbeck had been borrowing money from his parents, hoping to repay them with royalties from book sales, but Cup of Gold only sold 1,500 copies. Not long after, in the fall of 1929, Steinbeck and Carol moved to Los Angeles where they got married. Steinbeck's parents sent him $25 a month, but it was never enough. Carol had a hard time finding work, and Steinbeck considered giving up on writing and going into a trade. Eventually to save money, the couple left LA and moved back north into Steinbeck's parents' cottage in Pacific Grove where they could live rent free. Where they met a handsome and charismatic marine biologist named Edward Ricketts would become Carol's employer. He would also have an enormous impact on Steinbeck's future, even after he dealt the couple a financial blow. Imagine it's February 20, 1932. You're a marine biologist working in your laboratory near Pacific Grove, California. The lab is on a rundown but lively street that bustles with fishermen, artists, bombs and prostitutes. It's known as Canary Row and it pulses with an energy that you love. You look out from your instruments to see Carol, your part-time bookkeeper and assistant. She and her husband have become close friends, so you're not looking forward to the conversation you need to have. Hey Carol, nice to see you. How are you today? She eyes you warily and takes out a cigarette. I'm fine, but since when do you ask how are you, Carol? That's not your style. Give me a light, would you? You laugh because she's always been able to see right through you. She takes a drag over a cigarette and exhales impatiently. So what is it? And don't say we're getting another shipment of turtles or snakes or something. No, nothing like that. I'd hate to see what you and John would pull if I had turtles delivered here again. It took me a week to find them all after you two pranksters let them loose. And those stupid palms you stuck to their backs. Oh, they weren't stupid. Well, you defaced turtles and that should be a crime. But no, what I need to tell you, I hate to do this. I know you and John need the money, but you're firing me, aren't you? Well, yes, I'm afraid so, Carol. I'm so sorry. You watch your friend drop into a chair and take another deep drag on her cigarette. I feel like one of those white rats you feed to the snakes. You pull up a chair. I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to. I know, being dramatic. But after this sort of news, I could use a drink. You got anything? I pull a bottle of bootleg rum from a desk drawer. I do. Are we still friends? Oh, you know we are, silly man. But my husband might have a bone to pick. He was getting used to that 50 bucks a month. Yeah, your husband. How's John's riding going? Carol turns to you, suddenly serious, and looks you in the eye. She puts down her drink and it's already empty. You know he loves you, right? I suppose I do. No, no, no, I'm serious. He needs you. He needs you to write. You're like his bearded muse, it seems. Some sort of handsome, womanizing, trouble-making whinoa of a muse. Carol breaks into a smile. So you're not mad at me for firing you? Oh, of course I am, you imbecile. But you're still good for us. Now pour me another drink. You refill Carol's glass and top off your own. You wish you didn't have to do this, but the Depression has really hurt your business. You just hope Carol does forgive you. And this doesn't damage your relationship with her husband, John, who's become your closest friend. In the early 1930s, John and Carol Steinbeck settled into married life in his parents' cottage in Pacific Grove. Their circle of friends included scientists, artists, and other young couples amid the canneries and marinas along the waterfront, known as Canary Row. In 1930, they met the marine biologist Ed Ricketts, who hired Carol briefly to work in his lab. Ricketts and Steinbeck became fast friends, drinking buddies, and in time, soulmates. They shared an interest in the natural world and in politics, books, and philosophy. They loved to drink and loved to argue. One friend described them as being like a married couple themselves. Steinbeck once said that listening to Ricketts' talk was like hearing himself think aloud only more clearly. Ricketts often threw parties that could last all night and sometimes stretch for days. Coehibition was still in effect, but he and Steinbeck always managed to find a bottle of bootleg whiskey or wine. At one of these parties, Carol began to flirt with a dashing young man who had recently moved to Pacific Grove. His name was Joseph Campbell, and later he would become a famous author and mythologist, and by June of 1932, he and Carol were having an affair. Steinbeck eventually confronted Campbell, demanding to know if he was in love with his wife, and in some versions of the story, he threatened Campbell with a gun. Campbell soon left town, and the affair ended. Despite the marital and financial hardships of the early 1930s, Steinbeck published two more books, a short story collection, The Pastures of Heaven, and the novel To a God Unknown. Critics would later call The Pastures of Heaven one of Steinbeck's greatest works, but at the time it sold less than a thousand copies. He also published a short story about a boy whose