A tribute to Tony Hillerman,
by Craig
Johnson
There was an owl on one of the teepee poles at my ranch last night and, if
you're lucky enough to live
adjacent to Indian Country, you pay attention to such things. The
Cheyenne see the owls as messengers from the other
side, and I couldn't help but wonder who it was that was sending
something a little more than special
delivery.
I always thought he looked a little like an owl, even before I met him. The
way the tufts of hair perched
up on his head and the pointed nosebut most of all it was the eyes;
not so much the eyes of an eagle because those
carry a self-concern, but more like the eyes that see past
self-interest.
He was 83, and he lived in Albuquerque with, in his own words "now-and-then
rhematic arthritis,
in-remission cancer, a minor heart-attack, a mediocre eye, one tricky
ankle and two unreliable knees
" He
began teaching at the University of New Mexico in 1967 and, with a wife
and six children, he struggled to make ends meet.
The story goes that he was typing away in his office late one night and
an associate enthused, "You must be the
hardest working professor we have here at the University."
He looked up with the twinkle his eyes always carried, his glasses perched
at the end of his nose.
"Actually, I'm writing a book."
Undaunted, the woman remarked. "How wonderful, what's it about?"
"It's a mystery."
She was crest-fallen. "With all your knowledge of Navajo art, culture,
society and historywhy
are you wasting your time writing a mystery novel?"
His response, like the man, was eloquent and authentic. "Because I want
someone to read the darned
thing, that's why."
I was fortunate enough to win a short story award in combination with the
writing conference that is named
after him and Cowboys & Indians Magazine. Hed written seventeen books
in his series when I met him,
was a New York Times best-selling fixture, and had won every award you
can imagine. I'd written one novel
and was facing the daunting task of trying to write my second, so I
asked him how you keep it fresh. He smiled the small
grin that reflected the admiration, adoration, and respect that
everyone had for him. "At the risk of sounding like
a bad sports analogy, you gotta write 'em one at a timeand just
remember to tell a good story." It is
invaluable advice.
At a time when you usually have to beg most big-time authors to remember
what it was like when they were
climbing up the ladder, he wrote me a blurb for not only my first
novel, but my second, because he said he'd enjoyed
them so much. I still have the voice message on my answering machine
where he read the jacket quote because his email was
on the fritz. "Umm, Craig, I can't get this email thingy to work, so I
thought I'd just call you and tell
you what to put on your book
"
One of the last times I saw him was when he was being feted at the Los
Angeles Times. They gave
him their Life Achievement Award, and the hall where he was interviewed
was standing room only, and the line to have him
sign his books was about a mile long. He was a storyteller whose
owl-like eyes saw further than the genre and farther
than himself.
Perhaps the best words to describe his legacy are those of his protagonist
Jim Chee, "Everything is
connected. The wing of the corn beetle effects the direction of the
wind, the way the sand drifts, the way the light
reflects into the eye of man beholding his reality. All is part of
totality, and in this totality man finds his horzo,
his way of walking in harmony, with beauty all around him."
Tony Hillerman (1925-2008)
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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