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HomeMy Public PortalAboutFisher, VardisMOUNTAIN MAN Chris Chung/The Idaho Statesman Tom Trusky, director of The Idaho Center for the Book, has examined thousands of books donated to the center by Vardis Fisher. Collection overwhelms beneficiaries It has taken nearly two years to go through the estate of Vardis Fisher and Opal Laurel Holmes. By Tim Woodward The Idaho Statesman When the reclusive widow of author Vardis Fisher died alone at her forbid- ding home in the Boise Front, no one knew the extent of the literary fortune hidden inside. The result --- papers and books from a man credited with the first signifi- cant fiction from the Rocky Mountain region — has overwhelmed and de- lighted its recipients. Investigators found Opal Laurel Holmes' body on July 30, 1994, in a basement room of a dilapidated home obscured by overgrown trees and shrubs. Drawn drapes and "keep out" signs discouraged visitors. Rooms were strewn with unopened mail and uncashed checks. Trails wound through towering stacks of books. Holmes, 80, rarely left her cluttered refuge, where she survived in part on royalties from a Robert Redford movie based on one of her husband's books. It has taken nearly two years to examine her effects and settle her es- tate, with Boise State University, Yale University and Albertson College of Idaho emerging this month as the pri- mary literary beneficiaries. Yale will get Fisher's papers, includ- ing personal and business correspon- dence and two unpublished manuscripts. "One of them has some appeal," Grant Fisher, the late author's son, said Thursday. "I think it might do 771( /ciah- G/17/9G fagr 44- o f 2 tugis quite well if it were published."' Its title is "A Whore and Sev- en Men." Albertson College and The Idaho Center for the Book at BSU are the recipients of Fish- er's published books and part of his enormous book collection. BSU also received some books through a special arrangement with the University of Idaho. Fisher's books join a partial collection of his papers previ- ously given to BSU, which also is the repository for the papers of former Gov. Cecil D. Andrus and Sens. Frank Church and Len Jordan. Its Idaho Writers Archives contains papers and memorabilia of writers from Ted Trueblood to Ernest Hem- ingway. Center for the Book Director Tom Trusky has spent much of the past week examining the Fisher windfall, a daunting task. s'I'm exhausted," he said. "`There were at least 250 cases of books, in addition to 75 boxes from previous shipments. We had a huge truck that was just overflowing." Albertson College received a similar quantity. ,At an average of 35 books per case, BSU's collection would number more than 11,000 vol- umes. By latest count, they in- cluded 28 of Fisher's 36 published titles. Twenty-one of the 28 are long out of print and highly val- ued by collectors. Each school also received a first -edition set of all of Fisher's works. Born in a cottonwood shack in eastern Idaho in 1895, Fisher rose from poverty to earn degrees from the University of Chicago and become Idaho's leading literary figure. A New York Times reviewer ranked his "Dark Bridwell," a n Boie State University is considering issuing a cata- log of books from the new Vardis Fisher collection. Meanwhile, information about the books is available and orders may be placed by calling the BSU Bookstore at 385-4031. Outside Idaho, call 1-800-992-TEXT. 1933 novel set in Idaho, among the 10 best American novels ever written. Fisher, who died in 1968, also wrote an acerbic weekly column appearing in a number of Idaho newspapers. It was the source of his nickname, "Old Irascible." For the reading public, the Holmes -Fisher estate provides long -denied access to Fisher's work. The eccentric Holmes inherited her husband's copyrights and re- printed some of his books, but literally sat on them in her home, rarely parting with volumes regu- larly requested by distributors and dealers. The difficult -to -find books commanded prices of up to $350 in the rare -book market. "They were really hard to get," said Nancy Oakes of the Book Shop, 906 W. Main St. "Other than the few that had been re- printed elsewhere, Opal was about the only source. People were always asking for them, so Jean (the store's longtime owner) would talk to Opal. She'd promise to bring them down, but then we'd never see them." Both BSU and Albertson Col- lege will offer books to the public. At BSU, the Idaho Writers Ar- chives will have first priority on those not currently in its collec- tion, including the first editions. Others will be sold at fair -market prices, providing relief to those long frustrated in their efforts to acquire Fisher's works. The books will go on the mar- ket immediately, through the In- ternet, the BSU Bookstore and periodicals. "We hope to put out a catalog and eventually have a Fisher dis- play," Trusky said. "Some of the books are very beautiful and would display exceptionally