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William Saroyan

Updated Mar 25, 2024
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William Saroyan
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William Saroyan
William Saroyan, whose plays, short stories and novels drew on the Armenian immigrant experience and depicted the variety and romance of American life, died of cancer yesterday at the Veterans Administration Hospital in Fresno, Calif. He was 72 years old. Sounding like a character in one of his autobiographical short stories, Mr. Saroyan called The Associated Press five days before his death to leave a posthumous statement: ''Everybody has got to die, but I have always believed an exception would be made in my case. Now what?'' His book ''The Human Comedy'' included another characteristic example of his freewheeling philosophy: ''Every man in the world is better than someone else. And not as good as someone else.'' Mr. Saroyan soared into the American consciousness in early 1934 with ''The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze.'' For the next decade, he dazzled, entertained and uplifted millions with hundreds of short stories and a series of plays: ''My Heart's in the Highlands,'' ''The Time of Your Life,'' ''Love's Old Sweet Song'' and ''The Beautiful People.'' Spurned Pulitzer Prize He also rejected a Pulitzer Prize for ''The Time of Your Life'' and publicly broke with Hollywood, seeking to buy back from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer the scenario for ''The Human Comedy'' -which turned out to be a hit when it appeared in 1943. He never stopped writing at a phenomenal pace - short stories, novels, plays, memoirs. By his own decision, much of this work remains unpublished, and few of the new plays have been performed. After World War II, Mr. Saroyan fell out of critical fashion. An unhappy marriage, drinking, tax trouble and an obsession with gambling sent him into self-imposed exile. Yet his work continued to be read around the world; a song, ''C'mon-a My House,'' made a hit by Rosemary Clooney, helped revive his popularity, and gradually critics began to reassess his work. His spectacular rise and fall were seen as a result, in part, of historical circumstance: Having grown up in poverty and hardship, Mr. Saroyan saw nothing abnormal about the Depression. His message of the disinherited rising above adversity with humor and courage gave heart to many who had once known prosperity. After the war, expansion seemed endless and poverty ephemeral. Academia had now turned to formalism, and in the arts, Representation gave way to Abstract Expressionism. The primitive, sentimental Saroyan seemed old hat. Later the postwar optimism faded, a return to naturalism set in and critics returned to Mr. Saroyan with new respect. Mystery of Genius and Personality A reader of the early Saroyan stories, like readers of ''Tom Sawyer,'' might well assume that the author had had a happy childhood. One could not be more mistaken. William Saroyan was born in Fresno, Calif., on Aug. 31, 1908, the fourth child of Armenak and Takoohi Saroyan, recent refugees from the Turkish massacres in Armenia. The father, a poor farmer and Presbyterian preacher who was something of a poet, died three years later and the mother placed the children in an orphanage in San Jose, Calif., while she took up menial work in San Francisco. Ran Away to Seek Mother It was not until an advanced age that the author freely recalled the experience. It was not, as he described it, an unkindly home but, he said, ''I believe I hated the place more than anybody else who was there.'' He was struck by the ''ease'' of a neighborhood boy who had invited him home, ''because our boys didn't have ease.'' William ran away to seek his mother at the age of 5, but was brought back. The family was reunited in Fresno when he was 8. He attended the public schools, sold newspapers and haunted the library. Then, as always, he was an indiscriminate reader. According to his memoirs, in his early teens he learned from Maupassant that he would be a writer, and switched schools to learn typing; from Sherwood Anderson he learned that ''what is under your nose, that is your subject.'' Unafraid of Being Laughed At ''My own natural folly permitted me never to fear being laughed at,'' he wrote. ''And I didn't know any better than not to take risks likely to prohibit editorial acceptance and consequent fame and fortune - spurious and unnecessary.'' While reading H.L. Mencken, he recalled, he once broke the library calm with loud laughter. It was a Saroyan hallmark: he was frequently ejected from class for guffawing, was removed under guard from a San Francisco courtroom and, to his puzzlement, was shushed by an usher at a performance of James Thurber's ''The Male Animal.'' Dark, thin and hawklike when he was young, peasant-stocky and heavily mustached in later years, Mr. Saroyan dominated all groups, everywhere, with