Decca, p.95
Decca, page 95
We adored each other as children (even though when she was small I used to be rather horrid to her). Ditto as teenagers. As she was completely apolitical, there were none of the complications as in the Boud/Diana situation; just enjoyment, jokes, non-stop Honnish poems & songs.
Turns out she was incredibly bitter about me running away and not telling her—so amazing, and I never knew this until the 1970’s. However, all was fairly well patched up—I saw her whenever in London, & loved seeing her—until the great Scrap-Book Row. Actually quite comic in a way—ancient ladies squabbling over a lost scrap-book!—but not to me. Perhaps you gathered this from the letters. Next act: scrapbook found, all patched over. Next: she liked Faces of Philip (loathed all my things about the family) and absolutely loved Grace Darling. (As Bob said, she must have been v. relieved that it wasn’t another about us.) Since then, she’s been a super booster. It’s all rather complicated, too much to go into in a letter; and I don’t know to what extent it’s of any use to your project.
Love, Decca
To Laura Shaine Cunningham13 Oakland
November 24, 1989
Dear Laura,
Thanks so much for your ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL book. I did so love it: the uncles, the grandmother, mother—the whole thing was a terrific treat. …
Re exhibitionists (one of the absolutely memorable passages in Sleeping Arrangements), here goes with another experience—nowhere near as interesting as yours, but on the same order.
When Dink was about 7, we were living in a rather beastly sort of petty-bourgeois neighborhood in Oakland, Jean Street, up the hill from the municipal rose garden. (Petty-minded, our neighbors were.) Dink & other small girls used to run down to play in the rose garden after school. Rumours that a man was seen “exposing himself” to said children. Lynch spirit in our block; irate fathers saying if they caught him they’d cut his balls off etc. I discovered to my pleasure that the police term for exposers is “lily-waver.” A committee of mothers, furious, called on me to complain that Dinky had been seen speaking to him—the other little girls, obedient to the mums’ instructions, had never spoken to him. So I asked Dinky, “did you speak to the lily-waver?”; “Yes!” she answered in her stout fashion. “So what was said?”; “Well, he asked me ‘Have you ever seen one of these before, little girl?’ And I said ‘Of course, loads of times.’” Upon which, I suppose, the lily must have wilted.
The lily-waver was caught & held in a police car at the bottom of the hill. Dinky’s sweet little chums came running to fetch her: “Say he’s the one! Then we all get the day off to testify in court.” Bob had a strong word with Dinky. If he’s innocent, he’ll go to prison on your word. Only say he’s the one if you are absolutely certain. I think he also explained that lily-wavers are on the whole harmless bores, don’t go on to rape or harm. Anyway, she went down the hill & scrutinized the suspect. “No, I can’t be sure he’s the one.” The waver (for I suppose it was indeed he) said “Thank you, dear.” However, thereafter the other dear small witches wouldn’t play with Dink any more, so stupid of her they said…. That’s one of many reasons we left Jean Street for an integrated neighborhood in West Oakland.
Again, a million thanks for superb book. Perhaps we’ll meet one day? …
Best regards, Decca
To Kay Boyle
Oakland
December 6, 1989
Kay:
Bob told me about your phone conversation. For my part, I’ve been terribly sad at loss of our friendship, I miss you a great deal and should much love to make up.
However, to me it seems that friendship should be a two-way street and shouldn’t prohibit disagreements, shouldn’t depend on total uncritical mutual admiration….
You wrote to Bob that “Many times in the past I have realized that Decca has very much sought and hoped to find a justifiable reason for rebuking me. She finally found that reason on a very unworthy issue.” I must say I was completely floored by this news; I reviewed every scrap of our quite massive correspondence over many years and simply can’t imagine how you could have dreamed any such thing. Ditto, searching my memory for our myriad conversations—nothing to begin to justify that sort of comment.
The very idea of me trying to find a reason for rebuking you is so ridiculous. Have I ever said anything critical of you? Quite likely (though I can’t recall any specific occasion), but isn’t that part of the give-and-take of ordinary FRIENDSHIP?
Anyway, that’s why I thought it rather hopeless to make an uphill effort to get back on anything like old terms.
