By Steve Flairty
NKyTribune columnist
If you want to make it big in the writing world, Kentucky might be a good place to start.
Alfred Bertram “A.B.” Guthrie Jr. was a prolific 20th-century American writer who perhaps is best known for his western novels, including The Big Sky, The Way West, and These Thousand Hills, all highly acclaimed. He also wrote an informative autobiography, a couple of children’s books, a book of poetry, and screenplays for Shane and The Kentuckian.
Interestingly, he essentially launched his storied literary career in Lexington back in the 1920s. He started as a cub reporter at the Lexington Leader, becoming their city editor and an editorial writer, and worked at the newspaper for twenty-one years. While there, he penned his first novel, Murders at Moon Dance (which he actually didn’t like). He left the Leader in 1947 after The Big Sky was published to teach creative writing at the University of Kentucky. The Way West followed and in 1952, he left Lexington as a full-time writer and eventually found his way back to Montana, where he had spent most of his early life.
A significant part of Guthrie’s autobiography, The Blue Hen’s Chick (1965), is dedicated to his time in Lexington. I read the section, and illuminating stories abound. Guthrie’s remembrances of his Lexington times would make for a good book on their own.
He arrived in 1926 on a train paid for with a loan from a New York bank, and he had few earthly goods until he would start his tenure at the Leader. Needing a place to stay, an address he received from the local YMCA brought him to the boarding home of an elderly woman known affectionately as “Mary Lizzie.” The arrangements were quite modest and the rent was only $12 per week. Thankfully, the widow liked him, cooked his meals, and generally treated him as a beloved son. The landlady, having a colorful personality, is the subject of numerous anecdotes and her support provided a soft landing in a strange town for the 25-year-old fledgling journalist.
That said, he noted, at first, that the “Bluegrass landscape did not enchant me, though I was informed that it should.” But as Guthrie began to weave himself into the life of ongoing activities in Lexington and beyond, his thoughts, with “the revision of experience,” changed and he wrote: “So it was that I came to feel as much at home in Kentucky as in Montana.”
Guthrie as a college graduate (Photo from University of Montana, via Wikimedia Commons)
He shared a story about a Black man, James Herndon, called “Sweet Evening Breeze,” who captured the imagination of the town working in a local hospital. “Hospital folk, those in position to measure his talents, rated James the best of all orderlies,” wrote Guthrie. “No one else could administer so artful an enema.” James lived in a small house he kept immaculate with antiques. He was “effeminate in movement, response and, to a degree, dress” and often appeared in public wearing “clean, pressed hospital whites.” One account is that Breeze “was lowered from the ceiling of Woodland Auditorium, decked out in feminine frills, (and) he danced the Passion dance of the Bongo Bangoes.” All knew the loveable character, said Guthrie, “including outsiders with only a casual acquaintance with Lexington.”
The reader gets a fascinating look at the politics of the day in the bio, with Guthrie wondering “why good men—there were some of them—kept running for Senate or House.” He particularly admired U.S. Senator John Sherman Cooper, was somewhat lukewarm on Alben Barkley, and called Albert “Happy” Chandler “the most interesting, if not the best.” And Guthrie told funny stories about Kentucky governorship opponents A.O. Stanley and Edwin P. Morrow, who were known to enjoy each other’s company and even drink together. And the author even discusses vote-rigging in Kentucky’s political history.
Also, while living in Lexington, Guthrie provides a fascinating account of his fear of speaking, calling it “terror of utterance in public.” So, what did he do about it? Well, something admirable. He started by noting he had a baby son and didn’t want him raised “knowing his old man was chicken.” He organized a group of men “stricken like me” to support each other, and its name became the Lexington Speakeasy Club. After the initial meeting brought five, applicants were turned away when the number who came reached thirty and included many professional people. With the help of Readers Digest’s publicity, Guthrie’s idea spread around the country. Successful? Yes. And for that, he said, “I don’t and can’t poke fun, as many do, at Dale Carnegie courses and Toastmasters’ Clubs.”
In his later life back in Montana, he was a strong advocate for the preservation of western fauna and the environment. If you’re interested in reading novels about the Old West, Guthrie’s might be to your liking. The genre is not of my interest, but I sampled his prose and it is tight and easy to read — and won coveted awards.
And best of all, his work started in Lexington — then blessed others around the country as it spread.
Sources: The Blue Hen’s Chick (Guthrie’s autobiography, 1965); New York Times; The Kentucky Encyclopedia; Britannica.com; Wikipedia; bookseriesinorder.com; The Big Sky (Guthrie, 1947); The Way West (Guthrie, 1949).
I knew Bud and the rest of the family. Went to Montana with them in 1949 and had a great time. Nunny or Pete in Montana was a best friend. Bud would tell us bedtime stories that would make your hair stand on end.