father buys him a pony which later dies. That story, inspired by his own childhood horse Jill, and two others inspired by his childhood in Salinas, would later be collected into a book called The Red Pony. By this time, Steinbeck was a disciplined and prolific writer, even with the frequent parties and subsequent hangovers. Every morning he'd warm up by sharpening two dozen pencils and listening to classical music before starting the day with a few hours of writing. And during this period of prolific writing, his subject matter began to shift, thanks largely to his wife. Although Carol's affair with Campbell had wounded Steinbeck, she also ignited in him a sense of social consciousness. She had empathy for the poor and briefly registered with the Communist Party. Her thinking influenced Steinbeck's worldview and his writing, which would soon ripple with a sense of moral outrage at the hardships and economic injustices of the Depression years. Steinbeck also began soaking up stories he heard along Canary Row. While eating lunch at Maria's diner, he eavesdropped on the neighboring fishermen, prostitutes, and mixed-race farm workers known as Pizanovs, gathering material for future stories. One of those stories would become his first commercial success. But just as he was about to finally break through as a writer, Steinbeck would face a tragic family loss. I'm Indra Varma and in the latest season of The Spy Who, we open the file on Larry Chin, the spy who outplayed Nixon. For decades, Chin was embedded deep inside US intelligence. Then comes an opportunity. Richard Nixon's secret plan to reopen relations with China. Information Chin can place directly into Mao's hands. But the CIA has a weapon of their own, a Chinese mole ready to defect. How long until Chin's gig is up? Follow The Spy Who now wherever you listen to podcasts. Hello, I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. And we're the hosts of British Scandal. Now, Britain loves a royal scandal. Abdications, affairs, dodgy uncles. We've had the lot. But this series is about two brothers. Raised in palaces bound by tragedy. Supposed to be inseparable. So how did they end up barely speaking? Was it jealousy, the press, the firm? Or was this royal rift always inevitable? This is the story of Harry and Wills and the scandal that split the House of Windsor. Follow British Scandal wherever you get your podcasts or listen early and ad-free on Audible. In early 1934, John Steinbeck's mother, Olive, died after suffering a stroke. A year later, Steinbeck's father also had a stroke and grew seriously ill. While caring for his father, Steinbeck worked on a new book, writing in frenzied bursts and completing it within months. Tortilla Flat tells the story of a group of jobless Pizanos at the end of World War I. His character's adventures were inspired by tales he'd picked up around Salinas. The book was published in May of 1935, just five days after his father's death. The loss of both parents devastated Steinbeck, mostly because neither had lived to see their son's achievements, which now included strong reviews for Tortilla Flat and a $300 advance from the small publisher that released it. Using that money, Steinbeck and his wife, Carol, traveled to Mexico, partly in an attempt to salvage their faltering marriage. And while there, Steinbeck received word that Tortilla Flat had become a best-seller. Even better, Paramount Pictures wanted to buy the film rights for $4,000. At age 33, Steinbeck finally had his first critical and commercial success. In early 1936, a year after the success of Tortilla Flat, Steinbeck's fifth novel, Indubius Battle, was published. It tells the story of striking fruit pickers and their union organizers. The New York Times called it the best labor and strike novel to come out of our contemporary, economic, and social unrest. Steinbeck's growing reputation as a chronicler of working-class Californians led to more work. Soon after the publication of Indubius Battle, an editor at the San Francisco News asked Steinbeck to write a series of stories about the refugees pouring into California from Oklahoma and other Midwestern states. They were fleeing the so-called Dust Bowl, a series of devastating storms that were blowing the topsoil off farmland in the drought-stricken Midwest, rendering it useless. Steinbeck jumped at the assignment. He bought a used bread truck that he converted into a camper, then traveled through Central California, visiting workers' camps and collecting stories from the so-called Oghies. His seven-part newspaper series appeared in October of 1936, titled The Harvest Gypsies. The articles would also provide material for two of Steinbeck's most beloved and enduring books, the first of which was a novella he published in early 1937, called Of Mice and Men. This story featured George Milton and Lenny Small, two migrant ranch hands on the fringes of society, roaming Central California looking for work. Of Mice and Men displayed Steinbeck's curiosity and empathy for the disenfranchised. The book also soared into the bestseller lists and in a month sold more than 100,000 copies. Critics raved and even first Lady Eleanor Roosevelt championed the book. But Of Mice and Men's crude language and violent ending