Sorry for the gap – life chewed me up and spat me out. I would be a lot better off without the amateur psychologists picking my brains. This place is determined to break me whatever it takes. No Mr. Dean I do not like your math course or your clumsy attempts to “civilize” me. Yesterday I was shaking with rage because he said I would need math when I am a housewife! I thought I’d pass out!
Actually feeling a bit better today because of the movie we just saw – Sixteen in Webster Grove. It’s about the pressure adults put their kids under. You even worry in your sleep. I used to be so excited about every new day but no more. I am the same jittery mass of frenzied hostility as anyone else. My only defense is “to hell with it.” Nice to know it isn’t just me. After the film (in the East Room) there was a Discussion. What a travesty. It was all “they”. Why are “They” so bad? Why can’t they be wonderful and right-thinking and privileged like Marvellous Us? How we Pity Them!
Tues. Nov 29 – 66 Mr. Ensleigh agreed to be my advisor. He let him kick his desk and turn the lights off and on until I felt better. He asked me what I was reading and I told him Brideshead Revisited. He asked me to lend it to him when I was finished. He is at least a step in the right direction. Got a booklet in the mail from the Central School of Drama (London.) They listed all the ways you could get expelled! Sounds like another prison where they watch the inmates closely! Fortunately the future never comes. Today is all there is.
Thurs. Dec 1 – 66 Today I achieved a real understanding of people who throw their dreams away for a little security. Anything for Peace and Quiet. I signed up for Coffee & Conversation – Juniors & Seniors ONLY!!! as a Hobby (they are Required) and we sat around Mr. Ensleigh’s apt talking about juvenile delinquency while we devoured a whole chocolate cake. I imagined what it would be like to be married to him and when the bell rings and the Patients toddle out, I throw off my clothes and fling myself full length on the sofa to watch TV. (They do say he is queer, however.) In how short a time would THAT security seem another prison? Doug Bristow told me the rumor is I’m cold! Wow! How well I conceal my true self!
Tues. Dec 13 – 66 Reed Hambro asked me to the Christmas Dance and I said No. Aynsley (who favors him) said Why on Earth and I said because he needs someone to take care of HIM and I need someone to take care of ME!!
The theme of the dance was An Old Fashioned Christmas so I took the job of barmaid handing around birch beer. For an old fashioned barmaid I did a lot of dancing (with Brice the new speech coach.)
Next night was The Santa Clause Masque – a stupid play, if you ask me. My part goes, “Knowledge has taken love out of the world and the world is empty, empty, empty…” Do they HEAR themselves? I guess art is about other people – unfortunates we can feel smug about. We don’t NEED art because we’re perfect! 3 weeks work up in smoke. At least it’s snowing. I like snow. Beauty, strength silence – it has all the good qualities.
Wed 14 Dec 66 – 2 PM Feeling sick after reading Rabbit Run. It’s a Forbidden Book which means they keep it in the Librarian’s office and you need your parents’ permission to read it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered.
Character describes his wife as a “white, pliant machine for mating, hatching and feeding”. Yuck. I used to want six children but now I’m wondering. I’m starting too think women are worse off than Negroes. Negroes can go to Africa but women have no country. I am a Human Being. I intend to lead a full intellectual, artistic and emotional life. Those uninterested in the Entire Package need not apply.
11PM Reed sent me such a sweet KOB.
My heart leaps As a pebble will do after sitting two days In a glass of still water. For the legion of the sixties is clashing with its foes Marching to inevitability & failure. Rationalizing & nationalizing its ineptitudes Treading mercilessly on inferiors Leaping At the drop of a penny and Leaving a cavity gold could not fill. As I sit in my army blanket The torchbearers approach Glory heads, holding Exiled pedagogues captive with Their faithful frightful faces Whose drab accoutrements dissolve I know all and yet I will not speak out. Only the hues of night will know They are the base I am the apex. I could name A hundred faces in between. I must judge iniquities of façade & mind Doomed to live a life A hypocrite could recognize. Life goes one and Life goes on and Venus will never know.
Wow! I will date any boy who writes poetry this good. Pebbles don’t leap but still. He uses the word “accoutrements”! However he No Longer Believes in Dating. Couldn’t we just Show Up somewhere at the Same Time? No, we could not.
M & D up sailing at six, we girls slept like hogs till 9. Loafed in the sack discussing M’s wedding.
“I want a small wedding.” “You’ll never get it under 50 people,” I said. “You can all be bridesmaids! Gayle is maid of honor.” “I hope our dresses are full-length!” (me) “Avril will be flower girl,” suggests Genevieve. Now Merrill is threatening to get married BEFORE the actual ceremony because otherwise she’ll be too nervous! Yeah! She might fall in love with SOMEBODY ELSE and then what I think but don’t say.
