Chapter 89

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I was not impressed with either Alan Belfer or Leroy Horwitz. None of their regrets, however sincere, could bring my husband back. Nonetheless, I couldn't deny that he deserved the tribute being offered to him. In the end, I wrote to the filmmakers granting my permission. …

Alan Belfer and Leroy Horwitz eventually made their way to Hollywood and found success there, the former as a director and the latter as a cinematographer. Their names are legendary now among film fans. Their movies often show up on American Movie Classics. Both made flagwavers during WWII. During and afterwards, they made the kind of film that nobody called film noir on this side of the Atlantic until the seventies.

Both were summoned to testify before the House Unamerican Committee about their connections to the Communist Party. Belfer refused to help the Committee and spent a year in jail for contempt of Congress. I have to admit I was impressed with him then.

Horwitz named names as a friendly witness. Some of those he named had their careers destroyed. A couple went to prison as a result including Belfer. His own career prospered. He worked on some of the classic films of the next three decades and accumulated a couple of Oscar nominations in the process. Belfer was not able to revive his career in even a modest way until the sixties when old contacts in the business were able to get him work directing television episodes.

Afterwards, I sat on my bed tortured by bitter thoughts. I ignored the movie magazines on the nightstand that Mother had bought to cheer me up. Mother normally regarded that sort of reading as trash. The purchase must have been a desperation measure born of the memory of a life now vanished like Pharoah's chariots under the Red Sea in which movie magazines were one of my few pleasures. I couldn't help thinking of all the bravery, the idealism, and the hope that good people like Van put into the defense of the Spanish Republic and the struggle against fascism. The thought that everything they fought and died for was going to fail was unbearable.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty Dec. 9, 1938

Why did Hub have to bring that girl, Anna Schiller, with him to New Bedford? It's bad enough that she's pretty enough to be on the label of a bottle of lager and has a cute accent that Toppy says is because she's Viennese. Does she have to play cello as though she were accompanying a heavenly choir? Music is the one thing I have on all the prettier girls in this town-and that's most of them-who also wish Hub would pay some attention to them.

Hub has invited Anna to spend Christmas here since she apparently has no other place to go. I wonder if he would be so generous if she had a figure like mine and bad teeth. Of course, he would. He's Hub, the boy who's found homes for half a dozen stray cats and dogs since I've known him. He's almost as soft a touch for animals as Pritchard.

Grace Mainwaring to Honey Sutton Dec. 12, 1938

Mother has been seriously ill for three days and no doubt felt pretty bad before then. Of course, she tried to pretend that there was nothing really wrong in order not to upset me. Thank God, I noticed anyway. The doctor says she has pneumonia in one lung and it could have been worse if I hadn't sent for him. She shouldn't be standing much less walking around in her condition.

From the Journal of Maisy McGinty Dec. 12, 1938

Inspector Wells asked a lot of questions about Anna. He wanted to know if I had seen her or if anyone had said anything about her. I should tell if I heard anything. I played dumb. It wasn't easy. When Wells mentioned that Anna was in Canada illegally, I almost jumped out of my skin.

Fortunately, he didn't ask anything about Grace and Mrs. Bailey and their ties to the Toronto Jewish community. Anna confirmed that antifascist Canadians helped her and a handful of other Jews escape the Nazis and find refuge in this country illegally. During the past few days, some of her benefactors were arrested by the RCMP after being ratted on. She, herself, is on the run to escape deportation.

If I wasn't certain of what the money Grace gave to Al Cohen last summer was for, I am now. I am also certain that Al would never rat on her. I just hope that no one has ratted on him.

Dr. Barlow is pretty sure that Mayor Poole is past the worst. However, his recovery is likely to take two or three months. I just hope that Max doesn't collapse from exhaustion. From what Honey says, the burden of being teacher, principal, and acting mayor is starting to wear him down. He hardly has time for anything else these days. It's hard to believe it with a depression still going on, but apparently there is such a thing as too much work.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I had an anxious moment or two, but Mother rallied and began a slow but steady recovery. The doctor was glad to see her pneumonia responding so well to the new sulfa drugs. I was more relieved than I could say, but also haunted by the knowledge, so forcefully brought home to me by this close call, that Mother would not be with me forever.

In a year and a half, Maisie would go away to university. I couldn't deny that the time was coming, perhaps soon, when I would have to face life entirely on my own. I could see myself growing older alone and unloved. Already, I was in a place without light. I could see nowhere to go in any direction except deeper into darkness.

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring Dec. 20, 1938

I have to hand it to you Grace. The people I meet thanks to your connection to the International Brigades are nothing if not colorful. If anyone had told me three years ago that I would not only have a Negro Communist as a guest in my home, but that Diana and I would find him quite pleasant company, I would not have believed that person. I would probably have suggested as politely as possible that the poor deluded soul see a doctor.

Harry Schmitz and I did have a friendly argument on the subject of communism vs. capitalism. My faith in free enterprise was not shaken. However, after hearing some of his stories about how West Virginia mine owners operate, I can understand why he has none. We also traded stories about life in the army, mine from the western front and his from Spain. Apparently, a soldier's life hasn't changed much in twenty years. It's still rough sledding and comrades still mean everything when nothing else can be counted on.

Harry played with Jimmy a little and Jimmy took an instant liking to him. Mrs. Haley [Joan Haley, housekeeper for the Baileys since 1936. Ed.] was a little shocked to be entertaining a Negro, but, nonetheless, fixed a mouthwatering roast for supper. Harry regaled us with stories of funny experiences and even more colorful characters from his hobo days.

Afterwards, the mood turned solemn when he removed a sketchbook from his knapsack. It belonged to Richard Ladner before he was killed at Caspe. He asked Harry as his sergeant to see that it and his letters were returned to his parents if anything happened to him. Harry removed both from the boy's knapsack and transferred them to his own before they interred him in one of the tombs in the cemetery they were trying to hold against Franco's army.

During the retreat that followed, Harry brought the effects across the Ebro on a makeshift raft. They have remained with him ever since. The pencil drawings of his comrades from the sketchbook capture so many careless, everyday moments in camp and so many tense and even grim ones in the field. In vivid strokes, Richard Ladner salvaged a handful of tiny instants of human lives that have since been cut short or passed through a hell of fear and loss so that the memories are blurred or blotted out by pain.

I agreed to introduce Harry to the Ladners. The return of their son's last sketchbook and the rest will mean the world to them. I will also introduce Harry to the Cohen family. I can't help thinking of Elliot Ladner and Al Cohen, two bereaved fathers. I pray to God that my son will come of age in a time of peace.

Next Week: May on the mend. Harry's outrage. A blessing.