As to the Joan Mellen episode, I thought you behaved capriciously (first encouraging her, then casting her out and telling people not to talk to her), and I said so at that disastrous dinner last spring. I also said I dislike, as I’m sure you would, being told whom I may/may not talk to, and couldn’t feel bound by your stricture not to see Joan Mellen. It would never occur to me to order my friends not to talk to XYZ, no matter who XYZ is—friendly or hostile. Who cares? In a long life, there must be plenty of both, don’t you agree?
About the 20th Century Lit. journal. It was mostly unalloyed hagiography which, of course, we all rather adore—but I did note that Malcolm Cowley struck a familiar note when he said “Also I questioned Kay’s accounts ofevents in which we had both played a part. I thought she fabulated …”
Nothing wrong with fabulating, if one is essentially a novelist. But did you brace him about his comments? I thought your letter to D. Bryant14 (who fab-ulated, but according to her, at your suggestion) rather mean-spirited, as hers was the only adverse note in a torrent of praise.15 Poor her. Oh well.
I should much love a resumption of friendship on equal terms, if you are ever willing to try. I am….
To Kay Boyle
Oakland
March 3, 1990
Dearest Kay,
Thanks for yrs of Feb. 25. Bob & I also enjoyed enormously our evening with you,16 & hearing all about the Redwoodians.17 I must say they sound a bit drab—and unlikely converts to more enlightened (or less fascistic, take yr choice) views of the world….
Professional men: I can’t really agree. Well obviously there are some dedicated & v. smashing lawyers/doctors, but in my view the HUGE majority of those professions are supremely venal, money-grubbing, self-aggrandizing bores/monsters. To my interest, I’ve noted that in occasional polls in which the public are asked to rate “professions,” lawyers rank just under Undertakers (sorry—Funeral Directors) for unpopularity amongst the masses.
As for doctors, I’m immersed in the subject (my bk Amer. Way of Birth) and I must say they are a pretty boring & often wicked lot.
That’s not to say that you (and I, for that matter) haven’t been lucky—or rather, skillful—in choice of lawyers/doctors. There are many heroes in both trades, all through history in fact, but these are a distinct minority. In fact—an infinitesimal minority, if you come to think of it.
You say that the lit. critic & biographer manipulate the written word. Again, I’m not sure quite what you are driving at. You say they “deal with personal prejudices & fantasia” & in contrast the doctor or lawyer has acquired a broad framework in which to commit himself to all mankind.
I would that ‘twere true! Not in my experience of these professionals in general.
Much love, Decca
To Mary Clemmey
Oakland
March 20, 1990
Dearest Mary,
Thanks SO much for yr letter, what a pleasure to get it. PUBLISHING: Too ghastly here, too, as I’m sure you know….
All the papers this end are blaming the disruption partly on the ridic. huge advances given to some writers—sums that can’t possibly ever be earned. So in one way, I’m a Guilty Party in all this. Reading the press on the subject, I may have been the very last to get one of those outsize absurd advances, thanks to the curious genius of Renee Golden; now, it seems, that bubble has burst & publishers are no longer forking out that sort of money for books that obviously won’t sell all that well. So I feel v. fortunate—secure in old age, & lots to leave my children & Oys. The only problem is having to write the actual book. I’m chugging slowly along, have just about finished Chapter 3. …
To Katharine Graham
Washington
April 9, 1990
Dear Kay,
I did so enjoy having lunch with you—thanks awfully. But as always after leaving I thought of myriad things I was longing to discuss—too late.
However, a few comments re yr book. It seemed to me to strike very much the right tone—the fragments I read— & as I said, some of the fascinators such as Cissy Patterson18 & Alice Longworth19 could stand quite a bit of elaboration: not just to put the uninformed reader in the picture as to who they were, but mainly yr own impressions of them from a) meeting them when you were a teenager & b) things you remember yr Pa & Ma & other grown-ups saying about them. Done in yr extremely lively & readable style, this cld be both painless to write & v. enjoyable to read.
Which brings me to the painful subject of PAIN.
