Steve Hauk, the author of Steinbeck: The Untold Stories, is a fiction writer and dramatist. Here he recalls the late Bill Clements, the last character in the book of short stories he based on the life and times of John Steinbeck. Fortune’s Way, his play about the Monterey Peninsula artist E. Charlton Fortune, will be performed at Carmel Mission Basilica this Friday and Saturday.—Ed.

We lost another link to the world of John Steinbeck and Ed Ricketts when Bill Clements died peacefully in his sleep last Saturday at his home in Bisbee, Arizona. Bill didn’t know Steinbeck or Ricketts, but when he lived on the Monterey Peninsula he met many people who did. The most important were Bruce and Jean Arris.

Bill didn’t know Steinbeck or Ricketts, but he met many people who did.

Bruce was an artist and author, and Jean was a writer, too. Together they drew Bill into their world when he first appeared on the Monterey Peninsula in the mid-1970s, a young Navy veteran driving an old pickup truck. Bill absorbed Bruce and Jean’s tales of the legendary 1930s so thoroughly that he became a storyteller himself, then an active part of the local scene.

Bill absorbed tales of the legendary 1930s so thoroughly that he became a storyteller himself.

When I came to write stories about this world, I included one on Bill that I simply called “Bill,” the last story in my collection, Steinbeck: The Untold Stories. Like everyone in the book besides Bill, Bruce and Jean were gone, and I was happy to close with a living character. In a sense, Bill’s death is the true ending.

I was happy to close my book with a living character. In a sense, Bill’s death is the true ending.

Bill was born in Philadelphia in 1944. An uncle was a professional boxer named Eddie Cool, a handsome, talented welterweight whose life ended badly. Once, talking about his uncle, Bill began to cry. He could be emotional, and that’s one of the reasons Bruce and Jean loved him so much. But they told him they loved him because he didn’t treat them like old people.

Bill could be emotional, and that’s one of the reasons Bruce and Jean Arris loved him so much.

Bill became a house painter, and though he never took a bad fall, the sandwich shop business he called Philly Billy’s failed and he worked part-time as a bartender. He lived in a rental home in Pacific Grove, and when people got in trouble, sometimes homeless, he rented them a room in his rented house, much like Danny’s boys in Tortilla Flat. This eventually got him into trouble with his landlord and the town. Being evicted convinced him to leave for Bisbee, Arizona, a place he also loved, though in the story I wrote I have him going elsewhere.

He lived in a rental home in Pacific Grove, and when people got in trouble, he rented them a room in his rented house.

Bill had lazy blue eyes and thick blond hair and a look like the actor Richard Widmark. One time he called the author Ken Kesey to ask him about writing One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, about shock treatments and lobotomies. When he got off the phone with Kesey he had tears in his eyes. He had a tender heart and a last name that meant mercy, and he went on helping others, as this Bisbee, Arizona interview showed last December.

The summer I was 12 years old, my step-grandfather Jimmy Tyson suggested that the two of us drive over to Sag Harbor, on Long Island, to meet John Steinbeck. Jimmy, as I called him, lived along the ocean in nearby Amagansett, in a renovated 18th century saltbox house that was authentic in every way. The driveway was long and meandered through a potato field—a signature feature of eastern Long Island when Jimmy and John were alive and Sag Harbor was a good place to be anonymous.

I knew who John Steinbeck was, but until Jimmy’s suggestion I had no idea that the author of The Red Pony, which I’d read at school, had a home in Sag Harbor. On that bright and sunny eastern Long Island day in 1961, the two of us got into Jimmy’s car—a blue Dodge station wagon—and drove the 15 or so miles from Amagansett. Jimmy knew where the Steinbecks lived, and when we pulled up to their modest Cape Cod style house, Elaine emerged to say that her husband was in town having his hair cut. They probably got hounded all the time, and I don’t know if she was nice to everyone or just to us because I was a kid, but I remember that she was friendly. Now I think about it, my grandfather might have brought me along for that very reason.