would also be targeted by book banners, even after the film adaptation was nominated for four Academy Awards. With Of Mice and Men, Steinbeck suddenly found himself overwhelmed by the demands of the success he'd worked in long for. Requests poured in for interviews and public appearances. Fans sometimes showed up on his doorstep. He once complained to his agent, this balyhoo is driving me nuts. Then in 1939, his popularity would only further explode with a publication of his next book, A Controversial Masterpiece. For years, Steinbeck had been a collector of other people's stories. While caring for his sick mother, he'd go for long walks around Salinas carrying a notebook, asking questions and jotting down observations. He'd talked to Dust Bowl refugees who lived in a shanty town known as Little Oklahoma. He told Carol after one such outing, there's a novel here somewhere. And in April 1939, Steinbeck released it, The Grapes of Wrath. The narrative follows the saga of the Jode family, sharecroppers who lost their farm in Oklahoma and migrated to California along Route 66 to find work picking fruit. But once they arrived, they discovered that the dream of better wages and a better life out west is a mirage. The Grapes of Wrath was a sad, angry, and sometimes violent book. Steinbeck later said he aspired to rip a reader's nerves to rags. And as in his other novels, Steinbeck explored themes of the power of community, that we exist as a collection of humans, not lone individuals. The book's poignant and controversial ending features one of Tom Jode's daughters, Rose of Sharon, who breastfeeds a dying young man after losing her stillborn baby. The scene came from a story an itinerant worker told Steinbeck years earlier around a campfire. The themes of the book endeared Steinbeck to the political left, who felt he was one of them. But in his hometown, copies of The Grapes of Wrath were burned outside the Salinas Public Library. Other cities banned or burned the book too, and it would remain controversial for years. To those who criticized the book's obscenities and harsh realism, Steinbeck snapped, I know what I'm talking about. I lived on and off with those oaky's for three years. The Grapes of Wrath sold a half a million copies in its first year, and in 1940 won both the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. The film rights sold for $75,000, and the movie directed by John Ford would win the Academy Award that year for best picture. Steinbeck's wife Carol had played a significant role with the book. She edited and typed the manuscript, and even came up with the title, a line from the battle hem of the Republic. Steinbeck dedicated it to her writing to Carol, who willed this book. But the publishing of this novel also marked the end of their marriage. The frenzy of her husband's fame was too much for Carol, who preferred the simpler life of their earlier years together. In the summer of 1939, Steinbeck moved to Hollywood to assist with the film adaptations of The Grapes of Wrath and of Misen Men, but Carol did not come with him. One night, while working in Los Angeles, a friend introduced Steinbeck to an aspiring actress and singer named Gwyn Conger, who was 18 years his junior. In early 1941, Steinbeck told his wife Carol that he was having an affair, and they separated for good. Months later, he moved with Gwyn to New York City, and when his divorce from Carol was finalized in 1943, he and Gwyn married. Gwyn, like Carol, abandoned her own ambitions to support her husband's writing. She often felt like he was the king, and she was the servant. She later wrote, From the time John awoke to the time he went to bed, I had to be his slave. Though they would go on to have two children together, the marriage was troubled from the start. Meanwhile, as World War II spread across the globe, Steinbeck became worried about the threats posed by Nazi Germany and was determined to play his part. After convincing President Franklin Roosevelt to meet with him in 1940, Steinbeck was recruited to join the Information and Propaganda Branch of the Office of Strategic Services, the OSS, a precursor to the CIA. How much Steinbeck contributed directly to the OSS war effort remains a mystery, but the experience inspired him to write a 1942 novel called The Moon is Down, about a European town overrun by enemy troops from a Nazi-like regime. Steinbeck intended the book to inspire resistance movements in Nazi-occupied Europe and increase pro-war sentiment at home. It would go on to sell a million copies. But even as Steinbeck was working for one government agency, another had begun to question his patriotism. FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover and his agents suspected the social and economic focus of Steinbeck's books made him a radical and his books anti-American. When Steinbeck got win that the FBI was spying on him, he wrote to Attorney General Francis Biddle, asking if he could get Edgar's boys to stop stepping on my heels. They think I am an enemy alien, he wrote. It's getting tiresome. Hoover insisted he wasn't investigating Steinbeck, but the surveillance continued for years. Then in early 1943, Steinbeck got his chance to see the War of Close. He was hired as