Reached Long Point, Canada by lunch. Half mile to shore, G and I certain we could swim it so we plunged in, Avril trailing us in the dinghy. It was gorgeous, water clear but green, not blue like Mediterranean. Bottom pure pale sand. Not actually tired when I reached shore but proud – boat looked so far away! Glorious sand beach, big light house. G found a dead seagull that hadn’t been dead very long so we got a good look at this magnificent bird. Close up they are so beautiful. No clue what killed it – did not look sick. We gave it a nice burial (it was so heavy I was surprised it could fly.) I recited Millay – I never miss a chance to be poetical, just part of Alysse’s Beachside Morgue Service. Avril cried. Byron’s my favorite (strange since 19th cent makes me want to scream) but couldn’t recall any of his stuff. 1Jane Austen my favorite hist period. ) Could I have used his quote about Napoleon? What must be the madness of thy memory? I particularly love Don Juan. Also I like Keats. Frost is good but with him you don’t have to think.
Back at the boat we had lunch and set sail for Berwell. Long, lazy afternoon.. I’ve finished all my books – heavy into spy literature – also poisoned chocolates case which I didn’t like as much as I thought I would. I thought it was Mrs Bendix all along. Also Anya Seton’s Katherine. “Eve of Destruction” playing on the radio. Great. I need several hours alone with the author of this song in order to straighten him out. I refuse to believe politics is anything but temporary madness.
Thurs Aug 26 – 65 Harshly awakened by pots, kettles & cans falling to the floor. Boat rocking wildly and me, in the lower starboard bunk, got entangled in my sleeping bag and almost thrown into the bilge. Then my roll-in bed slammed into the wall as far as it would go with me in it! Knives flying – I was in fear for my life!
“This ketchup bottle almost hit my FACE” said Merrill. I rescued diary from floor and tried to lock it in books cupboard while books fell on my head. I heard the sound of the motor as M & D tried to straighten the boat. Avril was actually thrown out on the floor under a cascade of bottles. If you really thought about it you’d get seasick. Put on a lumberjack shirt – no time for bra and climbed above to see Port Stanley heaving into view. Fat white gulls sitting on the black coal. Port Stanley itself looks like it was erected overnight for a Hitchcock film and will be pulled down next day. We had a lot of trouble docking. A cheerful idiot in a yachting cap kept offering directions that turned out to be wrong. Once docked a customs officer came aboard and stamped around. We were still cleaning up. Dad said we looked like “a laundry scow.” The customs man kept a cigarette in his mouth while the ash grew long and longer. Had to ask us the date. After he left we put up the awning and ate lunch, then went ashore looking very conspicuous. The natives seem harmless. I bought 2 books – Nicholas Blake & Phyllis Whitney.
Mom found a good bakery so we are all in the cockpit munching cookies. Tough t-bone steaks for dinner with plenty of onions, then cards.
News: that Johnson again. Married men no longer exempt.
Wed. Sept 1, 65 2:40 AM Lie awake wondering why I want to be an actress. My reasons are all wrong. I simply want to be Somebody Else. Wouk’s Morningstar currently driving me up a tree. I refute his assumption that if you’re young, talented, beautiful you’re bound to make it. I have hit upon a Plan of Action. Genevieve thinks I should go to a WORK CAMP next summer. I need to find some non-exploitative training so I can enter RADA age 18. First goal: save $100 out of my allowance. (That’ll be hell. Out of $30/month!)
Next summer I will be sixteen and can WORK so maybe I should do that. Genevieve says you can just go into the Inn and get a job. THEN THERE’S THAT MINNESOTA PROG I WAS TOO young for, Maybe should go there. I don’t want to be so parasitical. Genevieve says London will be s expensive as Wellesley! People advise me to try writing short stories but I’m not there yet – still learning – and I don’t want to rush things. 3:40 AM! I surprise myself sometimes.
Thurs. June 9 – 66 Yahoo! Summer is officially here and I am FREE! Mom & Dad aren’t coming till tomorrow night so I have noting to do but take walks, pack, and try to avoid Blair who is becoming a little much for me. He moves with such incredible slowness and he has to have all my ideas exhaustively explained to him. He likes to read Ezra Pound’s poetry out loud while I lie under a tree with my eyes shut. Since this is the only thing we share I’m afraid to tell him I just don’t like Ezra Pound. I don’t think he can stomach Millay. Oh dear. While he talks my inner music plays Let’s Get Lost on a Country Road by the Kit Kats and We Gotta Get Out of This Place by the Animals. Speaks to our condition as they say. Merrill’s wedding June 16 – we have nightmarishly ugly bridesmaid dresses to wear – Mom had them made by some disabled woman she took pity on. We are the ones deserving of pity for having to wear the damn things.
Mon Jun 27 – 66 Here I am at the University of Minnesota! I’ve hit the big time! I would not be writing at all but we are in the basement because of a tornado warning. Ah, the joys of the Midwest. Just us theatre students and a bunch of nuns who wear funny underwear and caps with strings. You wouldn’t think there would be an order of theatre nuns would you! Well there are! They are called the Franciscans and I must say they are making the idea of the convent look attractive. (Not the clothes though. But there is talk of fixing those.) They even have a swimming pool which Chassie my roommate and I sneak into – naked – in the middle of the night.
