Chapter 19
From the Journal of Honey Sutton August 2, 1937
… Happy as I am for Grace's good news, I am still a little irritated that she didn't tell me that she was acting as a go between for Laura Bridgeman and Hub. If she weren't a family member who dearly loves Hub and would never willingly do him any harm, I would be furious.
However, I can see both sides of this question. As a parent I wouldn't like Grace or anyone else making decisions about my children without consulting me. On the other hand, I wasn't much older than Laura and Hub when I completely ignored her mother's parental authority by marrying her brother.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring August 4, 1937
It seems longer than a dozen lifetimes ago since we left for the dust and heat of the Guadarrama Valley. Yesterday some of us returned to Albares, trudging back up the hundred stone steps from the highway. Some of us are waiting in the casualty wards to heal enough to return to the battalion or be sent home. Some of us will never need to wait for anything again. Those of us at Albares were joined by the survivors of the George Washington Battalion who have been transferred to the Lincoln Battalion.
I wish I knew whether Johnny Pike is living or dead. I would have written about him earlier, but I was hoping to hear more. He was shot in the back by a sniper at Mosquito Ridge while helping place his squad's Maxim gun. The word is that he was in a pretty bad way when he was carried off to the rear.
The ordinary life of Albares is disorienting. The men in the fields, the women with their laundry, and the children at play still seem a little unreal. War suspends time. When you are fighting, marching, or waiting to do one or the other, it seems that you have never done anything else and never will. You can be fooled into thinking that war is life.
From the Journal of Honey Sutton August 5, 1937
… Pritchard has been uncharacteristically subdued for the past two days ever since Grace brought him the news that his Lincoln Battalion pen pal was wounded by shrapnel from a bomb during the retreat from Mosquito Ridge. It isn't certain how well his arm and shoulder will heal.
This afternoon at lunch a sober and thoughtful Grace actually asked me if she was wrong to have come up with the pen pal idea. I had to admit that I wasn't sure myself. It's rough on the kids who lost pen pals, but they did bring comfort to soldiers far from home.
Grace admitted that she had gotten letters from a handful of the soldiers saying as much and thanking her for organizing the project. The memory did seem to cheer her a little, but not enough to dispel all her gloom. It's a good thing that the lift she got from the news that Van is safe hasn't completely worn off. I hate to think how down in the dumps she would be without it.
She is still puzzled by Van though. I can't understand either why his letter of a week ago was so terse and why he didn't mention Johnny Pike. We had to learn that Johnny was wounded from Ida Schmitz who received the news in a letter from Harry. I had to encourage Grace to finish her sandwich. She always eats like a bird when she's out of sorts.
May Bailey to Jesse Buchanan, August 8, 1937
… As if Grace didn't have enough to worry about, that pompous Mr. Cramp and his awful wife are pressuring her, Max, and Archie not to hold the fundraiser for the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Rehabilitation Fund at the same time as the Silverdome Fishing Tournament. As I mentioned in previous correspondence, they had planned to do so to take advantage of the crowds of visitors to New Bedford. Archie admits that there has been some turbulence over the issue at the latest meetings of the New Bedford Merchants Association although most of the members remain on our side. A minority are still concerned that associating the tournament with a fundraiser for mostly Communist soldiers will hurt attendance by more conservative people in the area.
Having a picnic for the family out at Joe Callahan's and David Doyle's training camp instead of the usual Sunday dinner at home was a splendid idea. The sunshine and clean air raised everyone's spirits. I was amused by Joe Callahan's apology to me for the roughness of his fighters' sparring.
It was gallant of him to try to spare an old lady's tender feelings. I'm afraid that I shocked the poor boy when I informed him that, having spent much of my youth in mining camps, I have seen men attempt mayhem with knives, razors, broken bottles and anything else that came to hand. Compared to that sort of thing, I find prizefighting quite wholesome and refined which is more than I can say for Maisie.
The poor cutman was terribly shocked by her questions about boxing injuries. She may become a doctor yet. She is already developing the obligatory ghoulishness. She is also developing an appreciation for the opposite sex if the admiring glances she cast at the fighters all afternoon are any indication. I hope the sight of so many athletic, bare-chested men wasn't more exciting than was healthy for her.
Girls were far more modest and demure when I was her age. I'm certain I was, and please don't bring up Maurice Barrymore. I was not madly infatuated with him. I merely maintained a respectful admiration for his skill and presence as an actor. He was very handsome though.
… It is a tribute to Grace's powers of persuasion and the fascists' bloodthirstiness that Joe Callahan and David Doyle, although they consider themselves faithful Catholics, understand and sympathize with the Spanish Republic's struggle. David Doyle has even offered a free hour's worth of boxing lessons as a raffle prize for the fundraiser. I was shamed by what he said when he declined Grace's thanks. "When my friends and I came back from the Great War there were no jobs … not much help. … not even many people who cared if we lived or died. You're trying to make sure that doesn't happen to the soldiers in this war. It's a privilege to be part of that."
