In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • A Bookman Remembers Charles Bowden
  • Walt Bartholomew* (bio)

I moved to Tucson in August 1994 and the first week I got here, or maybe the first day, I started looking for bookstores. First one I found was a place called the Book Mark on Speedway. It screwed up my life. I walked in and saw a display of local authors, new releases, this sort of thing, and then the clerk, Gloria Chivers, came over and said, "Have you ever heard of Chuck Bowden?" I had heard his name before, in conjunction with Edward Abbey, when I was living in Seattle. I had read everything by Edward Abbey, but never anything by Bowden. I'd never even seen any of his books in the Seattle area, where there are lots of bookstores.

Gloria said, "Here. Try this." So the first book I read was Blue Desert, and then it was Mezcal. She had copies of Red Line and Desierto, but Blood Orchid wasn't out yet. So, that was my introduction to Chuck. I read Blue Desert and I liked it. Blue Desert was pretty mild. This was before the Blood Orchid thing. That was something a little different.

Then Chuck had a book signing at the Book Mark for Blood Orchid. I brought him a bottle of wine, which is hilarious, because we set the bottle of wine down and it got tipped over and soaked the whole stack of books. The bookstore lost, because they threw these drenched burgundy-colored books away. He got a little tipsy. I read it the day it came out. I went and Gloria was opening the boxes. She was slicing one open and I said, "Here, give me that." And I went over on my patio in midtown, got a beer, and sat there and read the whole book. I said, "I don't know if I like this. I don't know." I had to read it, but there was something disturbing.

At the signing, I told Chuck, "Something disturbs me about this book." His line was, "There's no big words in there." That was his joke. [End Page 149] No, there are no big words in there, but there's something in there that bothers me. And so I read every book that came out, and every magazine article—we're talking about things coming out in Mother Jones and the Atlantic. This is when he started doing the drug writer for Blood Orchid.

I just started reading everything. I just couldn't stop. I thought, "Maybe this is weird," but I couldn't stop. I just get addicted to things. So that was '94, '95, '96, and somewhere around '97 I found out that Chuck lived about a mile away from me. So I asked Gloria, "What if I write him a letter. Will he tell me to drop dead?" That is what I would expect.

So I wrote him a letter and said, "I live nearby and maybe I'll drop by some time." And he said, "Sure. Come over at 2." That started a twelve-year run. About every three months I went over to his place and it was never less than four hours. I would get there and he was always back in the purple writing shack. Mary Martha Miles, Chuck's partner at the time, would just point back there. The place should be a historic landmark. I'll pitch in for the brass plaque. It had been a garage, converted, and he had the floor tiled and an air conditioner put in. He had a little refrigerator there with the beverages. It was to give them space, I'm sure. She could stay in the house and say, "Chuck, go to your shack and don't return until it's dark." That works. Chuck, I don't know what he's doing. I think he writes in the morning, and this was after lunch, so he's back there in his shack and he's mellowing out. Sometimes there was someone else there, or not, and I'd be given an espresso and some wine, another espresso, another wine, and he'd just...

pdf