Joan Vollmer’s Death

R.J. Ellis (University of Chichester)

The way in which Joan Vollmer died in September 1951 has been the subject of much investigation and speculation, a lot of it contradicting other accounts. (Vide, for example, https://realitystudio.org/bibliographic-bunker/william-burroughs-and-the-william-tell-legend/). Accounts differ constantly. What seems to be agreed upon is that Vollmer was shot in the head, and that Burroughs was jailed for two weeks in connection with the shooting. It also seems to be pretty much agreed that a lot of alcohol had been consumed by (almost?) everyone in the room at the time – which may or may not have been a party. After this, contradictions abound: about who was in the room; about what type of gun was used; about whether the gun was poorly calibtated; about what was on Joan Vollmer’s head (if anything); about whether Burroughs took aim, and if he did, was it at an object on her head, or lower; about whether he was even holding the gun (did he drop it or throw it down, triggering the gun’s discharge) … this list could go on. Enough. Personally, as a literary critic, I find this story, or should I say “mythologised event” not particularly of compelling interest.

Yet here I am writing about it. This is because, whilst working on a small exhibition on the Beats, I stumbled across some further information, which seemed to add further to the blurred picture, though arguably its eventual debunking just makes the story more fractious, and perhaps therefore (hopefully) even less compelling, except to the prurient.

So: apologies, but as a researcher I feel obliged to pass this tale on. I have only very recently acquired this information. And I do not intend to follow it up. It anyway seems to be a dead end. Once upon a time …

    I was organising a small exhibition (with others) on the Beats in a small gallery in Chichester during the late Winter of 2023 and the early Spring of 2024 at the same time as another section of the gallery was arranging to exhibit photographs by a local photographer, Christopher Newberry. He heard about this Beats exhibition, and contacted the gallery director, asking to be linked up with us. 

   He explained that his father and mother knew Burroughs, who, he says, they called “‘Wild Bill’ William Burroughs”. This association arose, according to Newberry, because, as he went on to explain, though Burroughs and his father were not “good friends”, they “both attended Mexico City College – now Universidad de las Américas.”

Despite this, Newberry explained, his father and mother, according to family legend, were present at the party where “Burroughs shot his wife.” (1)

At this point it is best to hand over to Christopher Newberry:

“I have to say that although my dad knew William Burroughs, they weren’t good friends.  They both attended Mexico City College –now Universidad de las Américas –, however he and my mother were present at the party where he shot his wife.  I confirmed that story with my mother … . She tells me that Joan Volmer [sic] had gone to bed with a man while the party was taking place. My mum says that he [Burroughs] didn’t particularly seem to mind, but when she came out of the bedroom, she was in a rage and threw an empty CocaCola bottle at him.  At this point my mother said, “let’s get outta here” (or words to that effect, but in Spanish), so they weren’t witnesses to the actual shooting.  My dad knew Burroughs as “Wild Bill”.  My father was not into literature, preferring a good Zane Grey paperback, which he usually carried in his back pocket. My mum is now 95 years old.”

I didn’t know how accurate these memories were. But anyway, a complication could be identified: if Newberry’s parent were at the party where Vollmer was shot, then Newberry’s mother would have seven months pregnant at the time. Pressing this point with Newberry received this reply:

My dad told me many times about the time he was at a party where “Wild Bill” shot his wife, but my mum [only] says they were at a party where Burroughs’ wife threw a Coke bottle at him and when that happened they left the party. Maybe they’re talking about two different parties, but my dad died in 1998, so I can’t confirm anything and my mum is 95 and might not remember! The question as to whether or not she was pregnant would definitely answer the question.