I am not proud to admit it, but after my sons came home, I didn't spare much thought for their fellow veterans and some of the ones I did have were uncharitable. If some of them couldn't find jobs, I was absolutely certain that their failure was due to bad character. It took the Depression to make me realize that sometimes people really are beaten down by circumstances beyond their control no matter how honest and persevering they are. In times like that, it is the circumstances and not the people that need fixing.
Those of us in positions of responsibility in Canada after the war failed to take sufficient thought for the needs of returning soldiers and good men paid the price for our heedlessness. True, I was fully occupied with trying to hold the family business together in the wake of John's death. All of us were weary of war and its effects and none of us wanted to think of them anymore. Nonetheless, none of our excuses absolve us from failing in a sacred duty.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring, August 10, 1937
…Finally, some news about Johnny Pike came down the grapevine. I almost wish it hadn't. He is alive, but the bullet that wounded him damaged his spine. The doctors aren't sure that he will ever walk again. It will be a long time before he can leave the hospital. When he can travel, he will receive a medical discharge from the International Brigades.
There is a small silver lining, though. Sarah Beauchene, the noted painter and patron of the arts, really is a distant cousin of his. She is willing to take him into her home in Paris and care for him there. She nursed French soldiers during the Great War, so he will be in good hands. She is also wealthy enough that she can afford the best doctors and nurses to help.
She and her husband are in Spain and visit Johnny at the hospital regularly. She has charmed everyone in the ward, especially the Canadian patients, with her reminiscences about life on Prince Edward Island when she lived there as a little girl. Apparently, she is quite a storyteller.
I am still getting used to my transfer to the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion at [censored] and promotion to sergeant. Harry, Will, and Oscar are here too. Harry is now a corporal. I never thought MacLeod would swing the transfer, much less the promotions, but he did. Our [censored] instructors seem determined to turn us all into spit and polish model soldiers by applying the most up-to-date training methods. The new recruits lap it up like the eager beavers they are.
No doubt they'll show us old hands from the Lincoln Battalion what real soldiering is. To hear our instructors tell it, the new training will turn us all into fearless, invincible fighting men who laugh at shrapnel and bullets. Our brilliant superiors in battalion command will provide us with carefully-thought-out, foolproof battle plans. Our splendid artillery and armor support will be there when and where we need them.
Our fascist enemies will probably be so alarmed at all this boldness and efficiency that we won't even have to fight them. They'll just run away when they see us coming. I'm as sure of the higher ups' wisdom in this as I am that a Mary Pickford is your favorite cocktail. Even if things don't prove as easy as they say, more organization and discipline were needed.
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
My heart tightened with anxiety when I read the line about the Mary Pickford. Van knew very well that the last time I drank one of those was while making the rounds of the Chicago nightclubs with him. That was the evening before the second and last hangover of my life. The worst of it was that we visited the Grand Terrace and I could barely remember Earl "Fatha" Hines' piano playing the next day. Van introduced me to my real favorite cocktail, the nonalcoholic St. Clements, when he took me back to the Grand Terrace the next night to make it up to me.
Not even the memory of Hines' sublime way with the ivories could keep me from feeling a little uneasy. I told myself that the constant stream of arms and equipment to the Spanish fascists from Germany and Italy in open violation of the Nonintervention Pact didn't give them a growing advantage. I told myself that the Republic's reverses in the Basque country and at Brunete were only temporary. Its military leadership would learn from past mistakes and find a way to win. Most of the time I even believed myself.
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry August 10, 1937
I was examining Toppy's new selection of hats for the fall this morning when she and Rebecca Graham came up to me. From the expectant look on both their faces, I knew something was brewing. Toppy spoke up first to tell me that Rebecca had something she wanted to ask me. Rebecca hesitated a little and then got to the point. Could she recite Portia's speech on the quality of mercy from The Merchant of Venice in the talent contest at the Mac-Pap fundraiser?
Toppy had been coaching her in it. I asked the obvious question. It was Toppy who answered. Mr. Graham, although not very willing to allow Rebecca to perform for the benefit of Communists, is, nonetheless, susceptible to persuasion by his wife. He loves her dearly and is reluctant to refuse her anything.
I asked Rebecca to recite Portia's speech for me and she did. She was very affecting. Lynne Fontanne couldn't have done better, and I told her so. She hugged me and thanked me when I told her that she would make a fine addition to the talent contest. I couldn't help asking if she believed what Shakespeare was saying in Portia's speech. She said that she did.
I tried to be as gentle about what I said next as possible. I asked her if she didn't think it was time that she showed some mercy to Henry and Pritchard. Both boys are crazy about her. Is it really fair for her to take such shameless advantage of their feelings? Shouldn't she at least decide which one she wants to take to the End of Summer Dance without making them compete for the honor? She looked at me and told me very sincerely, "You're right. That's why I've decided to go with Pritchard. The poor guy has been so down in the dumps since his pen pal was wounded. Maybe I can cheer him up a little."