his huge bass voice and his booming laugh. He explained that he came from an ancient tradition of Armenian singers and storytellers - ''If I talk too much, it's a cultural problem.'' Bright but Rebellious A bright but rebellious student, he dropped out of high school before graduation, quit his job as a telegraph messenger and in 1926 moved to San Francisco, where he became a clerk, operator and office manager for Postal Telegraph, the old rival of Western Union. On the strength of a story published in a western magazine, he went to New York in 1928 to knock at publishers' doors, but returned discouraged. It was not until 1933 that his next story appeared, in an English-language Armenian journal. ''After the war,'' he wrote recently, ''all I had was a condition of simple madness, the consequence of having been for three years subjected to unremitting chicken.'' And again: ''Three years in the Army and a stupid marriage had all but knocked me out of the picture and, if the truth is told, out of life itself.'' ''Suicide was suicide, divorce was divorce,'' he wrote. ''I flipped a coin, and it came up divorce.'' This would have been in 1949, or perhaps in 1951, for the Saroyans divorced, remarried and divorced again. Mrs. Saroyan kept custody of the two children, Aram and Lucy. Mr. Saroyan blamed the social ambitions of his wife and his mother-inlaw, but he also had been gambling and drinking heavily. Aram is now a writer and Lucy an actress. Flayed Agents and Producers The critical coolness toward his output was taking a toll. Mr. Saroyan, who had broken with the theater and motion-picture establishments, was not seeking allies. In a 1949 essay, he flayed the Dramatists Guild, theatrical agents, producers and financial agents. ''I'm a failure,'' he wrote, ''but the others are a bankruptcy.'' All this and his generosity toward many relatives brought him into serious financial difficulty. Owing $50,000 in income taxes, he moved to Paris in 1958 to reduce his obligations and bought a fifth-floor walk-up apartment in a working-class neighborhood. A series of television plays improved his fortunes. Gradually he brought his gambling and drinking under control, returned to solvency, and began writing, among other things, a series of memoirs. 'I Owe Nobody Anything' ''I'm free,'' Mr. Saroyan wrote. ''That's the source of the happiness. I owe nobody anything.'' More often, however, the mood was gloomy, introspective, preoccupied with death. The memoirs are a string of vignettes and brief essays, disconnected but often taut and evocative. The first, ''Not Dying'' (1963), is perhaps the gloomiest, the most self-critical and the most defensive. The author remembered laughing as he was writing a short story in 1936, and added, ''But I haven't laughed once in the writing of this book.'' Listing his faults as told to him by his son and by a reader, Mr. Saroyan replied that he was still the man of his sins and his talents. ''If my work hasn't changed the world and its inhabitants for the better,'' he said, ''it also hasn't changed them for the worse.'' He continued his memoirs in Fresno, to which he returned in the late 60's, while keeping his pied-a-terre in Paris. He found the city much changed, and not for the better. It was home, but not sweet home. ''Can a society which has thrived on lies be expected to survive?'' he wrote. ''Possibly, but the people of that society can't be expected not to be grotesque.'' Ironically, the early Saroyan stories and plays - optimistic, sentimental, wistful, brave - were recovering in public esteem. This had been foreseen in a review of ''Not Dying'' by Herbert Mitgang in The New York Times: ''A hardboiled romantic, Saroyan shows that he can be more in the vanguard than many of the official literary-map personages in Esquire; that he'll be around long after this year's hipsters have become next year's squares.'' In the preface to his ''The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze,'' Mr. Saroyan set down three rules for writing: ''Do not pay any attention to the rules other people make. Forget Edgar Allan Poe and O. Henry and write the kind of stories you feel like writing. Learn to typewrite, so you can turn out stories as fast as Zane Grey.''
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Amanda S. Stevenson
For fifty years I have been a Document Examiner and that is how I earn my living. For over 50 years I have also been a publicist for actors, singers, writers, composers, artists, comedians, and many progressive non-profit organizations. I am a Librettist-Composer of a Broadway musical called, "Nellie Bly" and I am in the process of making small changes to it. In addition, I have written over 100 songs that would be considered "popular music" in the genre of THE AMERICAN SONGBOOK.
My family consists of four branches. The Norwegians and The Italians and the Norwegian-Americans and the Italian Americans.
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