Steppenwolf - the book, not the group
A 1970 cross-country odyssey, a hitchhiker and Hermann Hesse's classic
FOR THE SECOND TIME IN A FEW MONTHS, I was given the opportunity to choose books to take from a vast personal library. This library belonged to my late brother-in-law, who just passed away.
Joe was a retired Catholic priest with an eclectic reading habit. He leaned toward theological tomes. But his shelves also held hundreds of books about culture, politics, relationships and philosophy - among other things.
The one that jumped off the shelf into my hands first was Herman Hesse’s classic Steppenwolf.
THE BOOK HAS SPECIAL MEANING FOR ME, not because of its literary merits (which are formidable), but the manner it came to me in 1970, in Lodi, California. Yes, that Lodi, the town that came to notoriety in part thanks to Creedence Clearwater Revivals’ 1969 song Lodi. Among the lyrics this line from the tune might be the most famous: “Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again…”
My wife and two-month-old son had stopped to pick up a hitchhiker on the outskirts of the then small town on Highway 12. It was 1970 after all, and anyone with longish hair and carrying a backpack was considered part of a cultural in-crowd and safe to give a lift to. He fit the bill on all counts, including his wire-rimmed glasses, similar to what I sported in those days.
Our passenger climbed in the back of our 1964 blue VW van and immediately began filling us in on his travels. His itinerary after all these years escapes me, but not his generosity in giving us his dog-eared copy of Steppenwolf. He said was one of the best books he had ever read. It was first time I had ever been gifted a book like that - particularly one that came with such a glowing recommendation.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT COPY OF THE BOOK IS A MYSTERY. And we never got our hitchhiker friend’s name. That wasn’t unusual. We had met many folks in our odyssey from New York to California. We were part of a vast legion of young people on the road, looking for America. We didn’t exchange names as much as we exchanged experiences of what we had seen and what we wanted to see. Some of it was wonderful and amazing. A lot wasn’t.
But when I saw Steppenwolf on my late brother-in-law’s bookshelf, nestled among tomes about Martin Buber, the history of Christianity and several books by Jonathan Franzen, I was transported in time as neatly as if I had walked through the door of the Wayback Machine of Mr. Peabody and Sherman from the cartoon show, Rocky and Bullwinkle.
AMONG THE MANY MEMORIES FROM THAT LIFE-CHANGING TRIP was watching my grandmother stuffing $20 bills into the hands of my wife as we left my house at Lake Chautauqua. She declared she should use the money to feed herself and the baby, because it was unlikely I would be responsible enough to.
Other memories include signs in Colorado at several lodges and inns that said, “No Hippies Or Longhairs Allowed.” And in Rawlins, Wyoming we picked up three hitchhikers hiding under a bridge who begged us for a ride far out of town. They were being hunted by a gang of local cowboys who had threatened to shave their heads after giving the trio a thorough thrashing. Hippies we all were. Popular we were not.
THIS WEEK I HAVE BEEN REREADING Steppenwolf, 54 years after our hitchhiker amigo handed his personal copy to me just before he had us pull over on the outskirts of Lodi to drop him off. He said he had spent quite enough time in Lodi and didn’t want to get stuck there, like the CCR song describes.
We kept driving, too. But I can’t pick up my newly acquired copy of the book now without remembering that Lodi afternoon encounter or hold back a vast flood of memories of that entire, life-changing trip.
I suppose thanks to Steppenwolf, part of me will always be stuck in Lodi.
Hope you will check the IRT Wayback Machine, run by our friend, Mark Graham, it’s a digital library of millions of books free to everyone.
Thanks Michael, about to find my CCR and sing it loud!