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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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1992-08-28
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BOOKS, Page 62The Beatnik's Wife
By R.Z. SHEPPARD
OFF THE ROAD
by Carolyn Cassady
Morrow; 436 pages; $22.95
"Beat Generation" was the label journalists slapped on a
diverse group of writers, poets and spaghetti-and-Chianti
bohemians who roosted in and around San Francisco's North Beach
during the 1950s. Strictly speaking, there were not enough of
them to qualify as a generation. But they had authentic roots
in American tradition and produced a voice or two that spoke
directly to the young and the restless -- even those who were
dutifully preparing to join the conventional middle class.
The strongest, most durable voice belonged to Allen
Ginsberg, whose poem Howl was taken up as the Beat manifesto.
The tribal saga was Jack Kerouac's On the Road, a novel that
celebrated, among other things, the nation's interstate highway
system.
Ginsberg and Kerouac were both Easterners who attended
Columbia University and then hit the road in search of direct
experience and spontaneity. They found it personified in Neal
Cassady, a Denver reform-school graduate and car thief with a
gift of gab and sexual electricity that connected with the boys
as well as the girls. Cassady and Ginsberg became lovers while
Kerouac embraced Cassady's bebop monologues as part of his own
prose style. Dean Moriarty, the hero and mobile savage of On
the Road, is Neal Cassady right down to his pedal foot. "He
was," wrote Kerouac early in the novel, "simply a youth
tremendously excited with life; and though he was a con man,
he was only conning because he wanted so much to live and to
get involved with people who would otherwise pay no attention
to him."
This is the Neal Cassady that beckons from his widow's
memoir 22 years after his death in Mexico at the age of 42.
That he survives Carolyn Cassady's recollections with some of
the legend intact suggests not only that a successful con man
sells what people want to buy but also that he must believe in
the pitch himself. For the author, who was an adventuresome
graduate of Bennington when she met Cassady in 1947, this meant
that life could be more exciting than settling down with a guy
named Bill. With a guy named Neal she got both excitement and
domestic drudgery. The title, Off the Road, refers mainly to
being bogged down trying to raise three children on a shoestring
while waiting for Neal to return from his latest motorized
jaunt.
Cassady was already married when he proposed to Carolyn. He
clearly loved and needed her, but he also needed to see his
estranged wife before and after their marriage was annulled.
Other Beat chroniclers have noted that Cassady had a surplus
of erotic energy. Carolyn recalls he was not an especially
sensitive lover. Sex, it appears, was less a private act
between two people than a plot element in the crowded drama he
lived from day to day. Carolyn played her part when Jack
Kerouac moved in. With her husband's tacit urging, she became
the novelist's lover. "I provided for whichever of them was in
residence according to his individual preferences," she writes
of that arrangement.
For those who still fancy the image of Cassady speeding
cross country -- muscled arm out the window of a Hudson Hornet,
Benzedrine inhaler in nostril -- it may come as a surprise to
learn how hard he worked, albeit sporadically, to support his
family. He was a brakeman for the Southern Pacific, a job that
required a quick mind and quicker feet. Later, fellow workers
at the Los Gatos Tire Co. marveled at his speed and skill with
iron and sledge.
Cassady's efforts to become a published writer never panned
out. He was too busy living his autobiography to write it. For
this reason he entered modern folklore through the eyes of
others, his adventures fictionalized or romanticized. By the
time he appears in Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
as the bus driver for Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters, he is an
aging parody of himself. Carolyn Cassady does not allow this
to happen in her book. Even when she is describing her former
husband at his most impossible, she never totally forgets the
possibilities of his youth. Others obviously felt the same way
and wanted a piece of Cassady, even in death. The author
understood, but kept good accounts. When his first wife, who
had been married to Cassady for only a year, requested a share
of his ashes, she received one tablespoonful.