What follows is just an account of my own (admittedly cowardly) ducking of some of the unutterably beastly experiences. For example, in Hons & Rebels I simply couldn’t bear to write about getting the telegram that Esmond was missing & the gradual dawning of the fact he was actually dead—Winston Churchill got the classified info—so all I did was put a footnote: “Killed in action, November 1941.” Very weird, I reckon, but that was all I cld bring myself to do.
Another example: Bob’s & my first child Nicholas… born in 1944, absolute apple of eye, an enchanting & v. amusing boy—killed in an accident, 1955. Absolutely wrecked all happiness for a v.v. long time. When I wrote A Fine Old Conflict (about life with Bob, Oakland, CRC etc) I simply airbrushed Nicky out. His birth, his short & delightful life, never mentioned. Very odd indeed; but again, I simply couldn’t bear to go into all that in a book.20
I’m not at all suggesting that you could—or should—try to do anything of the sort in your book. The foregoing prob. has little or no relevance to what you are writing. Obviously you can’t duck—for example—Phil’s suicide in a footnote. But you can, & should, remember that it’s YOUR book & deal with events according to your own taste. Write it for yourself & friends & not for some faceless public.21 Well—I’m sure you will….
Kay—sorry for longwinded, unsolicited comments. Do get back in touch….
Love, Decca
To John Prime22 Oakland
April 13, 1990
Dear Mr. Prime,
A biog. of Leadbelly sounds like a really good idea; I’m so glad you are doing it. Actually, I don’t remember the Life mag. article of 1977, so what follows is a bit of stream-of-consciousness. See, also, my autobiog. A Fine Old Conflict, which has a photo of the children’s concert,23 also a few paragraphs about his visit at our house. In American edition.
Recollections: I think we met him through Alan Lomax.24 … Can’t be sure at this late date how he came to us. At that time, he wasn’t well-known except to a few very devoted fans. The children’s party would have been circa 1947; my daughter would have been 6 yrs old. …
As I said in my book, Leadbelly would come down to breakfast in a stark white nightshirt.25 One morning the doorbell rang; a neighbor asking to borrow a cup of sugar or some such. Leadbelly went to the door—the neighbor let out a wild shriek & fell back down the steps, one hopes breaking a leg or two. You must remember that these were days of total discrimination. Thereafter nobody ever came to call in our neighborhood (we were living in Clayton Street at the time, all-white needless to say).
Here is the really sad thing. Bob & I were extremely busy—dashed out in the morning, masses of evening meetings, so we didn’t see all that much of Lead-belly who himself had tons of appointments & things to do. However, one evening we took him to dinner in our favorite SF Chinese restaurant, a lovely interlude. After he left, he sent us a record—a super-cherished memento of his visit—called “Bob and Decca in Chinatown.” Again, I sadly can’t remember the lyrics but they were super-Leadbellyish; we adored the record, a prized possession. Alas, it disappeared in one of our many moves to Oakland and other places. I mourn its loss. I wonder if, by chance, he’d made another copy? Do let me know, if so.
That’s all I can remember. Lots of luck with the book; should be a winner.
To Terry Weber
Oakland
May 15, 1990
Dearest Terbaby,26
I have carefully conned over your touching appeal, & decided on 10 cents a mile. I do hope you won’t find that appallingly cheap of me? I can see that those monitors etc. will be a barrel of fun for the lucky chaps & chapesses who have the delightful experience of being subjected to them. But as I didn’t understand a blithering word of all that, I thought that $35 wld be about what I cld contribute.
I must impart one thing: I was actually very deeply hurt at not being invited to participate in the bicycling project. I realize that you & Dink may (wrongly) think that I have no feelings to speak of, no inner soul to be damaged by the sort of neglect that you have subjected me to. Don’t you realize, though, that in a mere 365 days I could have surpassed your goal of 350 miles by 15 miles? Doing one mile a day on my stationary bike, which is about my speed? After all, what’s the great rush—a year, more or less, for the CAUSE?
I don’t ask for an apology. Just for a bit of human understanding of my incredibly injured psyche at lack of invitation as a well-known cyclist to contribute to the event.
