Influences on John Steinbeck and his Works

The Cannery Row Contingent

A discussion of Steinbeck’s influences would be incomplete without a mention of Ed Ricketts. Entire books have been written endeavoring to unpack the vast inspiration these two men gleaned from each other; it is an impossible task to do their relationship justice in a mere paragraph. Ricketts, born in Chicago in 1897, ran the Pacific Biological Laboratory in Cannery Row. The lab became the epicenter for parties, discussions, and philosophical gamboling. Simply put, Steinbeck and Ricketts used each other as sounding boards for obscure and fascinating philosophical ideas. They worked together to refine Steinbeck’s theory of the phalanx (a theory about group behavior that Steinbeck pondered while caring for his ailing mother), his theory of non-teleological thinking (a philosophy stemming from Ricketts’ idealization of “true” things), and they even co-authored a book. In 1940, Steinbeck, Ricketts, Steinbeck’s first wife Carol, and a crew of eclectic sailors left Monterey Bay on an expedition to the Sea of Cortez, where they collected and studied numerous types of marine life and speculated on their varying philosophies of life, human and animal. The book that resulted, Sea of Cortez, is a nearly 600-page conglomeration of journal, philosophy, and taxonomy that truly symbolizes the nature of their friendship.

Ricketts’ influence on Steinbeck is perhaps best explained in Steinbeck’s own words, and Steinbeck gave us many to choose from; Ricketts is immortalized as the character “Doc” in Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday. While this fictitious characterization of Ricketts is certainly romanticized, it accurately conveys the ultimate respect and reverence Steinbeck held for his friend. Katharine A. Rodger explains: “Steinbeck’s Doc is both an accurate and an exaggerated portrait of Ed Ricketts. Doc’s interest in philosophy, music, and poetry derives directly from Ricketts’ own” (il). In both novels, Steinbeck shares true stories from Ricketts’ life and even includes direct references to the music and literature that Ricketts found so overwhelmingly inspiring. Through these works and others (Ricketts is considered possible inspiration for the characters of Jim Casey in Grapes of Wrath, Lee in East of Eden, Dr. Winter in The Moon is Down (Rodger xxv), and Doc Burton in In Dubious Battle), Steinbeck truly shared Ricketts’ overwhelming spirit with his readers. But these fictitious representations were not enough. After Ricketts’ untimely death in 1948, Steinbeck wrote a tribute called “About Ed Ricketts” that became the preface to a new edition of Sea of Cortez (this new edition, called The Log from the Sea of Cortez, did not list Ricketts as co-author). In this tribute, Steinbeck exhibits the pain he felt in Ricketts’ death, and honors their remarkable friendship:

Knowing Ed Ricketts was instant. After the first moment I knew him, and for the next eighteen years I knew him better than I knew anyone, and perhaps I did not know him at all. Maybe it was that way with all of his friends. He was different from anyone and yet so like that everyone found himself in Ed, and that might be one of the reasons his death had such an impact. It wasn't Ed who had died but a large and important part of oneself. (America and Americans 184)

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Another member of the Cannery Row club was the young and yet undiscovered Joseph Campbell. It happened that Joseph Campbell, who would become renowned for numerous works on comparative mythology and religion, moved into the home next door to Ricketts’ house just as Steinbeck found himself slogging through To a God Unknown (a book that draws significant inspiration from the interplay of religion and myth). Campbell later explained that he and Steinbeck learned very much from each other (and Ricketts, of course). He felt “that some of the mythic images in [Steinbeck’s fiction] may have come out of their discussions,” (Benson 223) and he was almost certainly correct; Steinbeck often transcribed private discussions and conversations into his novels. Truly, those philosophical and drunken evenings must have left an impression on both writers. It is no small coincidence that Steinbeck, Ricketts, and Campbell all went on to be very successful in their writing, each drawing from ideas tossed around in laboratory parties that would thrill the likes of Doc, Mack, and the boys.

