‘Blown between the Worlds’: a few words about James Grauerholz

James Grauerholz, a central figure in the life and literary endeavours of William S. Burroughs, passed away on New Year’s Day 2026, aged 73. His friend and research collaborator, Simon Johnson, pays tribute to James for EBSN.

By Simon Johnson

I woke on Friday morning in the UK to see Ira Silverberg’s message about the death of James Grauerholz on New Year’s Day. I was blind-sided by this. James had told me of his illness, but I don’t have many contacts in the world of Beat scholarship, nor did James and I share any mutual friends. As such, I was rather out of the loop and, over recent months, I was concerned when he hadn’t responded to emails.

In a 2020 email, James kindly signed off with “I thank you, Simon – a friend with whom I can be authentically my own self. And I know of little else that is more precious.” Our friendship (cultivated entirely via email and telephone between the UK and US) meant a great deal to me.

James was always kind and supportive to me. I was just one of a great many Beat-curious correspondents who contacted him out of the blue – he had no reason to give of his time to the latest in a long line, but we subsequently enjoyed 15 years of correspondence as friends. He was generous and I found that the support of somebody as erudite as James imbued me with an uncharacteristic confidence in my research. On a personal level, he never failed to ask after my partner, Anna, and he showed a genuine interest in my life. I was privileged that, in turn, he felt comfortable in speaking to me about his own.

We first corresponded in 2010 and for several years went through periods of almost daily email correspondence (James used to print it off – folders full of correspondence sat on what he described as ‘The Shelf’ at his home in Kansas). This was primarily in relation to my research into the background of the Burroughs family. As this was James’s adopted family, he had a very keen interest in learning more and had, in fact, undertaken quite a bit of research independently some years prior. In a January 2013 email, he noted that “Nobody, but nobody, gets this much correspondence out of me; Chapeau!” This was likely a mark of his interest in the subject, but I like to think it was also a mark of mutual trust and respect.

James also supported my other areas of Beat-related research, particularly in relation to Bill’s spouses. He was a great help in my collaboration with my friend Cathy Marshall. His seal of approval provided important validation when Cathy and I came to publish ‘Ordinary Stupid People: Joan Vollmer’s Life Before the Beats Began’ via Moloko Print in 2024.

In our research collaborations, James’s ability to switch between manic productivity and equally as manic procrastination was a wonder to behold. I could fill a book with some of the wonderful procrastinatory promises I received over the years:

“And this note – a Carrot for you (as if any were needed!) –  is a Stick for me, or perhaps just a switch of sage and hemp, with which to flagellate my lazy ass to do this, or be doubly embarrassed. Ha.”

“I’ve grotesquely procrastinated and you can be sure that I have now got that flying clay target in my sights again, surely I’ll plaster it this time with both barrels.”

These are examples of James’s wonderful turn of phrase, and it was a shame to see how frustrated he often became with a later-life medical issue with his fingertips which made typing difficult, necessitating the use of a stylus. Typical of James, he likened this to being “like Caruso with a ball-gag – since writing is my primary means of expression.”

I know James could be cranky, and increasingly so as he got older. This could be unpleasant for those on the receiving end at which, thankfully, I never found myself. I occasionally played the part of mediator when a ‘blow up’ had occurred with another correspondent. Frustrating as they undoubtedly were, these ‘blow ups’ were usually literary gold in and of themselves. One example was so unbelievably dramatic that, years later, I can still recall exactly where I was stood, open-mouthed, when I read it on my mobile phone.

During the past 10 years or so I felt that the responsibility of being Bill’s gatekeeper weighed heavily on him. He once said to me “It all makes me want to withdraw from ALL such collaborative efforts … but then I remember how gently and kindly You & I have gotten along – for a decade now!”

The happiest I found him in recent years was when some of his musical recordings were cleaned up and released. I told him that one of the tracks made me think of The Replacements, and he told me this had made him smile.

James once sent me a PDF of all of the correspondence and documentation with the officials at Bellefontaine Cemetery in St Louis, when he was arranging for additional inscriptions to be added to the obelisk on the Burroughs plot. James’s name and date of birth were inscribed to the obelisk at the time, and it saddens me deeply to know that the inscription will soon be appended with his date of death.

James spoke on several occasions about writing his own memoir. When considering potential titles, he thought of adapting the text of a line from Kipling that Bill had recited to James during the early days of their friendship: “The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a knife.” That line will stick with me whenever I think of James. I will miss him very much.