A fat one named Sister Glory is praying out loud. They told us to bring “something valuable on our way down so of course I brought you! Next time I will bring a blanket and pillows (the floor is very hard.) Writing hard too because whatever I put down is played back in my brain very discouragingly.
I am studying Acting One, Fencing, Makeup and Fencing. I love theatre people! (even uns.)But we don’t spend nearly as much time on those as on building theatre sets – obviously we are Slave Labor. This is even worse because the slaves didn’t pay to work. So far the only thing I’ve learned is how to mix “dope” to stiffen unbleached muslin into walls. This will take me far in life.
As usual my intellectual life is alive. Reading The Carpetbaggers in which sex warps into hate (Beales!) Turgenev’s Hunting Sketches (adore!) and The Prince, which is sort of a drag. I am Mrs. Smith in The Bald Soprano. The director asked us when our periods are due before casting. (He is very superstitious.)
Fri. July 22 – 66 The fact that I am still a virgin’s not my fault. I am sitting in the coach of a New York Central Train headed (eventually) for Philadelphia – because there is an airline strike. I am headed to Charlaix to meet up with family aboard The Gryphon. It will be a long, laborious journey, which is good because I have had a monumental hangover (my first!) for three days. I am eating liverwurst & onions to keep away the sailors (it’s working.)
I was dating this fantastic college student named Trey (Très très)! I was too absorbed even to write about him! He has the most glorious bod – how I wish I had a picture – and is very tan. Runs around Minneapolis St Paul in a little loincloth & flip-flops. He’s covered all over with a glittery platinum fuzz. Alas he was just as interested in my roommate Georgy as he was in me but she was not interested in him. (Thank God.) He’s six feet six and has to wear coke bottle glasses but since I can’t really see as far as his face that doesn’t matter. He took me to see The Skin of Our Teeth at the Guthrie – fabulous.
(A sailor sits beside me. He grins. I grin. Blast of onionated liver. He departs.)
Trey gave a going away party for me at his house (parents away.) It’s a teensy little garage way out in the suburbs I’m surprised humans can fit in there. But it has a big back yard. I wore a bikini , sundress & sunglasses and brought my Village Fugs album – they loved it. Trey opened up the booze cabinet and started mixing whiskey sours while 4,000 of his closest friends trooped past scrutinizing and then ignoring me.
Finally I announced I had to be going. (Early train!) He told me he would drive me. I said he didn’t have to – I could get some actor to do it – he said – “I want to” gazing deeply into my eyes. That gave us more time (all night!) together. Unfortunately. I was handling the whiskey sours, it was the Purple Jesus that did me in. Jesus! Never again! Nothing purple EVER! Trey went out cruising around for supplies leaving me alone with Leechy Friend who mixed me this awful drink and I was too drunk to turn it down. I threw up all over Leechy Friend who kept patting me and saying “Don’t worry, this happens all the time.” (Around HIM!) Trey came home and was quite upset by my condition. He got me a sleeping bag and put me to bed in his parent’ room. Later on I hear this noise like someone coming to bed with me.
“Trey?” “No.”
It was the Leechy Friend! I tried to escape from him but got stuck in the crevice between the twin beds and was still too drunk to escape! I yelled “Trey!” and didn’t my hero appear to rescue me! Minus his loincloth. I begged him to stay. He knew I was a virgin but he said, “There’s a lot of other things we can do” and there were. I had several “seizures” and I think he did too. If I had any criticism it would be that his penis is a little skinny- and ribbed – like a dog penis. But still! A night to remember! Life is no fun if there’s no one to play it with!
After 4 days I am horribly homesick. The classes are wonderful, I am sure I will learn a lot, why am I so lonely? This is costing Mom & Dad a lot of money. You have to buy your own lightbulbs here and the teachers are alcoholic & temperamental – someone missed a diamond ring and all our quarters were searched (not found, either.) There’s nothing wrong with the kids – they aren’t the glamor girls I feared I’d get so what’s missing. None has the requirement of individuality I desire in a person. Maybe they’re pretending. Maybe they see our job here as pretending. Is acting imitation? Alysse doesn’t like that! The classes are good but the food is terrible and they give you so little you’re constantly starving. But at least there’s swimming. Should I rave about the place or lie to M & D? I’d betray myself when I see them again – burst out crying I love them so much. It was Thanksgiving before it hit me how much I love them. I love mom more than Dad if I’m confessing. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder to the point of hysteria?” It could be worse. I love everybody and I’ll write them every day. I’ll read Lord of the Flies, Le Morte D’Arthur – can’t wait to get started.