Yours—more in sorrow than in anger, Decca
To Robert Gottlieb
Oakland
May 26, 1990
Dear Bites,
…I absolutely gobbled up Caro.27 Va Durr was livid about it & said he misquoted her; pressed for details, she couldn’t supply any.
Although I knew LBJ & his dull wife Ladybird only casually (1940–43, approx) via the Durrs, to know him was to loathe him. But some of the bitplayers in Caro came SO vividly back to mind—people I hadn’t thought about for ages, but adored in those distant days such as Tex & Wicky Goldschmidt.28 Once they invited me to quite a grand dinner party—people like the Abe For-tases etc—the purpose of which was to inspect & view in operation the most extraordinary acquisition. It was a Bendix washing machine. Unforgettable, a miracle, clothes going round & round in soapy water—the most amazing sight. None of us had ever seen the likes of that before.
Much love & to Maria, Decca
To Sally Belfrage
Oakland
June 12, 1990
Darling Sall,
Are you there? If not, why not and where are you? …
News of Brits Abroad. M. Warner29 arr. yesterday more dead than a, plane hours late—on acct of her, Bob & I were bid to a V. GRAND dinner pty, over 1001 reckon, part of huge writers conference—lasts several days. …
Bob & I were at Table #1 with Marina, assorted others, & Ld. Weidenfeld, me next him….
Ld. W. & I had a brief alliance (not to be confused with dalliance) many yrs ago over D. Pryce-Jones’s biog. of Unity which my rotten anti-semitic sisters tried to get stopped, me on side of P-J obviously. Ld. W. tells me that these days whenever some routine request is sent to Chatsworth for, e.g., some flower prints, or historical document etc. depending on the book in hand, the answer is NYET—Chatsworth staff have been ordered to refuse any request from that quarter. He gets on quite well with Andrew Devonshire; they both joined the SDP30 and both quit at the same time, a sort of bond. He told a story which he says is apocryphal although it sounds right. Phone rings, Debo answers. “Mrs. Levy, for you, Andrew.” Andrew: “Oh Mrs. Levy of course I’d LOVE to come to your son’s bar mitzvah. No, I’m afraid my wife can’t make it…”
… Much love and DO ring up when you get this, Decca
To the Duchess of Devonshire
Oakland
July 7, 1990
Dearest Hen,
Thanks for GID.31 Sometimes I feel I may be coming down with a touch of it—could it be lying dormant from Miranda’s day?32 I do remember lying down beside the dear thing when she was chewing the cud & scooping out bits from her mouth to see what it tastes like. Actually rather horrid, like v. sour spinach coarsely chopped; an acquired taste no doubt as she seemed to love it.
Speaking of words unknown—you’ve no idea the amt. I have to learn the meanings of, e.g. CRANIOCLAST, an instrument to break open skull of unborn babe & dismember it & pull it out bit by bit to save life of the mum. All the rage until invention of forceps in 1588 to save both mother/child. … Luckily there was also a “syringe for baptism in utero” filled with holy water to be brought into play just before the cranioclast.
As you can see from the above, I’m mired in history at the moment—some of it jolly fun, esp. discovery of chloroform & its use by Queen Victoria in 1853 for her EIGHTH child (she was 33 at the time). The first baby delivered with chloroform, 1847, was christened Anaesthesia—rather a pretty name for a girl? First Russian child to be vaccinated was a boy called Vaccinoff.
I’ve got lots of biogs. of Q. Victoria but none totally satisfactory re the in teresting CHLOROFORM experience. So I wrote off to the Archivist at Windsor Castle & I must say he was incredibly obliging; sent amongst other things some letters from Q. Vict. to the Duch. of Sutherland re chloroform—all in her hopeless handwriting, learned no doubt from that rotten Baroness Lehzen, what a fool for a governess. However I got some hist. students to transcribe them. Such is la bloody old vie trying to write a book while suffering from GID.
Do send every word about yr dance33 … avid for a letter from you.
Much love, Henderson
Did you succeed in fending off the press? In my experience, the more one fends ‘em off the more avid they get & make up tons of bosh. Or they subvert guests to spy for them. Actually I think that on the whole the Brit. press are even worse than Yanks for this sort of thing….