Editors and Agents

While Steinbeck repeatedly proclaimed that writing was a lonely and personal process, he relied very heavily on the support of his editors, publishers, and agents. One of the first to publish Steinbeck’s work and pledge his loyalty to the author was Robert O. Ballou of Cape and Smith. Ballou worked tirelessly for Steinbeck, and when Cape and Smith went bankrupt, Ballou carried Steinbeck along to a new publishing company (Benson 253). Unfortunately, the new company went bankrupt as well. Again, Ballou tried to keep Steinbeck in print, this time starting his own company. But Ballou was never able to stay afloat. As Benson explained, “Ballou should be given credit for standing by Steinbeck at a critical time, and the irony of his loyalty was that it didn’t last quite long enough. If he had been able to stay with Steinbeck for one more book, he might well have recovered his losses and gone on to share in Steinbeck’s success. Nevertheless, he was one of the few who backed Steinbeck during the bad times” (259).

Following Robert O. Ballou as publisher was Pascal Covici of Covici-Friede, who sought out Steinbeck as a client after staying up all night reading Cup of Gold and Pastures of Heaven. Covici was not only a reliable publisher and editor but also a steadfast and supportive friend, helping Steinbeck through what he described as the “dark time” (Benson 630) following his split from Gwyn, and acting as the recipient for what Steinbeck considered the book he had “practiced for” (Journal of a Novel 124), East of Eden. Covici at one point gave Steinbeck a large bound notebook (until this point Steinbeck wrote exclusively in ledger books), and Steinbeck accepted this gift by beginning his work nearly every morning with a handwritten letter to Covici on the left side of the notebook (Benson 671). These letters are compiled in Steinbeck’s posthumous Journal of a Novel, and provide fascinating insight into Steinbeck’s writing process, expectations, and life. Steinbeck wrote two beautiful dedications to Covici. One was a speech given at Covici’s funeral in 1964:

Pat Covici was much more than my friend. He was my editor. Only a writer can understand how a great editor is father, mother, teacher, personal devil and personal god. For thirty years Pat was my collaborator and my conscience. He demanded more of me than I had and thereby caused me to be more than I should have been without him. (Benson 961)

Perhaps the most constant and reliable presence throughout Steinbeck’s life was that of his literary agents, Mavis McIntosh and Elizabeth Otis. Steinbeck began working with the two women, fresh out of college at the time, in 1930. With their influence, advice, and loyalty, Steinbeck wrote and published tirelessly. Elizabeth Otis, in particular, aided him through his most difficult and exciting editorial decisions. She is responsible for the spectacular finish to East of Eden, as after reading Steinbeck’s first draft she told him, “this is no way to end this great big book. It’s ridiculous. You certainly were in a hurry… Go home… and sit this out” (Benson 694). It is impossible to do justice to their relationship, but of course Steinbeck himself sums it up well in a 1955 letter: “I love you very dearly and have never been able to demonstrate it—perhaps due to a curious embarrassed stiffness on the part of each of us. Also, I remember everything—EVERYTHING and I am thankful for all of it and all of you. And now I will draw back into the little house of shyness in which we both live” (Benson 779). Elizabeth Otis stood with Elaine at Steinbeck’s bedside the evening he died, just as she stood with him in 1930 when he needed assistance coming out of his house of shyness.‍

Social Activists

The 1930s were a time of unrest both for Steinbeck and the United States economy. Until the publication (and surprising success) of Tortilla Flat in 1935, Steinbeck was searching for his audience and niche as a writer. However, made aware of the injustices that migrants faced as a result of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl, Steinbeck found himself immersed in a project that would test his abilities as a journalist and challenge his tenacity as an American man. He enjoyed the companionship and guidance of Tom Collins, manager of the Arvin camp for migrant laborers in Kern County. Collins was the inspiration for the Grapes of Wrath relief-camp manager Jim Rawley. Collins was a notoriously hard worker, which Steinbeck admired. As a team, they not only documented injustices but caused physical change in the migrant camps. Charles Wollenberg writes, “they witnessed the devastating effects of that winter’s floods on the Central Valley’s “Little Oklahomas”” (xiv). Collins later described how he and Steinbeck worked “for forty-eight hours, and without food or sleep,” helping “sick and half-starved people whose camps had been destroyed by the floods.”