a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune. That summer, he traveled through England and Northern Africa, sometimes joining troops on commando raids. One night, he accompanied a special naval unit on a secret raid of a German-occupied island off the coast of Naples. This experience would take a heavy mental and physical toll on him and stick with him for the rest of his life. Imagine at September 9, 1943 in the Mediterranean Sea aboard an American naval destroyer at the USS Knight, your part of a top secret commando force known as Beach Jumper Unit, one that's preparing to invade a small Italian island west of Naples where German and Italian troops have hunkered down. But before the invasion begins, you're waiting for a guest, a famous American author who's been sent to cover the mission for his newspaper. You're looking forward to seeing him. Back home, you're an actor, and the two of you crossed paths before in Hollywood. When the writer arrives after a rough overnight journey on a PT boat, he looks awful, dressed in a raggedy khaki shirt and trousers, but he perks up when he sees and recognizes you. Oh, well, look who it is, my old swashbuckling pal from the movie piss. Hello, John, and welcome aboard. You look like hell. I haven't slept in three days. Haven't changed my clothes either, which you can probably tell. Well, again, you don't smell so good, but it's great to see you anyways. And you. I had no idea I'd be running into you. Are you directing this show? I suppose I am. Made Lieutenant Commander, and now I'm the Special Operations Officer for this unit. I assume they briefed you on the mission. Operation Avalanche, right? It's a diversionary assault while the main ground forces land down at Salerno. That's the gist of it, yeah. You're coming ashore with us, though, right? So you can capture all the action for your newspaper? That's the plan. But don't worry, I know I need to stay out of the way and do as I'm told. That's a good man. But I have to ask, have you ever been under fire before? It's not for the faint of heart. Well, I'm not green if that's what you're asking. I've been in the thick of it, smelled the gunpowder. Speaking of which, got an extra weapon I can borrow to be safe? No, the press isn't supposed to be armed. What if I take off my correspondence arm patch? All right then. Ensign, get this man a firearm, would you? All right. Well, I'm good with a weapon. You don't need to worry. You not. Glad your writer friend seems so calm and respect that he's willing to risk his life on this mission. Only you hope he's ready for what lies ahead. John Steinbeck spent nearly six months as a war correspondent, including some time following actor turned commando Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and his beach jumper unit. Fairbanks later said his man admired Steinbeck for his courage under fire and his willingness to arm himself. Steinbeck returned home to New York in late 1943, invigorated by his wartime experience, but also exhausted. His wife, Gwyn, was happy to see him, but shocked at his poor health. He was suffering from hearing loss and a burst eardrum due to the gunfire and explosions he experienced overseas. The war also seemed to have aggravated symptoms he had already been experiencing, such as dizzy spells, insomnia, and depression. He'd waken the middle of the night with headaches and sweats. Still, he managed to finish another book, this one inspired by the town where he had come of age. In October of 1944, Steinbeck, Gwyn, and their newborn son, Tom, drove across the country to visit that town, Pacific Grove. While there, Steinbeck shared the manuscript of his new book with his old friend, marine biologist Ed Ricketts. Published in early 1945 and called Canary Row, the book became an instant sensation, and it was clear that Ricketts was the inspiration for the book's main character, Doc. Ricketts soon became a local celebrity, sought out by tourists and journalists alike. But some critics panned the book, calling it a thrown-together collection of scenes. Nevertheless, Steinbeck was proud of his tribute to the community where he'd always felt most at home. Four years later, in 1948, he and Ricketts began making plans for a marine research trip to British Columbia and Alaska, but in May of that year, Ricketts was driving his truck across some railroad tracks when he was struck by a train and seriously injured. Steinbeck was back in New York, but raced to California to be by his friend's side. Ricketts died hours before Steinbeck reached the hospital. For much of the rest of the year, after Ricketts' death, Steinbeck was in a deep depression and drinking heavily. He tried to bury his pain in work. That summer, Steinbeck traveled to Mexico to research a film based on the life of Mexican revolutionary Emilio Zapata. But while there, he went on a three-day drinking binge and the script stalled. It would take Steinbeck another two years to complete it. By now, Gwynn was fed up with her husband's absences and heavy drinking. When Steinbeck returned from Mexico, she asked for a divorce. Steinbeck's life seemed to be falling apart. Determined to refocus his energy on his writing, he packed up and moved back home to Pacific Grove. There, he resumed work on his ambitious