Meeting John Steinbeck

[donaldzlotnik]

Meeting John Steinbeck, Author

It was late summer 1966, I had just finished two very difficult military schools back-to back; Special Forces Enlisted Training Group and Artillery Officer’s Candidate School. I was finishing up a third very difficult course at the Monterey Language School on the coast of California.
Upon graduation from the language school, I had orders directly to the 5th Special Forces Group in Vietnam. I was in superb physical condition and ran ten miles every morning along the beaches at Monterey and along the spectacular coastal residential roads before classes.
On the weekends, I would drive along the Pacific Coast Highway looking for rest stops where I could rappel down the cliffs and free climb back to the top. One Saturday I found a beautiful site over-looking a cliff dropping down to a crescent-shaped beach. There was a FOR SALE sign off the main highway and a paved road leading back to where the flat foundation from where a house or cabin had been. A couple of cars were parked off to one side hidden from sight, and I could hear surfers talking on the beach about a hundred feet below.
I checked out the cliff and decided to rappel down it using the back bumper of my 1966 Mustang as an anchor. I free rappelled down the cliff and spent a few minutes on the private beach enjoying the sea air and watching the kids surf.
There was an old stairs on the side of the cliff the surfers used, but I decided to practice free climbing back to the top and found out halfway up the foot, and handholds were unreliable and I had a difficult time. When I reached the top, I saw a man sitting on an overhang watching me. He had a short beard and was holding an apricot French poodle. Behind him was a maroon and black Rolls Royce, I assumed was his. The look, the dog and the car all spelled homosexual to this very arrogant highly trained Special Forces second lieutenant.
He smiled and said hi. I nodded and started retrieving my nylon climbing rope. He made small talk about rappelling, and I said as few words as possible trying to ignore him. He mentioned his son was in Vietnam and had taken a discharge and stayed over there as a Buddhist monk. I gave him the high-eyebrows indicating to him; I did not approve of hippies or the peace groupies. He smiled and told me he was trying to get a passport to visit Vietnam. I found that interesting and we talked for a few more minutes, and then I suddenly realized—seeing him sitting on the rock with the dog—“Travels with Charlie”—I had just read the book.
He saw the light come on in my eyes, and his whole demeanor changed—he now was the one becoming aloof. When I asked him, “Aren’t you John Steinbeck…” He nodded and turned to leave. I tried talking to him, but he went over to his Rolls-Royce and drove off.
I read had every one of Steinbeck’s books from “Grapes of Wrath” to “Travels with Charlie.” He was my favorite American author.
It was a very hard lesson; one should treat strangers with kindness. It took a few more encounters before I learned that lesson.

[dpats24]

I bet you're kicking yourself in the posterior for that gaffe!

[peprica21]

Thank you for sharing this story! How amazing to meet Steinbeck during an ordinary routine activity, turning your whole perspective around.