Sun Aug 8, 65 That went horribly. Was it a dream? Sadly, not. It went on and is still going on. Camp got better in some ways, worse in others. Found a good friend in Edie Jacoby. Danni Wisefield invited me to a beach party Wed night! This sounded exciting and it WAS. Guitars, beers, fires, BOYS! We built a sandcastle & sang! I met a boy named Rob (Victor Robinson Larsen) who goes to Oberlin College! (Class of 68.) Very nice person to talk to (never touched me.) He brought a book of poetry we read around the fire! They walked us back. The truth is I never thought about getting caught, I certainly didn’t think about getting EXPELLED. So shaming. I think I am a person who TRIES to be good. Mom and Dad didn’t even come to get me – sent a friend who brought me back to her Southampton estate. I feel cheated. I FELT cheated. It’s common knowledge that you rebel against those distrusted.
Danni denied everything, I couldn’t. I did cry because I hate to be cross-examined. Mr. Pomeranz offered me a dirty choice. If I would say it was Danni’s idea and I didn’t know what I was getting into – but I couldn’t. I had to call home – only Genevieve was there. “A boy – AGAIN?” She asked. The worst injustice! She means sneaking out with Julie last summer. My parents never called back. Finally I put on my red boots & red corduroy dress and went to borrow a dime for a phone call. “Your parents have been trying to reach you” says Mr. Sheldon. Pity no one bothered to tell me! Calling wasn’t a good idea – they were stern, I cried. Made myself feel better after by making up jokes: The Mr. Pomeranz windup doll- steals your money & expels you. I got a going away party – hamburgers & ringdings. Rob and his MOTHER showed up – tried to put in a good word to no avail! Sweet, though. I was happy to leave. At the last minute they offered to let me stay. I said No.
This place is rathole. Couldn’t talk honestly with Daddy because Mr. Pomeranz was there but he figured it out. The Hortons arrived in the middle of my going away party! I remembered Bill but had never met Leonie, a solid, freckled figure. They were very kind. They put up with all my emotions and rushing about. Mr. Pomeranz wouldn’t give me my plane ticket, refused to believe who the Hortons were, finally we got out of there. Isn’t it funny how things work out?
Thurs. night Aug 12 – 65 The Hortons house is a huge white estate on the water! Dripping with ivy & windows in unexpected places. Pretty much my dream house! I have a wing to myself! The bed is big but as hard as a rock. On the bedside table Eng short stories by Christopher Isherwood so they expect you to be wakeful. When I was twelve I had a crush on Christopher Isherwood! Children really are awfully strange. First I was at acting school, now I’m at a country estate for an Indefinite Stay. Sounds like the plot of a Passionflower Hotel book! Had a horrible nightmare about Mr Pomeranz.
Woke late and helped Lee Horton fix lunch. She likes silent meals – she reads! Fine with me! Then we drove to the train station and picked up the cook, Georgia Clark, tall thin black woman who said, “I want some coffee as’ll do me some damage.” Apparently no one makes coffee strong enough for her.
That night Leonie and I went to Prescott Horton’s house in St. James for dinner before the Smithtown Pageant. He’s Bill’s older brother. He looks like Commander Whitehead. I wore my Greek dress. He’s an official for Smithtown so we had to go – it’s a travelling co performing the Pageant. I sat there with an asinine smile on my face. Worst performance I have ever seen – pure canned corn. Called home after. Mom has not forgiven me yet. On Wed we went to Bellfort to see The King & I! The dancers were fabulous! Too bad I have no talent. Saw everyone during intermission! They were surprised!
Thurs a beach day. Mr. Horton was late (he’s a lawyer in Manhattan) we didn’t have dinner till ten! Tomorrow I go. Hope there’s no yelling – I feel guilty enough.
Fri. 13th Aug 65 On the plane. Something wrong with landing gear, pilot circling while they figure. We may have to return to Kennedy. Almost hoping we crash; I don’t want to die but if I was a little mutilated my parents would go easier on me.
This AM drove with Mr. Horton & Georgia into Manhattan; I slept most of the way. Left Georgia at bus station, then was delivered to Mr. H’s secretary at his office. She took me to the UN right across the street. Pretty cool but I hate guided tours! Hate being one of the masses. After that I was given a typewriter & office stationery to write letters until cab time. Now trying to think of Famous Last Words in case we crash (it IS Fri 13.)
OBITUARY OUR whole community is sorrowing sorrowing SORROWING to hear of the death of Miss Alysse Aallyn, budding actress and writer, dearly, dearly DEARLY beloved of the entire Clark family (currently vacationing in Italy) nipped in the bud by a p L A N E Cra…..
7:15 PM You’re not going to believe this. We DID have to land and have been waiting here ever since to find out why they gave us a broken plane. Luckily I bought duMaurier’s Parasites it is very good. Called home – only Clarice there of all people. They’re serving dinner – nice of them! I better eat it. Unfortunately the food is all sterilized, just like airplane food. I am so scared I am breaking out.
Sun. Aug 22 -65 Still alive. Very jumpy plane ride – a stewardess buckled in next to me and when she got scared I got scared!