And so I asked Newberry to check with his nonagenarian mother concerning her condition, as he thought she would recall that. She did. And the outcome was, perhaps, predictable, given the sorry state of this saga. The story simply unravelled:

“I spoke with my mum yesterday. She wasn’t pregnant. In fact, she had to ask her parents’ permission to go to the party, because she wasn’t yet married to my father. Which means that the party where she saw a “woman writer” hurl a Coke bottle at “a well known male writer” was not the one in September 1951 (my guess is that the party she went to was in late 1948). I’ve sent her a picture of Joan Vollmer.  She says it rings a bell, but can’t be definite. The only other possibility is that my dad went to the notorious party on his own. He was working for the “Aftosa” (Foot and mouth disease) vaccinating [of] cattle in the hills of Michoacán, but came to Mexico City regularly [at that time].”

Anyway, Vollmer’s death, however it happened, was a sad, sad, ending. And then a sad beginning to the voyeuristic “William Tell” cabaret that has developed. Maybe I shouldn’t have written this piece. Call in the Nova Police.

However, there is one interesting takeaway.

Though Newberry’s story unravels, this mention of “aftosa” is suggestive. It does seem likely that Burroughs had several encounters with Stoneman. “Aftosa”, or foot and mouth disease (FMD), is a highly infectious, virulent virus (aphthovirus) affecting even-toed ungulates (hooved animals, mostly ruminants). A few of any infected animals are subclinically affected, and as animals recover, a few can remain asymptomatic carriers of the disease. These characteristics makes it difficult to eradicate this viral disease. Infection occurs when a particle of the virus is taken into animal’s cell. The cell then produces hundreds of copies of the virus and finally bursts open, spreading the virus round the body and releasing new particles in the blood. The FMD virus has highly variable genetics, limiting the effectiveness of vaccination.

Stoneman’s work probably stemmed from an outbreak of FMD by the Mexican-US border in late 1946, when the United States and Mexico jointly declared that FMD had been found in Mexico. Early on, in Texas, when the disease’s infectious variability became apparent and early controls proved largely ineffective, the building of a border wall was proposed, to stop animals spreading the disease across from Mexico into the United States.(2) Instead the US and Mexico managed to generate a bilateral effort to eradicate FMD cooperatively. To contain tensions between ranchers and veterinarians, public information broadcasts over the radio and by way of loudspeakers mounted on trucks informed Mexican ranchers why the US vetinarians were working on their livestock and that ranchers who lost cattle culled by the vets would receive compensation. Some antagonism remained, leading to clashes between local citizens and the US vets, who were consequently soon had to be provided with US military protection. Burroughs’ interest in “aftosa” may have been sparked by all this, tohugh humans are very rarely infected by FMD (though there is another viral disease, human hand, foot and mouth disease, which can be mistaken for foot and mouth disease, creating some confusion). FMD’s symptoms in humans vary: fever, vomiting, ulcerative lesions (red suppurations) in the mouth, and vesicles (small blisters or lesions) of the skin, often around the foot. Naked Lunch refers to FMD, using the term “aftosa” nine times. The most relevant reference occurs in the introduction:

“I recall talking to an American who worked for the Aftosa Commission in Mexico. Six hundred a month plus expense account:

‘How long will the epidemic last,’ I enquired.

‘As long as we can keep it going … And yes … maybe the aftosa will break out in South America,’ he said dreamily.” (Naked Lunch, Grove Press, 1959, p. viii)

This little routine indeed suggests conversations between Burroughs and Stoneman occurred and stuck in Burroughs’ mind. How much he learnt is uncertain. Some of the other nine references to aftosa depict (dreamily, nightmarishly, but unrealistically) human infection, and suggest how the conversations concerning aftosa with Stoneman helped shape Burroughs’ distinctive take on viruses. For example, this thumbnail routine:

“Now I happen to remember … that a strain of human aftosa developed in a Bolivian laboratory got loose through the medium of a chinchilla coat fixed an income tax case in Kansas City.” (p. 226)

Burroughs riffs liberally, cuttingly and distinctively on what he had probably learnt from Stoneman, giving a very particular coloration to the knowledge he acquired. FMD can indeed be spread in unusual ways, including the virus’s carriage on footwear and clothing.(3)