Collins and Steinbeck remained friends until Steinbeck’s life took a drastic turn following his separation from Carol. Collins, like so many of Steinbeck’s cherished friends, possessed the appreciation for the true and genuine. Benson suggests that the relationship between Collins and Steinbeck was not unlike that of Ricketts and Steinbeck. He writes of Collins and Ricketts, “both were very unusual, very talented men, and each had that inspired, idiosyncratic, highly individualistic approach to life that often marks the man of genius” (378). Such were the men Steinbeck chose to surround himself with. Such were the men who made him feel most inspired.

Though not necessarily a close friend, Steinbeck also found great inspiration in documentary filmmaker Pare Lorentz. Steinbeck first met Lorentz in 1938 through mutual acquaintances studying and photographing Dust Bowl migrants. Exposure to Lorentz’s work on his Dust Bowl documentary (The Plow That Broke the Plains) was pivotal in Steinbeck’s decision to abandon his satirical initial draft of a Dust Bowl novel (L’Affaire Lettuceberg) and begin again, this time embarking on the more serious manuscript of The Grapes of Wrath. As Benson explains, through interactions with Collins and Lorentz, Steinbeck learned that his initial satirical approach to the Dust Bowl tale was “a cheap treatment [that] would not do justice to the dignity of his subject. His use of the flood as the final setting in his finished novel, pitting the human spirit, in extremis, against the murderous indifference of society and nature, suggests just how deep a mark the experience had made on him” (377). Benson goes on to say, “Lorentz’s dramas gave Steinbeck a sense of style and tone by which he could approach his material--seriously, lyrically, documentarily--material he previously had wasted in a lightweight satire” (399). Though Steinbeck later denied Lorentz’s influence on his work, he clearly benefited from working with another visionary like himself, someone with a message, both political and artistic.

Teachers

While Steinbeck was largely self-taught in biology and philosophy, his composition and creativity were highly influenced by a series of teachers whom he both feared and revered. Among them were two of his high school teachers, Miss Cupp and Miss Hawkins. Despite Steinbeck’s lack of academic effort and fortitude, Miss Cupp recognized his writerly talents and considered Steinbeck her best student, “reading his compositions to the class and holding them up as models” (Benson 22). While Steinbeck did not bask in the glory of being teacher’s pet, his experiences with Miss Cupp were the catalyst for his decision to become a writer. Oddly enough, however, Steinbeck did not claim Miss Cupp as his favorite and most inspirational high school teacher. Rather, he admired Miss Hawkins: a math teacher who possessed independence and youth. In short, he admired her —— and in return, she encouraged him to “chart his own course and persist with his ambition” (Benson 23).

At Stanford, Steinbeck found himself under the tutelage of two other inspirational women. The first, Margery Bailey, was known for being both intimidating and opinionated. She taught a number of Steinbeck’s classes, and hosted small literature readings for the English department. However, because Bailey and Steinbeck were both assertive, they did not get along well. Though Bailey eventually admitted admiration for Steinbeck’s talent, and like Miss Cupp presented his work aloud to the rest of the class, she maintained her initial coldness with him throughout their acquaintance and even ignored a letter he sent upon the occasion of her retirement (after he had become a well-established writer) (Benson 55).

In direct contrast with Bailey, we have Edith Ronald Mirrielees: “by personality and appearance she was almost the opposite of Margery Bailey, slender, frail and gentle, whereas Bailey was heavy-set, heavy-featured, and heavy-handed” (Benson 58). Mirrielees forced the verbosity out of Steinbeck’s work, and gave him lessons in logical and truthful writing that can be traced all the way through his later works. His philosophy of loneliness echoes her assertion that “writing can never be other than a lonely business” (Benson 59).

