As a published writer myself, I was lucky enough to be in a First Friday group with him. This loosely-organized pool of published writers extends from Best Selling authors to one-book bottom-list writers. It didn't matter to Tony. He treated everyone the same.
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A favorite story of mine he told was about his hearing aids. It seems that one day his granddaughter brought her dog when she came to visit. Tony took out both aids and laid them on his coffee table. Yep. That dog gulped down both of them. A bit bent out of shape, Tony acknowledged that now he'd have to buy a new pair. "Well," he drawled, "I needed a new pair anyway." Talk was centered around on waiting for Nature to take its course, but Tony decided he wasn't up to putting those hearing aids back in his ears-no matter how hard they scrubbed those aids.
Another story he told on himself, as he always did, occurred less than a year ago. He received a nice note from a fan. When he unfolded the letter, out dropped a hundred dollar bill. I can remember Tony's infectious chuckle as he finished the story. It seems the woman who wrote the letter admitted that she'd read all of his books borrowed from the library, but finally realized that writers live on royalties, not library reads. She felt guilty and sent him $100. He thought that was a truly sweet gesture. He chuckled for a long time.
Maybe Tony was humble because he had to be. One meeting that I remember quite vividly turned into something of a shouting match. A writer who is four years older than Tony (and he was 83) had brought to the group a full-page ad taken from Time or Newsweek. The ad was for one of Tony's latest books.
Poor Tony walked into the room and she immediately sprung into action. She held up the ad, waved it in his face (good naturedly as they were friends), and demanded to know why he didn't tell the New York publishers that there were other writers in New Mexico? Besides Tony Hillerman? He sat down and chuckled. When she passed the ad around to him, he looked up sheepishly and said, "I didn't know that was in there." He examined the ad, then said, "I know there's other writers. I'll tell ‘em." Then he chuckled.
Later at the same meeting, the ad woman wanted a blurb from Tony for her latest book. Both being somewhat hard of hearing reduced the meeting down to a "he said..." at full volume, to "she said..." across the table. Everyone "helped" relay what Tony would say about her book. No telling what was finally written on her book jacket. Ah... good times.
I've heard some people criticize Hillerman's writing as nothing but "landscape." What's wrong with that? Since I'm fortunate enough to live very close to where he set his stories, I have no problem visualizing the Navajo Checkerboard, for example. But, even for people who've never been to the Southwest, they were introduced to the area because of him. He was an absolute master at painting landscape with words. We all have a much better understanding of the desert, the mountains, the Native Americans, because of him.
Western Writers of America presented him with the Owen Wister Lifetime Achievement Award in June. Hillerman admitted that, "Of all the people I'd like to be recognized by, the Western Writers are it because I'm a Western writer."
Tony died Oct. 26, 2008 at the age of 83. We are so much richer to have had Tony Hillerman in our lives.
I already miss him.
