Down on the peacock farm

Fri, 16 Nov 2001 20:00:00 +0000

Ken Kesey was the kind of iconoclast who redefined an entire era, inspiring artists and encouraging other writers -- myself among them. His passing painfully reminds me of a debt I can never repay. I met Kesey when I was a 17-year-old aspiring journalist and high school student, and he was a traveling author, returning to the literary scene after a long hiatus. He had just published "Sailor's Song," his first major work since the death of his son and his first novel in 28 years.

A big, barrel-chested man of intimidating size, Kesey and his wife, Faye, couldn't have been more understanding as I bumbled through my first interview. During that session, he gave me advice that's had a powerful impact on my career. He said, "Do what you love, do it now. Start early. If you want to be a journalist, dig in now. You'll be so far ahead of the crowd later -- it won't matter. You may not end up doing what you thought you'd be doing, but you'll be happy doing it."

Kesey earned my respect later that evening after bypassing an entire room of chi-chi literati -- ditching his own book party to color with the children of patrons in the back room. But Kesey was like that -- big-time generosity folded into gigantic nerve.

Salon.com > Rob Elder

Down on the peacock farm