Whole family there to meet me! No reproaches – even hard looks except from Genevieve. After M & D have gone into a huddle they are Done – no more influencing them. It was a mistake to write those glowing letters! I told them they read our mail but I was not believed. I am set for Plumly school which will straighten me out (G not too thrilled since she had it to herself. She is clucking away disgustedly.) Definitely Wellesley material (where she wants to go.)
Frankly it’s horrible being home. I should have stayed at camp. Why can’t I learn to fake it? My old friends seem cliquey and narrow minded. I go to library, run errands for Mom, read, write, sleep, keep to the house like a hermit. I read in G’s diary about how she read my diary! I said, ‘I forgive you.” Then we both burst into helpless laughter.
Merrill called to say she’s coming home instead of meeting us on the cruise. Looking smaller, she arrived with Ted Damian in tow. He looks stupid to me. Merrill seemed a little sarcastic towards him. After he left, she said they broke up! Her eyes were shining, she seemed relieved and happy! She said she’s IN LOVE and ENGAGED to a guy SHE MET A WEEK AGO! HIS NAME IS JULIAN Holt (she calls him Julio.) I decided this girl doesn’t know what true love is. But then, I don’t either so there you go. He wants to be a foreign correspondent and has given her an engagement ring which is more than Ted ever did.
Had to cram the station wagon with provisions and drive Merrill, Mom, Mouse & me to Mentor on the lake Ohio where Dad & Jay took the boat. Passed through Brunswick where the police checked every car in advance of the big KuKluxKlan rally. This plus Vietnam makes me want to cry or be ill. He’s a corn-mouthed, barbecue-eating ASS! He’ll incinerate the world if he gets a chance.
Lovely cruising days (even without the sun.) First night at Ashtabula, next Conneaut. They were dirty & insignificant but now we are at Presque Ile which is glorious.
Thurs. Jun 10 – 65 On a plane somewhere over Cleveland.
New diary, new paths on my journey. Stepped into a dark green taxi leaving five crying friends behind. Leaving behind the Age of Dreams and entering the Age of Doing. I’m not saying I haven’t got a past – I have – quite a past – but the future still holds all the excitement. In 45 mins I’ll be saying hello to mommy and whoever else she brings to greet me at the Cleveland International Grubport. This is a very jiggly plane and this writing could go wrong at any moment so think I’ll go back to my James Bond.
Somewhere in Lake Erie between Toledo & Vermilion – Fri. Jun 18 – 65 Just completed a week of inactivity – a century in Plumly time. I only needed the first three days, by Wed night I HAD A FIT OF THE WOLLIES. I’m either hysterically joyous or wretchedly depressed – which is the real me? Sobbed myself to sleep in sheer frustration. Daddy asked me if I wanted to go on the Mills Race so I said yes. He’s trying to make up for the time he got angry & said I didn’t care a goddam about anything. I’m taking the boat to Toledo (won’t be in the race). Dad dragged me out of bed after 5 hrs sleep 8:45. Ragged madras shorts & pink shirt & yellow beach bag, rubber bands in my hair, crammed into the Monza with crew member & his family. We were so packed in crew member kept shifting my knee. (Bill Capitan.)
Stocky, amiable, running to fat (his face looks like a pudding) he is a prof of photog at the college. His wife plain, cheerful, cajoling 2 children. They were talking about last Wed’s race – Dad won! Dad said if he’d fallen in Dad would have kept going so it was a good thing he didn’t fall in. We stopped to lay in supplies of beer & vermouth. Goodbye to wife & kids, out towards channel by 10 Am. Me at helm (boat fought like spoiled child) and I fought back. Sails up, I was relieved (Bill’s no good as helmsman either.)
Dad said between the two of us we were wandering all over the damn lake. We had lunch at 12:30 – to amuse myself I cleaned the galley even the medieval cubbyholes. Got to improve my pater’s opinion of me! Read all afternoon –finished Flight of the Falcon started Payne’ s Gold of Troy. Falcon isn’t so good- I don’t like its overall feel. Gold more interesting though written in the passive style. Break for pretzels & coffee.
Dad whispered “Bill thinks you’re the sweetest girl.” Aww. Dad then said, “Except when you’re being obstreperous.” We were outside the firing range at 4 had to stop & tether to the Fine Feather (beautiful yawl- very good looking boy on board) to let them finish and let us through. We were a flotilla. Our wind failed, we had to motor though the range. (8 knots/hr!) I took the helm for 2 hrs that was easier. Water cool and smooth as glass. Bill excited about the herons, Dad playing w/chart & slide rule.
The Toledo LightHouse is a Byzantine castle – I hope to build my own someday. It’s 20 to 9 – we’ll be in by 9:30. We fly four flags – Vermilion Boat Club, Great Lakes, Italy & France (Dad gave his Greek one to the Lagoon Boat Club.)
Thurs. June 24 – 65 Dinner at yacht club. Buffet, and the meat was terrible! Dad said it was “highway robbery” but they were having a party, celebrating start of the Mills. Dad promised I can race someday.
