Edward Abbey & Friends, University of New Mexico (1956-1957) Ch. 4
“Long live literature and reading!” – Jimbo Forrest
“I’m not afraid to die” – Ralph Newcomb
“Sure a lot of noise here!” – Edward Abbey
Jimbo Forrest –
“When I knew Ed Abbey, talked
with him, walked with him, and drank with him, he didn’t talk very
much. He was always listening, I was sure, and thinking, but I cannot
remember really having a conversation with him. Reading Jack Loeffler’s
book “adventures with Ed (a portrait of Abbey)”,
I can see that Ed was a serious introvert, and a very shy, deep
thinker. (By contrast, I have been a talker, teacher, radio announcer,
TV newscaster, narrator, master of ceremonies, interpreter
[Spanish-English], etc.) Ed was tall. I short. As the only two graduate
students of philosophy at University of New Mexico in 1954-1956, there
was so much contrast between us.
After skimming through parts of Ed’s journals, titled “Confessions of a Barbarian”,
I am now reading the book, slowly, in proper order, underlining
countless passages. One sentence after the other informs me now that Ed
really was a deep thinker. He put his thoughts into his journals, and
later into his many published works. I first met Ed in September 1954.
Exactly fifty-five years later, in September 2019, I’m beginning to
understand who he was.”
Author’s Note –
According to his friend and biographer, Jack Loeffler, Ed was hard of
hearing, which progressed with age. People who cannot hear well often
pretend that they can and just listen. No one wants to act the fool
(Ed’s book, “Fool's Progress”?).
Showing some simple attention to another human can make one look more
intelligent. As we know, Ed was an avid reader. He preferred solitude,
which did not require listening or speaking, except to “himself”.
Jimbo Forrest –
“I
was at the University of New Mexico philosophy department with Ed for
only two years, from 1954-55. After that, we went separate ways to
different places, but we did run into each other by chance a couple of
times after that.
In the school year 1957-58, I taught English at Española High School, in
Espanola, New Mexico, 25 miles or so north of Santa Fe. Being
extremely frustrated with the principal of the school while there, I
took up shooting a .22 rifle almost every day after school. I put an
old Sears catalogue next to the house (we were in a rural area), and
filled it full of .22 bullets.
Hunting season came, and I heard my students talking about getting
“their” deer. One kid told me he had a 30-30. Well, I went to the
general store and bought one, on credit. That made a louder bang, and
tore up the catalogs faster.
I went to a hunting area with an old friend, and we trudged along.
Before too long, a deer ran across a ravine below me. After all of the
practice shooting catalogs, I made a kill. (I still feel guilty about
that, and would never do it again.) Ralph Newcomb had told me before
that if I killed a deer, he would 
help me cut it up, if he could have part of it. Deal made. Both of our families had venison for some time.
Jump ahead a year or two (I have no idea when it was), I was at the UNM
campus (can’t remember why) and Ed Abbey walked by me. I hadn’t seen
him for some time. We chatted awhile, and I asked him if he was
interested in a deer hunt. He said he could probably borrow a deer
rifle from a friend, and we could meet the next day.
We met, and drove to a hunting area. He went one way, I another, and we
agreed to meet back at the same spot in an hour or two. My hunt showed
no tracks, no scat, and no deer. I returned to our meeting spot. Ed had
not yet returned. We had bought a 6-pack of beer, and left it there
before we went on our hunt.
Waiting
for Ed, I had a beer. (Maybe two?) What to do with the can(s)? Throw
them as far ahead as possible. What to do next? Shoot at the cans, of
course. A few minutes later Ed dragged in, bereft of any venison. His
first comment was, “Sure a lot of noise!” reminded me of actor James
Stewart, who would also speak in a laconic manner.
We sat awhile, finished off the beer, said nothing important, and
parted. I believe I saw Ed two more times: once by chance, once by
design.
Jimbo Forrest – Regarding Ralph Newcomb
“Now
back to my memories of Ralph Newcomb. When my first wife was pregnant
with our first child, drunken Ralph came to our house in North
Albuquerque. For reference, our child was born August 2, 1957.
Ralph
saw LIFE magazines on our coffee table. He grew angry, resentful, loud,
claiming that was ‘NOT LIFE’, or some such thing, and swiped them off
the table strongly with his arm. I knew then he was trouble, with a
“capital T”. I motioned my wife into the bedroom right next to the
living room, told her to keep the door closed and not to say anything.
Maybe that is when I grabbed my camera and took the photo of Ralph in
the chair, pointing his finger of accusation at me. He announced
something about his polio crippling him, and that he was going to
overcome it, or he would kill himself… something like that.
Shortly after that, he stood up, removed his jacket and rolled up his
left sleeve. He then took out his buck knife, opened it, and declared
that he was not afraid to die (or some such thing). With a large swing,
he sliced open his forearm. A large spurt of blood shot out, up, and
down onto the (used) light gray carpet I had recently installed.
Later, he went outside, backed up against the wall, and shot his head
back against the window. The second time it worked, breaking one of the
panes. The windows were behind the curtains you see behind Ralph when
he was seated. Ralph had brought a friend with him (seen partially in
the image) whom I had never seen before, and seemed incapable of doing
anything. In that photo of Ralph and friend, there are two liquor
bottles. He said that they had been drinking all day, either tequila or
mescal, as I remember. Eventually the two departed.
Somehow,
I had a phone number (not clear to me now), and called the person who
had been with Ralph. He said that they had called the Bernalillo County
Sheriff. I asked if maybe someone could knock Ralph out before he
killed himself, or someone else. (This person was fairly big and
strong.) He said he had tried, but nothing fazed Ralph.
I remember this vividly, including the season of the year, but not what
happened subsequent, and whether I ever saw Ralph again. The idea of
Ralph & Ed floating down the Colorado in 1959, as stated earlier
makes me shake my head in wonderment. Of course, I didn’t keep up with
Ed or Ralph very much after I got married in August 1956 and had three
children between 1957 and 1965.”
End Part Four - To read Part Five, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By James McGillis at 12:23 PM | Personal Articles | Comments (0) | Link