next book, one that he hoped would be his magnum opus. Years earlier, as he was finishing his epic novel The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck had been overcome by a mysterious infection that crippled his back and leg. He walked with a limp for nearly a year. Then, through the late 1940s into the 50s, other strange medical problems hounded him. Some days he felt dizzy and exhausted and stayed in bed all day. By the spring of 1949, he was recently divorced and working in Hollywood when he met Elaine Scott, a former actress and theater manager from Texas. She became his third wife in 1950 and together they moved to New York City. By then, Steinbeck had completed work on the book he called a sort of autobiography of the Salinas Valley. East of Eden was published in 1952. It told the multi-generational story of two California families, from the Civil War through World War I. Steinbeck intended for the book to be a tribute to the place of his birth and a love letter to his sons. But many Californians thought Steinbeck's portrayal of their way of life was cynical and unfairly focused on the flaws and immoralities of its characters. In Kern County, the book was banned as the grapes of wrath had been. And in Salinas Valley copies of the book were burned at a few public gatherings. Despite the controversy, East of Eden became another bestseller. Steinbeck's friend, Aliyah Kazan, signed on to direct the film. It would star James Dean in his debut, but even Kazan felt Steinbeck's work was beginning to suffer. He later said, Steinbeck should never have left California. That was the source of his energy. After the success of East of Eden, Steinbeck fought off his post-publication blues by traveling with his new wife Elaine to the Virgin Islands, then Ntuket. After that, he rented a place to work at Sag Harbor Long Island, which he fell in love with. He continued to travel widely, writing prolifically for newspapers and magazines. He published more books through the mid-to-late 1950s, but none achieved great success. And he continued to experience debilitating medical episodes, including dizziness and numbness in his hands. In December of 1959, at his home in New York City, he passed out while smoking in bed. Elaine smelled smoke and rushed to the third floor of their apartment just in time to douse the burning sheets. Doctors determined he had suffered a minor stroke and kept him hospitalized for two weeks. Worried about his health and that his time was short, Steinbeck decided to hit the road and explore America, to prove to himself that he still could. Imagine it's June 1960. You're the 18-year-old son of the author John Steinbeck, and you're at his summer home in Sag Harbor on Long Island. Your father is about to embark on a cross-country road trip. He's decided to take your stepmother's dog with him, a poodle named Charlie. He plans to drive in a camper rick he calls Rosinante after Don Quixote's horse. You notice his supply seems to include more liquor than food. Today you're helping him finish packing the camper, but mainly you're hoping to convince your father to let you come along. You know that we never really get to spend time with each other these days. Wouldn't it be great to explore the country together? I don't think so, some for starters. I'm not sure it's even my country anymore. You're not sure what he means by that, and he has been acting strangely lately. Morose, forgetful and a bit sad. The thought of him traveling alone worries you. I'd be a good sidekick, I swear. Better than Charlie here, all he'll do is sleep. At the sound of his name, Charlie's ears perk up, but when he sees there's no food about, he settles his head back on his paws. Well, Charlie's all the company I need. I know he's not lassy, but he'll take care of me, and he'll help me get some exercise. We'll go on some nice long walks. You gonna visit my brother up at school? Yeah, sure. I need to pass through Massachusetts anyway. What if you took me up at least that far, and I caught a bus home? I'd be able to say I did my part of the trip with you, and school doesn't start till September anyways. Please? Your father sits on the truck's bumper and lights a cigarette. It's always been a smoker, but he seems to be smoking more than usual, drinking more too. Now the thing is, son, I need to do this alone. I need to prove that I can, that I'm not an old man, that I can do something new. His voice trails off. Lately, your bluff and blustery father seems so fragile and frail. He looks older than his 58 years. You okay, dad? He pauses and takes a deep breath before looking up. Not really, son. The truth is, I've been sick lately. Not sure how much time I have left. My doctors want me to slow down, but that's all the more reasons to take me with you. No, no, son. You probably won't forgive me for this, but I just can't. You continue to help your dad pack up his camper, trust that you couldn't convince him, but you're even more worried that he might not come back alive. After his stroke, Steinbeck began worrying about his mortality. He decided to travel nearly 10,000 miles around the outer edges of America. After years of living in New York, he felt disconnected from the rest of the country. He wanted to rediscover