Back at the boat Don Lennartson showed up with the hood jenny (the one Dad sent to be repaired.) He’s the one taking me home – we left at midnight. Don & I exchanged civilized pleasantries, then fell silent. We stopped at a gas station and I did make him laugh. He thought I was a drama major and he was too. He suggested books by Lawrence Durrell I ought to read, then we had a good long talk. I arrived home happy & sleepy. Mom awake – chatted with her & the hamsters then went to bed. Waked in the AM by Avril and Genevieve – we are driving into Cleveland – hooray! We played the radio and were very sisterly. Mom forgot to give G the map so we got lost. We went to Mus of Art – I was sorry we would eat there because I hate the food. Poor sandwich, bad jello. We met Mom & her head start program at the museum. I love the Egyptian room – we feel the same about cats. Also the Modiglianis. Mom met us at 2:30 and took us shopping – I begged off to sleep in the car. Avril got lots of beautiful clothes and I was madly jealous. Went to a bookstore after that and I got a history of the silent screen. More shopping – I coaxed an orange dress out of Mumlet. Sirloin steaks with onion rings at Clark’s then thundered merrily home.
Sun was Father’s Day. Everyone forgot except me. G and I drove up with Mrs Capitain to bring boat back from Toledo with Daddy. She is a very bad driver. It was agony. We were very late. Dad, G, Don & I shoved off. Solid breeze made getting out of the channel a nightmare. Dad told a Satchelpuss story that made us all laugh. Poor Don got seasick, I felt wonderful.
Tues. July 6 – 65 Lovely weekend on boat with Clarice (Genevieve’s friend) Mom, Dad, and Genevieve. Dinner at the Twine House (shishkabob.) Parfait for dessert! Poor Clarice is so fat Dad thinks she should be hospitalized. Men are always that way about fat. She’s lovely – makes a point of being sure I’m “in” instead of trying to get rid of me (like G). I don’t want to be like G, I enjoy being different. This is the reason for Your existence, diary. I’m the “wondergirl” as G says.
None of this fat problem can be Clarice’s fault, she is a really confident person. It’s no act. My matchstick confidence is always going CRASH! I only feel “good” when I’m really done up. G. is writing in her diary too! Us diary keepers must stick together. “How long have you had one?”
“Quite awhile.” “I didn’t know!” “I don’t advertise it like you do.” It’s probably about Me! Mine’s about her!
Sun. July 11 – 65 The stage is always stagey but movies are personal. They are at the same time a thought, a dream, or something happening outside your window. Hollywood doesn’t give people credit for their intelligence. The thrill of thought is a lot more potent than identification with some sex-goddess. Should I graduate from Plumly and storm RADA? I can only hope I have the talent.
1 am Fri July 23, 65 Can’t sleep. Tried exercising, counting things, pretending, even acting! Acting like I’m sleeping! “Alysse, my Girl,” I said to Me, “What you need is a Good Think.” So here I am. We have guests, so I’m in a sleeping bag on the floor. I’m reduced to a flashlight. It was an evening of Unexpected Phone Calls. Nightie…root beer…TV. RING! I jump up, knock over a table. “Hello?” ‘Nyello. Nye have a collect call for Anyone from Miss Merrill Aallyn. Will you accept?” “Sure thing!” I say, “Hi, Muff!” “Get everyone on the line!” demands Merrill. “I’m the only one here,” I apologize. “But I sent a LETTER that I would call TONITE!” “Well…” Bzzz. Cut off. Sure enough – RING! “H’lo?” “DID YOU HANG UP?” “NO. DID YOU?” (Hard to hear. We were having a storm.) “Let’s have some female gossip. You know Ted?” “Yeeesss…” (her latest guy.) “Well, you have to promise not to tell anyone BUT TED AND I ARE GETTING MARRIED!!” I screech jubilantly. Bzzz. I wait impatiently. RI- “Merrill, I’m so excited!” “YOU DO THAT ONCE MORE…” “Look, it isn’t me! I swear! When? Where? This is fabulous! My own sister!” “Sssh. I thought you didn’t LIKE Ted.” I DID say that. “Well, if he wants to marry you he can’t be all bad,” I say guiltily. “Promise you won’t tell. Mom & Dad don’t like him either.” “Married!” I couldn’t get over it. “Wow!” “Next year,” says Merrill glumly. “Well, don’t get married in June like everyone else does. When will you tell them?” “I’ll tell them SOMETIME.” Now SHE sounded guilty! “I won’t let you be a bridesmaid if you tell anybody!” “OK, Ok.” “Ted’s parents keep sending us these articles on premarital sex. They’re giving us ideas.” “So, have you premaritally sexed him yet?” I was WILD! “Yes. Once.” This was something! Merrill not a virgin? I felt separated by the gulf of human experience making her so changed. “What was it like?” “It was a lot of work. He had a towel with a bulls’ eye and I had to lie down on the target. There’s too much pressure! You want to get it over with.” I was scared to ask if she loved him – she HAS to say yes! Talk about pressure! But who could love Ted? “Did it hurt?” “I have to hang up now.” “Oh Merrill, it’s wonderful to hear from you, I’m so glad to hear about you & Ted! I’ll write a lot, I promise!” Poor girl! I romantically resolved to be her champion. RING! “HELLO?” “Hi. Is Genevieve there?” “Nope. Sailing.” “Is this Avril?” “Nope. Alysse. Who’s this?” “Bill Laughlin. You’re the one I REALLY wanted to see! Want to drive out and get a Coke?” “Are you serious!” I foresee a great future in the Diplomatic Corps. “Sure! What’s the matter? Going steady?” “Yeah, with Billy Stephens. I babysit for him.” “How old is he?” “About six.” “He won’t mind one coke.” “Genevieve might not like it.” “Genevieve’s just a kid! You’re the one I want!” (Amazing how good this feels.) “I need to get ready.” “Are you in your nightgown?” “Yeah, but I can change.” “Don’t bother. I’ll be right over.” This guy was hilarious! CLICK. Anyway, I put on a dress. I wrote a note – “Bill Laughlin taking me out to pump me about Genevieve. Be right back.”