well." /t//fo c��- gs/nu`i - s=/7//99y Tim Woodward Death could help revive Fisher name The strange death of Opal Laurel Holmes was more than the demise of, as one of her neighbors put it, "a hermit married to a famous author and living off the royalties to a Robert Redford movie." It was the end of a unique chapter in Idaho history and, with foresight and coopera- tion, it could mean a new be- ginning for an Idaho legend. Holmes, whose body was discovered July 30 at her Boi- se home, was the third and last wife of the late Idaho novelist Vardis Fisher. Unequaled Without belittling those who carry on the tradition, it is only stating the facts to say that no other Idaho writer has come close to achieving what Fisher did. (Hemingway wasn't really an Idaho writer; his time in the state totaled about two years.) When Fisher died, he was working on his 37th and 38th books. His early novels, set in eastern Idaho, were ac- claimed in publications from the New Yorker to the Lon- don Times. A critic writing for the New York Times called his second book one of the 10 best American novels ever written. Like Wallace Stegner after him (Stegner was a student of Fisher's), he was known as the dean of Western novelists. For many writers, that would have been enough. For Fisher, it was a good begin- ning. Armed with a doctorate degree from the University of Chicago and a professorship at New York University, where he was a friend of Thomas Wolfe, he set about writing historical novels that established him as one of the nation's best in that genre. Then it was the "Testament of Man," a 12-book series ranked among the most ex- haustive undertakings in American literature. Add to that a psychological novel, investigative literature, poet- ry, essays, newspaper col- umns ... ordinary writers contemplating Fisher's out- put are moved to take long naps. His relationship with Holmes was in turns as tender and tempestuous as his writing. They met after she ended a relationship with a man who recited poetry to her. She thought she was in love with the man, but came to realize she was in love with the poetry. The poems were Fisher's. Their marriage wasn't all poetry. In a state filled with colorful characters, the Fish- ers were about as colorful as couples get. It wasn't for nothing that Fisher was known as "Old Irascible." Holmes, in her later years, was known as a hermit, living a reclusive life in the Boise home where she died, sur- rounded by mountains of books and literary papers. She was a kind, good-heart- ed woman, but a calamity as a publisher and promoter of her late husband's books. Many were allowed to go or stay out of print. Others were reprint- ed but never distributed. Of- fers from other publishers were rejected or ignored. At- tempts to collect Fisher's pa- pers, display his work and re- store their home at Hagerman as a memorial ran afoul of well-intentioned but fatal objections. Ideas wanted Now, the immediate ques- tion is what will become of the Fisher materials that were in her house. A bonanza for any university library. Family members are amena- ble to keeping them in Idaho. They also are interested in any proposals to preserve (re- store?) Fisher's legacy. Read- ers can send them here; I'll send them to the family. The address: P.O. Box 40, Boise, ID 83707. Or call the number below. ��1N /dal7o C...574-l{"/&_sig I o /2 //i/9s_ Batt proclaims week to honor Vardis Fisher Gov. Phil Batt has proclaimed March 31 through April 6 Var- dis Fisher week. Fisher has been called the "dean of Western nov- elists." He wrote 36 books, and the New York Times called his sec- ond book one of the 10 best ever written. Fisher was born March 31, 1895, in a one -room cottonwood cabin in the Antelope Hills country near Ririe. He didn't start school until he was 12 years old, but graduated with honors from the University of Chicago. He died in 1968. In proclaiming the week to honor Fisher, Batt said, "I urge Idahoans to honor and celebrate the life of this great man by reading his works and, in doing so, discover and learn to appre- " ciate the rich treasures of this , artist, who is one of Idaho's most outstanding authors." Vardis Fisher American novels /d(thJ � il? f`S/71Gr� - Idaho author left something to celebrate If you live in Idaho and like to read, you have an excuse to celebrate this week. Friday is an anniversary of more than passing signifi- cance to Idaho literature and journalism. It's the hundredth anniver- sary of the birth of Vardis Fisher. If your reading preferences favor best sellers, you're probably asking, "Who's Var- dis Fisher?" Let me introduce you. Fisher was born 100 years ago Friday in a cottonwood shack on the slope of what is now a gravel pit in eastern Idaho. His family was dirt poor; his parents never fin- ished grade school. When he was 6, they moved to a remote canyon. He was 12 before he saw the inside of a school. The collected reading mate- rials in the Fisher home wouldn't fill a kitchen