King Louis L’Amour

by Samuel Ben White

When a Louis L’Amour character walks down a street, you get the sense that—if you were suddenly placed on that street yourself—you’d know where to go because he’s already laid it out so well for you. That trail through the mountains? You could find it from his directions.

L’Amour wrote about how, in preparation for his books, he would pour over old maps and journals. I’m sure this helped, but what comes through on every page is that he actually walked the paths he talked about or rode a horse over the hills he describes. With every sentence, the reader thinks, “This guy has been here. I may not get to walk those paths myself, but I feel like I have, because The Guide walked me over them with his words.”

So, how did I get on the path of this incredible guide with the (for a writer known primarily for westerns) unexpected name of Louis L’Amour? My father is and always has been a voracious reader. It must be in my genes, for I am the same way. In the late elementary years, I began to notice that one of the authors he was reading frequently was Louis L’Amour. I noticed this because my older sister had begun to put together her own collection of Louis L’Amour paperbacks.

One of our phones was in her room, so I would sit there, talking to friends (or, more accurately, listening to them talk about their “girlfriends” [something I didn’t have at the time]) and looking at that rack of paperback books with intriguing names like “Over on the Dry Side” and “Guns of the Timberlands”. Hearing her talk with my father, I came to know names like “Tell Sackett” and “Milo Talon” and felt like I knew them pretty well before I even picked up a book. (And I would one day name both of my sons after Sacketts, but could never talk my wife into letting “Sackett” be the middle name.)

I had missed out on the “golden age of westerns” on TV. By the time I came along, only “Gunsmoke” was left, but I remember watching it faithfully every week—and in reruns when the station out of Dallas would show it—and my love of cowboys and cow country culture was cultivated. Without the westerns on TV, though, where could I turn?

Seventh grade. That was the year I finally read a Louis L’Amour book myself. I think the first one was “Catlow”. I guess I liked it because I read the other fifty-plus Louis L’Amour books my sister had before I was out of junior high, as well as “The Lord of the Rings”, “Centennial” and every “Star Trek” or “Star Wars” book I could find. And I couldn’t figure out why I still couldn’t connect with the girls.

Part of that was because I wanted a woman like the women in L’Amour’s world. They were pretty, of course, but they were also strong and independent and they could ride and shoot as well as any man—all while maintaining their composure and virtue. I wanted the rest of the L’Amour life: long desert vistas, hard work done by strong backs, and battles that weren’t for glory but for right. As I read about sixteen year old boys leading trail drives or fighting to protect the family land I lamented that there were no such opportunities in my twentieth century west Texas upbringing.

Not that I would have taken them if they had appeared. I know now that I was too timid. The glorious charges on horseback were for people who weren’t afraid of horses (not to mention bullets!) and the fair maidens were won—they rarely ever threw themselves at the quiet guy in the back of the room scribbling furiously on stories of his own.

It’s been said by more than one observer that the western, or “cowboy story”, is uniquely American and that each generation of Americans re-writes it not to explain or explore the Old West but to try and make a comment about the current culture with a familiar venue. I find this comforting because I would hate to think that the west was really as it is written now: full of debauchery and mayhem and amoral horndogs.

I want the west of Louis L’Amour. A day when men protected women and the women walked side-by-side with their men. A day when a man didn’t just turn in a good day’s work for the boss, he worked from “can see to can’t see” to make the boss’s spread a better place and with an idea of building a spread of his own. A day when people thought the chivalry of Sir Walter Raleigh was how a gentleman ought to conduct himself and where even a man’s enemies were accorded respect. A day when people held the printed word in high esteem and thought bettering oneself through reading was a virtuous thing.

I can have that time any time I want, because the books are right there on my shelf, close at hand. I think it’s time to take one down.

[Coming soon: my epic novel of the old west: “Overstreet”. Available on Kindle and Nook. Read more about it at www.garisonfitch.com!]

Here's the final cover for my new western novel (coming in July). Artwork by Mike Ray of Ink Tycoon!

