November 17, 1989 |
Louis L'Amour, the novelist of the American frontier whose books continue to entertain presidents and construction workers, left a real mess behind when he died last year. His family is the first to admit how bad it was--a "toxic dump" of maybe a couple tons of papers stacked chaotically on nearly every square inch of the floor and desk of the big room where L'Amour turned out novels and stories almost as fast as the U.S. Mint stamps out quarters.
June 23, 1988 |
Driving south across Nevada on Highway 95, through the steely afternoon distances, you get the sense that you are in a country where nobody will cut you any slack at all. You are in a version of the American West where you are on your own; the local motto is take care of your own damned self. That's where I was, just south of Tonopah, maybe 150 miles north of Las Vegas, dialing across the radio, when I heard the news that Louis L'Amour was dead of lung cancer at the age of 80.
August 3, 1986 |
There's prolific, of course, and then there's prolific , and somewhere on the far side of prolific there's Louis L'Amour with more than 85 novels in print, each one of which has sold more than 1 million copies. But far more than the IBM of the cottage industry known as novel writing, the indefatigable L'Amour's literary output is exceeded only by the vastness of his curiosity and the historic and geographic range of that curiosity.
June 30, 1991 |
Katharine Ross knows who really won the West: the women. "The men were the dreamers," she was explaining over a lunch of soft-shell crabs at a fashionable Santa Monica restaurant. "The men went West, but it was the women who kept things together, no matter the situation. It was hard. They made an effort to have a house, bring up the children under incredible hardships and were able to draw on reserves of strength which they didn't know they had."
August 17, 2005 |
In the early days, back when Louis L'Amour had to choose between buying food or books, the 10th-grade dropout and part-time hobo wrote poetry. He didn't sell much. So he tried his hand at adventure stories while moonlighting as a Depression-era boxer, roustabout and merchant marine before he caught on with the low-paying pulp magazines.
July 19, 2012 |
LAS VEGAS - The first thing you notice about Sheriff Ralph Lamb is that voice - the low, gravelly growl of a former five-pack-a-day Marlboro man. Even at age 85, Lamb still uses the plain-spoken utterances of an old-school lawman. On his disdain of firearms: "Sometimes we had to use our guns, but sparingly. If a guy shot at me, I'd shoot back. " And on his public image: "The church-goin' people in town, the good people, they liked my brand of law and order - keepin' things cleaned up. " He was known as the Cowboy Sheriff and once was considered the most powerful man in Nevada.