drawer — the Bible, the Book of Mor- mon, a few dime novels. Their home was a two -room cabin with a dirt floor and roof and a door hinged with old shoes. Their beds were pine boughs. The boy who began his for - Tim Woodward mal education at 12, dressed in clothes made from his grandfather's Civil War uni- forms, graduated with honors from the University of Chica- go (Ph.D., summa cum laude). He taught English with Thomas Wolfe at New York University; his students at the University of Utah in- cluded Wallace Stegner, who credited Fisher with turning him toward a writing career. Known as "the dean of Western novelists," he wrote 36 books. His early regional novels were the first signifi- cant fiction to come from the Rocky Mountain region. The New York Times called his second book one of the 10 best American novels ever writ- ten, ranking it with books by Twain, Steinbeck, Heming- way, Dreiser and Faulkner. Whether they acknowledge it or not, writers in this part of the country are in Fisher's debt. The tradition began with him. He is the father of our regional literature. As a journalist, he was unique. His columns ap- peared in Idaho newspapers from 1941 until his death in 1968, and have not been sur- passed. No sacred cow was safe, and no one else removed the hide with such acerbic grace. His newspaper work won him a nickname: "Old Irascible." Why isn't he better known today? Several. reasons. He wrote what he wanted instead of what would sell. He wouldn't kiss up to the literary establishment. And he was brutally hon- est, a cranky iconoclast with a genius for infuriating the very people who could have made him famous. A century after his birth, there are modest signs of a Fisher revival. The College of Southern Idaho recently sponsored a Fisher symposium. A Fisher photo exhibit, sponsored by the Idaho Commission on the Arts and other groups, is traveling the state. Libraries are holding centennial ob- servances. In Boise, a Vardis Fisher Society is being formed. Its articles of association will be filed Friday, Fisher's 100th birthday. The group will pre- sent a $500 award to a deserv- ing writer every year on March 31. Its address is 4210 Emerald, Boise, ID 83706. Now for the best part. Grant Fisher, Vardis' son, said last week that two un- published Fisher manuscripts were found in the Boise home of his widow, who died in July. Both are novels in publish- able condition. Dead 27 years, "Old Irasci- ble" may have left a birthday present for his fans. Stale SHZa k 4q,1g9 Author's recluse wife dies amid valuables Vardis Fisher's widow was a `neighborhood mystery' By Tim Woodward The Idaho Statesman For 20 years, Opal Laurel Holmes lived the life of an urban hermit. A hermit who may have been sitting on an untapped literary fortune. Holmes, wife of the late Idaho novelist Vardis Fisher, was found dead Saturday in her Boi- se home at age 80. Astonished investigators found Fisher manuscripts, lucra- tive -but -unanswered proposals from publishers, piles of un- opened mail and uncashed checks. Trails weaved through stacks of books that filled the house. Many, including valu- able first editions, now have been removed. Fisher was the author of 36 novels. He was a winner of the Harper Prize, a close friend of Thomas Wolfe and was credited with writing the first significant fiction to come from the Rocky Mountain Region. Holmes was his third wife. "She was a neighborhood mys- tery," neighbor Ruth Murdoch said. "She didn't go out, and she wouldn't let anybody in." Neighbors say the only time she left home was to buy grocer- ies at the Albertson's store at 16th and State streets. Her 1978 Chrysler New Yorker had been driven 13,000 miles. She had a telephone, but rare- ly answered it. The grounds of her North Boi- se home are overgrown with shrubbery and dying trees. Tat- tered drapes shut out the world at every window. Red and white "keep out" signs hang from the doors. Some neighbors saw Holmes as a Boo Radley, an eccentric to be feared and avoided. They had little or no idea that she was the widow of the state's foremost native author. Fisher was working on his 37th and 38th novels when he died at the couple's home in Hagerman. After his death in 1968, Holmes left Hagerman and Vardis Fisher never re- turned. Mar- ian Compton sold Holmes her Boise home in 1974. " .. It still hasn't been painted," Compton said. "In all this time, she hasn't done a thing to it. It's sad, because it was a lovely home." The Ada County coroner's re- port describes "a house in total disarray, with books, magazines, newspapers and boxes piled everywhere." Police and a deputy coroner investigated after receiving a call Saturday from Judy Lom- bardi, a neighbor. They estimat- ed Holmes had died four to six days earlier. She was found na- ked, in a basement room where she slept. In March, Holmes was briefly hospitalized for congestive heart failure, listed in the coroner's report as the cause of her death. Her closest friend in the