Thinking of having him re-do all my covers. What do you think?

Now on Twitter

As a writer, I know I'm nothing without you readers. I appreciate your buying and reading and word-of-mouthing. Just wanted to let you know I am now on Twitter. Look for "GarisonFitch" and followed my latest musings ... 140 characters at a time.

And don't forget to read my latest novel: the Return of the Nice Guy. Bat Garrett has been hired by a woman to find out why her husband was murdered. His investigation takes him through an amateur archeological society in Dallas and onto the mesas of the ancient puebloans in SW Colorado! Just 99 cents!

Western Vista

Here's what the town of Como, Colorado (the setting for my new novel "Overstreet") looked like in the early 1900s.

Imagine it twenty years before when the tents occupied by miners swelled the population to almost ten thousand. If you were to see it today, you'd notice that it's not much more populated than in this picture. In fact, the amazing thing may be that it's still there at all, with it's lack of commerce and industry.

There was a time, though, when it was teeming with people and was even one of the three finalists for the capitol of Colorado. "Overstreet" is about John Overstreet, but you'll learn a bit about Como as you read. It's an exciting story of boom and, sadly, bust.

Would I move there? In a heartbeat.

Louis L'Amour

Ornithologists tell us that the reason flamingos are pink is because they eat so much shrimp. Likewise, if any of my writing seems similar to Louis L'Amour's, it's not so much out of a conscious effort but just because I have ingested so much of his work (having read every one of his works many times over). I don't feel guilty about this because even so great a luminary as CS Lewis said he had probably never written anything where he didn't quote--directly or indirectly--from George MacDonald.

My forthcoming novel "Overstreet" may seem to be my most obvious paean to L'Amour just because it's a western, but--honestly--I didn't sit there and write chapter after chapter asking myself "What would Louis write?" The connection I see between my novel and L'Amour is that, at the end of so many of his books, I'm thinking, "What next? I want to know what happened next!!"

One of the main threads of this story is that John Overstreet has killed the son of a prominent west Texas rancher in self-defense. But what happens next when that is (mostly) resolved? I take the opportunity to follow a life into the adventures that follow the one where the book usually stops. I believe I finish with a story that becomes more compelling (and fulfilling) as it reaches its denouement.

Como

I was stringing some fence near Como, Colorado, a couple decades ago when, way back in the forest, I tripped. I started looking for what I had tripped over and, when I had cleared away the brush, found the outline of a small cabin.

Emphasis on small.

Back in it's day, it must have only been about eight foot by eight foot in size. When I found it, all that was left was an outline, two logs high. It was located about equidistant from the (still existing) town of Como and the (long gone and mostly forgotten) town of Hamilton. Both were mining towns, and both sported some pretty impressive populations and accomplishments during their day.

So it made me wonder: who had built that cabin? Was it someone who worked in one town or the other, but liked a little bit of privacy? Could it have just been a tool shed and, if so, had there been another, larger building nearby that I never found?

Usually, when I see an old house--big or small--I wonder about who might have once lived there. I picture the owners moving in proudly, excited about the life they were building and the dreams they had. That little cabin, though, I always had it in my mind that it was just built by some miner. Someone who was just trying to make his living before heading to another strike. Maybe he only occupied it one winter, or maybe not even that long. Maybe he just threw it up long enough to last out another month or two before heading to better climes for the winter.

I've thought a lot about that cabin, and who might have been there, and it played no small part in inspiring my novel "Overstreet".

A Western Cover

This cover was created by Mike Ray, a graphic designer from South Carolina who acquaintance I made back when we were both drawing comic strips for the same newspaper in central Texas. The final version for the novel will be slightly different, but this ought to give you a feel for it.

I've spent a lot of days (and nights) walking the streets of Como, Colorado, where the story is set and sleeping on the ground where the protagonist--John Overstreet--finds his fortune, and his life. As I read back through the story now, I'm back on those pine-needle-covered grounds. I hope the reader will be, too.