Stanford Friends

During his time at Stanford, Steinbeck developed a number of influential and life-long friendships. The most prominent of his Stanford connections was Carlton A. Sheffield, also known as Duke, Dook, Juk, or Jook. Steinbeck and Sheffield were college roommates, and had many things in common: “they were both English majors, both wanted to be writers, and both were nonconformists with a sense of humor” (Benson 49). They shared a love for jokes, games, pointless philosophical arguments, and wild, adventurous schemes. Steinbeck was protective of his work and stubbornly opposed to criticism, but Sheffield was one of very few friends who was not only allowed but encouraged to give feedback on Steinbeck’s early drafts (Benson 154). Steinbeck cared very much for Sheffield; not only did he write to Sheffield’s fiancé, Ruth Carpenter, threatening “I love this person so much that I would cut your charming throat should you interfere seriously with his happiness or manifest future,” (Steinbeck and Wallsten 13) but even wrote to Sheffield himself in 1933: “you are the only person in the world who believes I can do what I set out to do. Not even I believe that all the time. And so, in a kind of gratitude I address all my writing to you, whether or not you know it” (Benson 259). It is because of the intensity of their friendship that its end was so devastating. After gaining some popularity when Of Mice and Men was published, Steinbeck offered to finance Sheffield’s doctorate degree. This moment of generosity was received as scorn, and led to a separation that made both parties feel embarrassed, betrayed, and estranged from each others’ lifestyles. Their friendship was not repaired until early in the 1950s, when Steinbeck admitted, “I have millions of acquaintances and many professional friends but no one to talk basic things to and I’d like to get back to you” (Steinbeck and Wallsten 463). They exchanged letters for the rest of Steinbeck’s life.

In addition to his tumultuous friendship with Sheffield, Steinbeck relied on the company of George Mors, Webster “Toby” Street, and Carl Wilhelmson. As Steinbeck’s first college roommate, Mors had a front-row seat to Steinbeck’s stubbornness, indecision, and impulsivity. Mors was a dedicated engineering student without whom “Steinbeck probably would not have lasted as long as he did in his first tenure at the university” (Benson 36). Of course Mors was the lucky recipient of Steinbeck’s infamous note: “gone to China. See you again sometime” (Benson 43) (Steinbeck’s dream of escaping to China was short-lived; due to his lack of seafaring experience, no captain would take him aboard).  

Toby Street and Carl Wilhelmson were additional members of the Stanford English Club founded by the formidable Margery Bailey. Both were writers, though Steinbeck was most eager to collaborate with Street. In fact, the storyline of To a God Unknown is lifted directly from a play Street drafted for a writing class at Stanford (not plagiarized; Street gifted his manuscript to Steinbeck to see if he could make something of it) (Steinbeck and Wallsten 14). During the early stages of Steinbeck’s divorce from Carol (and marriage to Gwyn), Street became not only Steinbeck’s attorney but one of his closest friends, giving audience to Steinbeck’s marital concerns and anxieties.  

In Carl Wilhelmson Steinbeck saw a kindred spirit; a man interested in writing above all else, whose independence was, to use Steinbeck’s phraseology, “true,” in that it was purely derived from fascinating and unique life experiences (Benson 119). Steinbeck and Wilhelmson shared a San Francisco apartment during the early 1930s, where Steinbeck felt considerable agitation as a result of Wilhelmson’s loud typewriter bell and bleak attitude. However, despite their incompatibility as roommates, Steinbeck and Wilhelmson remained friends for a long time, and Wilhelmson served as the sounding board for Steinbeck’s concerns regarding his friendship with Sheffield.

Essay © 2016 by Jeanette Rumsby

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Works Cited

Benson, Jackson J. John Steinbeck, Writer. Penguin Books, 1990. Print.

Rodger, Katharine A. Renaissance Man of Cannery Row: The Life and Letters of Edward F. Ricketts. U of Alabama P, 2002, pp xi-liv. Print.

Shillinglaw, Susan. Carol and John Steinbeck: Portrait of a Marriage. U of Nevada P, 2013.

Steinbeck, John. America and Americans and Selected Nonfiction. Ed. Susan Shillinglaw and Jackson J. Benson. 2002. Penguin Books, 2003. Print.

— Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters. 1969. Penguin Books, 1990. Print.

— Steinbeck: A Life in Letters. Ed. Elaine Steinbeck and Robert Wallsten. 1975. Penguin Books, 1989. Print.