Monterey - the soul of Steinbeck country

California, the State. San Francisco, the city. Monterey,canning companies would, by dint of financial muscle,
the town. John Steinbeck, the author. For thisbully their way into ownership or control of all of the
Steinbeck fan, San Francisco is quite close to heaven.agricultural land in the area. Steinbeck was right to be
From San Francisco it is an easy drive down theworried. For that is what has come to pass.Sad also
peninsula to Santa Cruz and into Steinbeck territory.I flyto realize that the year 'Cannery Row' was published,
into San Francisco airport late in the afternoon. The1945, was the year the sardine fishing industry of
signs are immediate America. 'No Ped Xing', 'SqueezeMonterey died. As Steinbeck said at a later time: 'They
right', 'Occupation by more than 132 persons unlawful'.are fishing for tourists now.' In the heyday of Monterey
From Rent-a-Wreck I collect a Chevrolet in two tonesthere were eighteen canneries, 100-odd fishing boats,
-- cat-sick green and vile yellow. A veritable4,000 workers, three gaudy brothels and a terrible
pimpmobile. And was it not in a car like this I drove intosmell of dead fish. Now, nearly all are gone.(It used to
San Francisco for the 1967 Summer of Love, to followbe that Monterey, and nearby Salinas where he was
Timothy Leary's instructions to 'turn on, tune in, andborn, was angry and ashamed of John Steinbeck. In
drop out'?1944, after the success of 'The Grapes of Wrath'
It was. And was it not in very much the sameSteinbeck bought a house in Monterey; no one would
automobile I parked outside the City Lights Bookstorerent him an office for writing. He was harassed when
and went in and listened to Ginsberg recite 'Howl' andtrying to get fuel and wood from a local wartime
got Jack Kerouac to sign my copy of 'The Dharmarations board. He wrote that his old friends did not
Bums'? It was. This antediluvian American monster iswant him, partly because of his works and partly
the car of my youth. Be damned to the characterlessbecause he was so successful: 'This isn't my country
compacts of today. (It is a sad reflection on progressanymore. And it won't be until I am dead. It makes me
that the Rent-a-Wreck franchise now rents modernvery sad.' He late wrote: 'After I had written "The
compacts.)Now I drive across Highway 92 and itsGrapes of Wrath" . . . the librarians at the Salinas Public
beguiling signs leading to San Jose along the CaminoLibrary, who had known my folks remarked that is
Real -- the Royal Road. (Yes, I know the way to Sanwas lucky my parents were dead so that they did not
Jose and a sterile, dreary city it is.)Swing on tohave to suffer this shame.'In truth, the whole American
Highway 1, America's very own Pacific Highway, whichliterary establishment should fry in hell for their
takes me down the peninsula and along the coast, thetreatment of this author. When Steinbeck won the
rugged, rocky coast on the right, the remains ofNobel Prize for literature in 1962 he was damned in
cypress forests on my left - and goes through Santanewspapers with faint praise. 'The New York Times' in
Cruz to Monterey. Coming back, I will use Highway 9particular should hang its head in shame.)Now there is
which is a backroad, in spite of the grandiose title, anda National Steinbeck Center in Salinas, about 25 km
follow the San Lorenzo river up, up into the Santainland from Monterey. It is not for me. I am not of the
Cruz mountains and then through the magnificence ofschool who thinks these things can be packaged,
California redwoods in the Henry Cowell Redwoodstarted up, represented. Of itself the center says:
State Park.If I have enough time, on the way back I will'Discover Steinbeck's works and philosophy through
stop at Felton on Highway 9 and ride on a steam traininteractive, multisensory exhibits for all ages and
for an hour of nostalgia on the wondrously namedbackgrounds, priceless artifacts, entertaining displays,
Roaring Camp and Big Trees narrow-gauge railwayeducational programs and research archives. Seven
line. No railway line of my youth ever swooped throughthemed theaters showcase "East of Eden", "Cannery
stands of redwoods; it is true that only God could haveRow", "Of Mice and Men", "The Grapes of Wrath" and
made these trees, one of which is within spit of beingmuch more.' That is not my scene.Yet we can still see
a hundred meters tall.No train in the darkness of thethe old Cannery Row if we look with care.This morning
Rhondda Valley in Wales puffed like the 'Little RedI go to Foam Street, where the true Cannery Row
Engine' -- I think I can, I think I can -- up one of thestarts. I stand silently on the stone pilings of the
steepest railway gradients in the world to Beardeserted loading dock. A pleasant melancholy. It would
Mountain.But that is on the morrow. Today is forhave been better if I had delayed my visit by a couple
blessed Monterey. Robert Louis Stevenson inof months. For this is the end of summer and the
travel-book mode wrote of Monterey in a fish-hookweather is still too warm, too pleasant for my mood.
simile as being 'cosily ensconced beside the barb'. (AtCannery Row needs a touch of cold damp in the air
the time Stevenson was skulking around Monterey,for true dismal authenticity. And it is wrong that I should
waiting for the divorce of the light of his life, Fannybe here on a Saturday. Thursday, Sweet Thursday, is
Osbourne.) Much earlier than Stevenson, Gaspar desurely the only day to visit Monterey. But how can we
Portola and the intrepid explorer for God, Fatherchange a business itinerary for literary
Junipero Serra, claimed Monterey for Spain and therequirements?Much in Monterey remains the same,
Holy Catholic Church by establishing a fort and amuch has changed. La Ida Cafe of blessed memory is
mission in 1777. Now I claim it, yet again, for myself.Thenow Kalisa's, down from my hotel at 851 Cannery
sea as I drive down the coast road is white with rageRow. Wing Chong Market, at 835, has been
and foam. A hurricane has been creating havoc attransmogrified into the Old General Store and the
sea and in Mexico. This is the dying fringe of the storm.building that once held Doc Rickett's Marine Lab still
Waves slam against the rocky coast and burst instands at 800 Cannery Row. Last time I was here it
white flags to mark the route ahead. I see no sea lionswas a private club and I managed to smooth-talk my
or seals as I did last year. Perhaps the sea is tooway in. This morning it seems sadly deserted and I am
rough. Perhaps they have a shelter where they hidetold it is owned by the city of Monterey and the public
from the big waves. Perhaps.I am staying at theis not welcome.Do not confuse this, the genuine article,
Monterey Bay Inn simply because of its address, 242with Doc Rickett's Lab, which is a restaurant at 180 E
Cannery Row. From here, last night, I walked past theFranklin Street, and is not the sort of place Doc Rickett
appalling tourist mockery that is Fisherman's Wharf --would have dined at, but didn't.When I have finished
what sins are committed for the tourist dollar -- and onwriting, I will stroll down to Sancho Panza for lunch. This
to the Municipal Wharf at the end of Figuero Street.restaurant is in an adobe building built in 1841 in Calle
This is where the real fishing fleet is moored; wherePrincipal -- Main Street. There, in the crowded,
the buildings are designed for work, not tourist, and thelow-ceilinged room, I will drink Mexican Corona beer
pelicans stalk the fish-smelling docks and landings. Purewith slices of lime and eat chile con carne con frijoles
Steinbeck.Last night I dreamed I was Doc Rickett andand remember John Steinbeck, the writer who gave
that I still worked in my laboratory among theme the smell, the feel, the reality of Monterey when I
wonderful desperates of 'Cannery Row'. This morning,was a small boy in Wales.Gareth Powell runs, among
over breakfast, I consider sadly the strong moralother sites, Travel Hopefully - - and has been a travel
purpose that ran through all of John Steinbeck'swriter and editor for far too long.
'Cannery Row' novels. He was worried the major