On a January day – we don’t know the year – John Steinbeck wrote a long letter to Fred Zinnemann, a much-acclaimed film director and winner of three Academy Awards.
Maybe Steinbeck wrote the letter in 1966, when Zinnemann won the Oscar for directing “A Man for All Seasons,” an adaptation of Robert Bolt’s brilliant play on the life and death of Sir Thomas More.
Or perhaps he wrote it much earlier, when Zinnemann was being honored for films now considered classics, among them “High Noon” and “From Here to Eternity.”
The letter, on Steinbeck’s favored yellow lined paper, begins with the words, “Dear Fred – some notes on John L . . .” Steinbeck goes on to describe `John L’ as “very gregarious, loves company of people, animals and other birds and will talk endlessly if encouraged. Darkness will silence him, however.”
.
John L was not, as you have surmised, a person. He was a talking myna bird, and Steinbeck was making a gift of him to Zinnemann.
When the late Thomas Steinbeck saw the letter some years ago, he laughed and said, “Sometimes my father did not tell the whole truth through omission. He’s not giving Fred the full picture here. John L could be a handful!”
But John Steinbeck did admit there was at least one issue with John L. After making the case of the myna bird’s cleanliness and charm, he wrote to Zinnemann, “On the other hand, he throws his food.”
Then concludes, after giving an example of such food throwing, “That’s all I can think of right now. I hope you will find him as interesting as I have. Sincerely, John.”
One assumes Zinnemann must have “met” John L before giving him a new home. If so, was it in the Steinbecks’ Manhattan apartment or Sag Harbor home?
I regret I didn’t ask Thomas that, or when he thought his father had written the letter, and when he thought John L relocated from New York to Zinnemann’s home in Southern California?
Also, who did Thomas Steinbeck think John L was named for? Was it, perhaps, John L. Sullivan, the 19th century bare knuckles fighter? Or, more likely, legendary labor leader John L. Lewis, president of the United Mine Workers of America?
The letter came to me from the late Paul Soifer, a passionate collector of art and anything Steinbeck. Before Paul, the letter had been sold by Christie’s in a 2006 auction of fine printed books and manuscripts. Who consigned it to Christie’s, I have no idea, perhaps a Zinnemann’ descendant.
The letter began to haunt me. I imagined John L in Steinbeck’s New York homes, whether the Sag Harbor house or the Manhattan apartment. I wondered about John L’s life with Steinbeck and his wife Elaine before he found a new home with Zinnemann.
Writing a play on Steinbeck, I found myself making John L an offstage presence. In one scene, Steinbeck is being visited by a visage called the Gaunt Man, a sympathetic combination of Tom Joad and Ed Ricketts who visits Steinbeck when the author subconsciously calls for him, usually in moments of deep concern.
This time it’s night and a menacing figure who opposes what Steinbeck writes and stands for is closing in. This person has made threatening phone calls. And Steinbeck calls him “the man with the soft voice.”
In the play Steinbeck, looking out over the Manhattan night skyline from his and Elaine’s apartment, describes his fears to the Gaunt Man, who replies –
Gaunt Man: That’s why Elaine’s not here? You’re worried about her safety?
Steinbeck (Nodding): Yes – sent Elaine off to friends for a few days
A Voice (Suddenly, from off, plaintive tone): Elaine! Elaine!
They both look toward hallway
Gaunt Man: That John L? Wondered where he was.
Steinbeck: In my writing room. He heard us say her name. Elaine’s his favorite.
Gaunt Man: Why not bring him out?
Steinbeck: I don’t want John L here . . . not now . . .
Gaunt Man (Looks at him speculatively): `The man with the soft voice?’
Steinbeck (Nods): Be the same as a child seeing it . . . animals know death better than we do . . . and he might harm John L . . . likely find pleasure doing that.
John L (Calling again, urgently): John, Elaine, John!
Gaunt Man (Looking toward hallway): Hard to ignore him calling for you like that . . .
Steinbeck (Morosely): I know . . .
They hear footsteps off.
Steinbeck and the Gaunt Man turn, stare at the door.
Steinbeck picks up revolver from desk.
Gaunt Man looks at him, then back to door.
John L. (More urgently): John, Elaine, John!
Steinbeck looks toward hallway.
The door is tried.
Steinbeck stares at door.
The Gaunt Man looks at him, then back at the door as the knob turns slowly.
Lights dim. . .
Zinnemann saw a lot of conflict and tragedy in his life. Several years younger than Steinbeck, he was born in in Austria-Hungary in 1907 and grew up in Vienna during World War I. His father served as a medic in the war and Zinnemann remembered him traumatized by the experience. Then his parents were murdered in Poland during World War II. If there is a sense of foreboding in some of Zinnemann’s films, such as that in “High Noon,” it’s understandable.
A few other fine films he directed in later years were “The Day of the Jackal,” about an assassination attempt of Charles DeGaulle, and “Julia,” based on the writings of American playwright Lillian Hellman. Hellman took an opposing stance to Steinbeck in the case of Elia Kazan cooperating with the House on Unamerican Activities, and Zinnemann and Steinbeck might have had some discussions on that, although it was almost a decade after Steinbeck’s death that Zinnemann made “Julia.”
Giving John L to Zinnemann was likely a disappointment for Steinbeck, perhaps an idea – a fantasy – that didn’t work out.
Because in “Conversations with John Steinbeck,” New York Times drama critic Lewis Nichols wrote that Steinbeck’s Manhattan apartment writing room was “a very quiet room. For companionship, Mr. Steinbeck would like to get a myna bird. With a tape recorder he would teach this bird to ask questions, never answer, just ask.”
Perhaps John L stopped asking questions – or had too many.
The Nichols’ interview took place in 1952, which happens to also be the year “High Noon” was released and “East of Eden” published.
Zinnemann died in 1997.
We don’t know about John L, but twelve to twenty-five years is considered the usual life span for a kept myna bird.