I was glad to hear her say that. Maybe she has a heart after all. I did caution her to be honest with Pritchard about her feelings for him. She's the only one who knows if she feels anything more for him than friendship and sympathy, but if she doesn't, she shouldn't let him think otherwise. That can only end badly for both of them.
From Transcript Ezekiel "Wanderin' Zeke" Bell Interview, June 5, 1973 by James O'Donnell, pgs. 16-17. Published in abridged form in Blues Alive Magazine vol. III, No.3 September,1973.
Bell: The furthest north I ever traveled from Mississippi when I was younger? That'd hafta be New Bedford. It's in Canada. Ontario. First time I ever went there was in '36 no '37. My sister an' her husband lived there. … I wen' up there t' see 'em two or three times before the war made travelin' damn near impossible fer anyone who wasn't rich. Old Johann was a friendly sort. He was always glad t' see me like I was his real brotha 'steada his in law. Ida sniffed and looked at me like I was an old pair a boots the dog chewed up. First thing outta her mouth was what was I runnin' from, a sheriff or an angry husband. I couldn' resist tellin' her both. You'd think the long arm a' the law woulda kept a better hold on a wife that pretty. My sister looked so horrified that I almost fell down laughin'. I told her she oughtta know I ain't that dumb. She looked me right in the eye an' said maybe not, but if I was smart, I'd give up strong whiskey an' weak women an' do like our nephew Isaiah back in Mississippi. He bought hisself a farm near Lexington when Roosevelt's resettlement program started sellin' cheap land even to colored. [Bell goes silent. For a moment looks sadly into nothing.]
O'Donnell: Mr. Bell . . .?
Bell: I miss my sister. She hardly had a good word to say about me from the moment I started playin' at Big Lou's frolickin' house when I was workin' on Mr. Dockery's plantation, but she never meant anything mean or hateful by it. You know what I'm sayin'?
O'Donnell: I have a brother and two sisters.
Bell: Then you definitely know what I'm sayin'. We woulda' gotten inta it real good when someone knocked on the door. Ida went to see who it was. That was the first time I met the woman who brought her and Johann up from West Virginia …. She [Grace Mainwaring] didn' look like no big wheel whose family founded New Bedford an' owned half of it. She wasn't no prissy old maid like Ida made her sound. She was a blonde, blue-eyed cutie who looked like she shoulda been in a coca-cola ad. Her smile could warm you across the room. Ida pointed me out to her. I bowed my head a little an' put on my best respectful manners, the kind ya get shot or whipped down South for forgetting. 'Pleasure t' meet you, Miss Grace."
She didn' even bat an eye. Aksed me to jes' call her Grace. None a them fine white Southern ladies back then woulda done that. Some of 'em expected you t' worship 'em like they was the baby Jesus just fer lettin' you breathe the same air they did. Grace was jes' a friendly gal. Course when I say friendly, I don' mean easy, jes' good-natured. Anyway, I was gettin' over bein' treated like a person 'steada a pet monkey when she said Ida done told 'er that I knew Charley Patton, which I did. We both learned how to play blues guitar from ol' Henry Sloan. I couldn't figure how someone as respectable as Grace knew 'bout 'im.
Turns out her husband had a few a Charley's records. She found 'em a little rough an' raw but thought that there was somethin' true in 'em. Then she asked me what kinda blues I played. Good 'ol Ida was lookin' at me like I was snorin' in church. I jes' had to devil her an' I never could resist an audience. I tol' Grace I'd show her. Then I got the guitar outta th' case an' started playin' one a my own songs, "Sunflower Bottom Blues" 'Course I cleaned it up a little. We were in my sister's parlor an' not Messenger's on a Saturday night. [Closes his eyes and sings for a moment.] "Down in the Sunflower bottom so deep that the sun don' shine/Down in the Sunflower bottom so deep that the sun don' shine/There lives a mean, mean woman won' ever let me make her mine. …."
… Johann an' I were talkin' boxing. He asked me who I thought was goin' to win the Louis-Farr fight. I thought Louis after what he did t' Braddock. He might even stay champ as long as Jack Johnson. I had no idea Grace heard that 'til she turned her head from her talk with Ida. She said her father bet on Johnson to win the Jeffries fight.
You ain't never seen a conversation stop so cold. Johann, Ida 'n me jus' sat there with our mouths hangin' open jus' lookin' at Grace. Didn' seem like that woman ever run outta surprises. T' most white people before WWI, Jack Johnson was bad nigger number one what with his white wives an' take-no-bull attitude. Even in the '30's that hadn' changed much. When Grace said maybe she'd better explain, I jes' nodded. Then I settled back. That was one story I jes' couldn' wait t' hear.
Next Post: A barbershop bet. The annual Silverdome Mining Company Fishing Tournament and Royal Dominion Bank Picnic.