Jimmy knew where the Steinbecks lived, and when we pulled up to their modest Cape Cod style house, Elaine emerged to say that her husband was in town having his hair cut.

So we drove into Sag Harbor to the town’s only barbershop, parked, and went inside. Sitting in one of the chairs was John Steinbeck. I remember his face, bearded and distinctive, and he was a towering figure when he took jimmy’s hand, though I don’t recall if he shook mine. It was a short visit, and as we drove out of the parking lot we caught a glimpse of a large poodle—the soon-to-be-famous Charley—sitting in Steinbeck’s converted truck.

I was too young to feel intimidated when I met John Steinbeck. But I’m sure my grandfather realized the importance of the event, and that must have made it enjoyable for him. Thinking back, I wonder who benefited more—Jimmy in the moment or me, much later, in memory.

Photo of John Steinbeck with dog Charley in Sag Harbor courtesy of The New York Times.

Since moving to Salinas, California, I’ve volunteered twice monthly in the house where John Steinbeck grew up: one day assisting Chef Augie in the Steinbeck House restaurant kitchen and one working day in the Best Cellar, the book and gift shop in the basement that inspired the punny name. Because I work in the gift shop only once a month, it was a stroke of luck that I happened to be there on July 20, a busy day that began when my cohort John Mahoney and I saw reservations for 40 on the restaurant’s board upstairs. Forty was a good start. Counting walk-ins without reservations, it meant we could anticipate quite a few visitors to the gift shop before and after lunch. Even a slow day gets better when a “bluebird” visitor drops in and engages in fan chat about John Steinbeck. Along with near-record gift shop sales, July 20 also brought a bluebird encounter that I will never forget.

Even a slow day gets better when a ‘bluebird’ visitor drops in and engages in fan chat about John Steinbeck.

Shortly after we opened the door at 11 a.m., two parties came in: a father and teenage son from the Czech Republic and a 40-something couple from England with their small daughter. We’re used to foreign visitors in the gift shop, and the five we had that morning were talkative and friendly. Like his father, the teenager was clearly a Steinbeck fan—easy to tell as they zoomed past the shiny, pretty things and headed for the book section at the back of the shop. We stock some early editions of John Steinbeck, and the Czech father was visibly excited to find a vintage copy of The Red Pony to buy, lavishly illustrated, from the 1940s.

We’re used to foreign visitors in the gift shop, and the five we had that morning were talkative and friendly.

While the little English girl and her mum were occupied with the gift shop’s amazing dollhouse replica of Steinbeck House, one of our most popular not-for-sale items, John and I got to talking with the husband, who asked us what our favorite Steinbeck novel happened to be. We answered East of Eden, and he said he loved it, too. Then I mentioned that the first time I read the novel I dreaded getting to the end because I didn’t want the story to stop. The man’s response caught me by surprise: “Oh, my wife never did finish it for that reason.” I thought he was joking and turned to his wife. Yes, she said, ” I just didn’t want to know the end of those characters” after grieving over the death of Sam Hamilton, John Steinbeck’s grandfather, earlier in the story. Like me, she was familiar with the expression “book hangover,” which I confessed that I experienced when I finished reading East of Eden.

Like me, the woman from England was familiar with the expression “book hangover,” which I confessed that I experienced when I finished reading East of Eden.

Gift shop sales support the operation and maintenance of the house memorialized by John Steinbeck in East of Eden, and we were busy that morning. I would have welcomed more fan chat with the English couple, the Czech father, and the other bluebirds who visited during the day. Most of our out-of-town and foreign visitors on package tours of the Salinas-California area are focused on the rich history and Victorian architecture of the Steinbeck home. When lovers of Steinbeck’s fiction identify themselves, it’s a heartening reminder that our work helps to keep the house open and running. I’ve had other memorable experiences in the gift shop. But the standout will always be the English lady who couldn’t bring herself to finish East of Eden—not because it bored her, but because she loved the characters too much. I hope that some day she allows herself to read all the way to the end. Like the Steinbeck House, it’s graceful and glorious and gladdening.

Photo of Steinbeck House gift shop interaction by Angela Posada.