America and in the process himself. He had resolved to go alone, but at the last minute, he decided to bring Elaine's poodle, Charlie, with him. He drove a GMC pickup with a camper top that he named Rosinante. His wife, Elaine, would join him at stops along the way. After Steinbeck hit the road, one of his first stops was in Massachusetts, where he paid a visit to the boarding school of his younger son, John, or Catbird, as he was nicknamed. When he arrived, students ran out to the parking lot to see the famous author and his rig. Some of them begged him to let them come along, and Steinbeck later stopped to make sure there were no stowaways. Six weeks into his journey, in November 1960, Steinbeck stopped in California to visit Salinas and Pacific Grove. It would be one of the last times he visited his childhood homes. After returning from his road trip, Steinbeck's 12th and final novel, Winter of Our Discontent, was published in 1961 to mix reviews. Then, a year later, at age 60, he released his account of his month's long journey across the country. Travels with Charlie, in search of America, was wildly successful. Readers loved his accounts of visiting Niagara Falls, North Dakota, and New Orleans. Even though it was later revealed, Steinbeck took liberties with some facts. In late October of the next year, 1962, he and Elaine were watching news about the Cuban missile crisis when they saw an unexpected news flash. Steinbeck had been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. The judges praised the realistic and imaginative writing in Steinbeck's fiction. Steinbeck told reporters his initial reaction was disbelief. Asked if he deserved it, he said, frankly, no. In his acceptance speech in Stockholm in December of 1962, he said, In my heart, there may be doubt that I deserve the Nobel Award over other men of letters, whom I hold in respect and reverence, but there is no question of my pleasure and pride over having it for myself. At the same time, the war in Vietnam was escalating, and by 1966, both of Steinbeck's sons, Tom and Kat Bird, were serving overseas. Steinbeck was a strong supporter of America's military, and despite his failing health, he decided to reprise the role he'd played in World War II. He became a correspondent, covering the war in Vietnam for Newsday. He filed dozens of stories from the field from late 1966 into mid-67. They would be some of the final things he ever wrote. Steinbeck had been a lifelong smoker who suffered for years some congestive heart failure and what were later determined to be a series of strokes. He died on December 20, 1968 in New York. He was 66 years old. His ashes are buried in his family plot in Salinas. Today, his boyhood home in downtown Salinas has been preserved and restored, becoming a museum and restaurant. Two blocks away, the National Steinbeck Center, a museum and archives, is dedicated to the man whose work was inspired by the valleys, mountains, and beaches of the Salinas area and surrounding Monterey County, a region now known as Steinbeck Country. John Steinbeck wrote 34 works of fiction and non-fiction, mostly between 1935 and 1965, more than a book a year. Displaying empathy, curiosity, and enthusiasm about the world, his books remain among the best known and most read of the 20th century. Still, controversy has continued to follow him. Steinbeck's books are still banned in some cities, especially three of his most notable and widely read works, of Mycenaean, The Grapes of Wrath, and East of Eden. Yet, Steinbeck's compassionate portraits of struggling Americans continue to sell hundreds of thousands of copies every year. In 2003, Oprah Winfrey revived her dormant book club by selecting and celebrating East of Eden, calling it one of America's great reads that have stood the test of time. John Steinbeck remains as popular and controversial as he was in his lifetime. From Wondery, this is the fourth episode of Great American Authors for American History Tellers. On our next episode, James Baldwin was the stepson of a preacher in Harlem who rose to become a celebrated novelist, essayist, playwright, and poet, as well as a leading voice in the American Civil Rights Movement. He faced racism and homophobia throughout his life, but his work would leave a singular and powerful mark on American literature. If you'd like to learn more about John Steinbeck, we suggest Mad at the World, The Life of John Steinbeck by William Souter, and John Steinbeck, a biography by Jay Perini. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsay Graham for Aireship. Audio editing by Christian Piranga. Sound design by Molly Bogg. Music by Lindsay Graham. This episode is written by Neil Thompson, edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rosansky. Our production coordinator is Desi Bleylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior producer, Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louie for Wondery. Follow American History Tellers on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of American History Tellers ad-free by joining Audible. And to find out more about me and my other projects, including my live stage show coming to a theater near you, go to NotThatLindsayGram.com. That's NotThatLindsayGram.com.