neigh- borhood, Lombardi had been buying groceries for her since then. She called police after no- ticing the groceries untouched on Holmes' doorstep. Her grocery list was a short one. "Mashed potato flakes, chick- en broth and evaporated milk," Lombardi said. "It was astound- ing she lived as long as she did. She certainly broke all the rules of proper eating." Where some neighbors found a cantankerous recluse, Lombardi found a friend: "I've heard people had tussles with her, but she was always good to me.... When my kids were little, she'd buy them books. They picked flowers and put them on her door." Holmes had five cats, now homeless. She put out raw meat for wasps and was delighted when two skunks came to live in her back yard. Angered, she was formidable. Numerous literary projects, from public displays of Fisher's work to reprintings of his books, were postponed or canceled be- cause of her objections. "She didn't want his work to go out to just anybody," Lom- bardi said. "... She had an iron - core integrity. If she felt some- one had not done right by her or Vardis, she would accept noth- ing from them, even if it would have made her life easier." Holmes wasn't inclined to make life easy for booksellers, who clamored for Fisher books she published but never got around to deliverine. Her death raises the question of what will become of Fisher's literary legacy. An orphan raised by her grandparents, Holmes had no blood relatives. Conspicuously absent from the materials found thus far in her home: a will. Items of obvious monetary val- ue have been released to one of Fisher's sons, who lives out of state. A literary inventory is ex- pected to take months, however, and the beneficiaries remain unclear. "She was adamant she didn't want his papers to go to Yale," Lombardi said. (Yale is one of two universities that currently have Fisher papers; the other is Boise State.) She felt they had not treated them with the digni- ty they deserved." Tom Trusky, director of BSU's Hemingway Center for Western Studies, said Wednesday that he is "totally behind any effort to keep the Fisher materials in Ida- ho. They're part of our heritage, and I'd hate to think of them leaving the state." Some of Fisher's better-known books are "Children of God" (his Harper Prize-winning historical novel on the early years of the Mormon Church), "Tale of Val- or" (a historical novel about the Lewis -Clark expeditions), the "Antelope" novels, set in eastern Idaho, and "The Testament of Man" (a 12-book series on the evolution of human thought). The best known in recent years is "Mountain Man," used in making the Robert Redford film "Jeremiah Johnson." File photo Opal Holmes poses with actor Robert Redford, who starred in "Jeremiah Johnson," based on Vardis Fisher's "Mountain Man." lc5d-4��.5111gn /q3G f 9.27z- Even Vardis Fisher's will is good reading When the widow of Idaho novelist Vardis Fisher died in July, the one thing that couldn't be found in her Boise home was what was needed most — a will. Family members found un- cashed checks, stacks of first - edition books, even an unpub- lished Fisher manuscript. His books alone filled hundreds of boxes, now in storage. Weeks passed with no trace of a will. Then, amid the pro- fusion of books and papers, searchers found a joint will of Vardis and Opal Fisher. It was typewritten by Vardis Fisher the year before he died. Never ones for sentiment, the couple ordered their re- mains "cremated in the least expensive manner allowed by law, preferably in a plain wooden box." The ashes were to be scattered among the trees at their former home near Hagerman. There was to be no funeral of any kind. Fisher's writing was rarely dull, even when he was writ- ing a will. Among other things, he not- ed that his late brother had the habit "when drunk and in Tim Woodward trouble" of giving Vardis' name to the police instead of his own. In the event his brother used his name in the course of "seductions" result- ing in pregnancy, Fisher wanted it known that the chil- dren were not his. Idaho librarians and schol- ars will be pleased to know there is a good chance of his papers remaining in Idaho. Yale and the University of Idaho appear to be the leading candidates. The will would provide fel- lowships for Yale doctoral students with theses related to subjects covered in Fisher's 12-book "Testament of Man" series. Yale reportedly is more in- terested in the will's monetary aspects than in adding to its already adequate Fisher col- lection. That would put the U of I in line to receive the 25- 30 boxes of literary papers found in Mrs. Fisher's home. For readers, the most in- triguing find may be the un- published manuscript. Is there a possibility of a new Vardis Fisher book 26 years after his death? A good question. Family members have been too busy with other details to read the manuscript. One speculated the reason it wasn't published during Fisher's lifetime was that he may not have thought it was good enough.