That ought to cover it! Bill at the door. We drove a gold Mustang with black leather. Gorgeous car. (He said it was his brother’s.) Went to the Dairy Queen, got small cokes & talked. It was a good conversation. I liked the way he tried to match my moods, serious to joking all at once. I said I’d been wanting this sign Youth Haven and he offered to get it for me but it was too high up. I showed him the mogul on the way to Kretchmar’s – he gunned it and we soared over it. Great fun. He never mentioned Genevieve at all! Until in the driveway he said, “Do you think Jenny will go out with me Fri?”
I said, “Sure, why not?” “Well. We had words.” “A fight?” This was exciting! “Something like that. Sort of “you can forget about Friday.” “Uhoh. She’s not a big mind-changer. But you should ask.” And don’t mention ME! “If she won’t, will you? I’ve already got the tickets.” Tactless. “I’m already going with Avril. Better ask Genevieve. Really.” No matter how second-hand I obviously was, I was flattered! Thank you, G’Bye, slam! He’s good looking and fun, I would definitely date him if Genevieve doesn’t want him. “Of course I’ll go,” she said condescendingly.
LAKE ERIE AGAIN – Sunday July 25-1965 One more day till drama camp! Sometimes I get so excited I want to jump up in the air screaming EEEEEEE! Reading DuMaurier’s Glassblowers I just learned something I already half-knew – “There is no such thing as time.” It’s what you want to do with it! A beautiful truth. The tree we climb may be cut down but the past is never gone. I can be any age I have ever been before.
I’m in a paper-wasting mood. I feel like joining some of the great paper-wasters of all time, such as the authors of The Spy, The Deerslayer and the Old Curiosity Shop got nothing on me as I natter on endlessly and speculate about my life. That’s all this school really teaches you – the Art of Hedging. Teachers love it. When what you really want to do is just give way to violent gusts of passionate hatred. My goal as a writer is to slowly seduce my readers into a hypnotic state from which they only gradually awaken wondering what time it is with numbed sensibilities and no memory of what has transpired. Heh heh.
Saturday, May 29, 1965 Diagnosis: summer sickness. The patient must get up, put on a gypsy dress, minimum of makeup and sit calmly in a bus for one hour. Then the patient boards a plane, cracks a book and rides to her destination, which is ANYWHERE NOT HERE. That’s if the patient is not too sick to make it through finals. If only I hadn’t used up my meal pers I could go into King of Prussia for shopping and make whoopee. But sometimes its fun to do something illegal. I could get someone to check me off at lunch. Of course I’m already in trouble for shiking into other people’s rooms at night. And then there’s the Hitchhiking Episode –which apparently I’m never going to be able to forget. The only people, apparently, who stop for hitchhikers are:
1.Maniacs 2.Little old ladies who want to give you a lecture and then drive recklessly 3.Perverts – who travel in packs 4.Escaped convicts who just stole this car and can’t figure out how to work the damned thing.
All the escaped convicts I’ve ever known were deeply courteous people, but I guess I just have the inner light a little more than SOME people I could mention.
Friday, June 4, 1965 Beales invited me to Casper the Grasper’s (his real name is Bad Karl) for tea. He’s the elderly pornographer who has apparently fastened on our school for some reason it wouldn’t take a fortuneteller to figure out and either throws or goes to all the parties. When I was in the Shakespeare play I was standing right on the edge of the stage, emoting away, and then I saw him in the front row staring at me through binoculars. I mean, the man was looking down my pores. I forgot every line in that one moment. Debacle. However he has a fabulous house and apparently it’s a great honor to be invited there. So of course I’m curious.
For a person who wants to be an actress and a writer I’m not very observant. I’m always in such a fog I’m the last person in the world to know what’s going on. Guess who turned out to be also going - sans date, of course. Rich! And I could tell by the way he was looking at me that he still has feelings for me. Can a girl and a boy just be friends? Now I’ve got Beales and Krissy’s got Crow and Rich’s got nobody, which is no one’s fault but his own.
Many lonely midnight violin solos at Boy’s End. So I have to admit – I hate to admit – I tortured him a bit. The tormented must torture back. Beales was not pleased. But the sense of power does go to your head. Actually I’m tempted to break up with Beales just because of this awful book he gave me. He said it was the best book he ever read, and it turned out to be a real stinker – the meaning of which, apparently, is that nothing has any meaning. The girl treats the guy horribly and he gets back at her through some sci fi device that freezes her. I’m sorry I now know anything about the inside of Beales’ head. It’s a horrible place. I’ll just stick with his lips, thank you.
So I should probably write about Casper’s. Casper has a wife but they have separate rooms. (I know because I snooped.) So do Beales’ parents, I was shocked to discover. Maybe this is more common than I knew. (His parents worry Plumly is too liberal. If they only knew. What they really mean is its co-ed, which is undeniable, and there’s dating, which is a fact, and that whenever we get the chance we all pounce on each other like randy bunnies. Which does happen occasionally. But the teachers and the kitchen staff are the dangerous ones if you stay away from them you’re Ok. ) Beales says “everyone knows” the way to kill sex is to get married. (This from a guy who was carded when he tried to order a crème de menthe parfait.) I’m not taking sex advice from a virgin who is afraid of trees and an incredibly bad canoeist. My father embarrassed his children horribly all across Europe by refusing to take single bedded rooms for him and Mom. If they didn’t have a double, no matter if it was almost midnight, we had to look for another place. But you see I’m having trouble describing Bad Karl’s place. What kind of a writer always talks about herself?
Ok. It smells bad. That’s number one. You can’t put your finger on it. Whenever my mom smells something like that she says its drains, so that might be it. Casper can’t see and his wife can’t hear and they probably can’t smell, either. When one sense goes, the others can’t be far behind. The house is full of dusty books and bizarre engravings. Bad Karl’s favorite kind of books are called Belles Lettres - the only category I’ve never heard of. I’m sure the wall of books swivels around revealing a dank staircase going down down down if you press on it just right but the smell was too bad to remain in the house long. We spent most of our time in the rose-garden – they have beautiful roses – apparently Mrs. Grasper is a rosarian, which I thought, was either a religion or a men’s club. It may be that what’s bad news for drains is good news for roses. The food was fabulous – Napoleons have always been my favorite – and although they had boring tea they had flavored coffees too. Conversation was a bit difficult – Beales mentioned his paper on euthanasia and we got a 20-minute discourse on their trip to China in the 1920’s so I think Mrs. Grasper thought he said Youth in Asia. If it hadn’t been a blazingly hot, sunny afternoon they would have forced us to watch a slideshow. I got to listen to a description of Bad Casper’s alopecia, which – trust me – is not a plant. Then at the end each girl (there were three of us there and five guys) got to cut a rose.
Of course we didn’t know that Casper was going to pin it on us. Here he comes at me,
quivering hands holding a large pin and his eyes fixed on my bosom and Beales doing not one thing to protect me. Even Rich got into the act trying to hold my dress away from my skin so I wouldn’t get “pricked”. I’m telling you it was dangerous. And of course I chose a hugely overblown flower on its last gasp that was dead by nightfall. Like my respect for Beales, who tries to claim that Casper, who holds “sexuality seminars” at his house for senior boys is anything other than a dirty old man. And I mean dirty in all senses of the word. He’s given up ever changing his pants, for example. Prof. Grasper’s favorite word is “juice”. You wouldn’t want to catch whatever he’s got.
It’s a good thing I’m going to camp. Preston has written me a letter wanting me to go to Valley Forge with him. Looks like I’ll have to discipline him somehow – if possible.
Monday, June 7, 1965 I was in the Tower (toilet) studying and I overheard quite an episode. Miss Lissome was talking to this girl who apparently slashed herself with a razor over another girl. Miss Lissome was very understanding – a little too understanding, if you ask me. This is probably why Beales’ parents think the school is too liberal, because they hide stuff like this. I kept completely quiet and they didn’t know I was there. Apparently they don’t think she needed stitches, but I never got to see her because she went home next day. That’s one way to get out of exams. So far I got a 95 in Bible, (I’m an expert on the Zealots if I do say so myself) a 98 in English (Steinbeck, Steinbeck, Steinbeck – the only A in the class) and I’m fourth from the bottom in Math (sigh). Krissy and I were in Girls’ Doubles and I came in second! Right now “Baby the Rain must Fall” is playing on the radio and I’m getting ready for the freshman-sophomore class party. Gotta go!
Back at school – good to be back. Sunday in Washington we went to the Smithsonian and saw the Air Force and Space exhibits. They had Lindbergh’s and Wright’s first planes. Hard to believe anyone ever had the nerve to jump off a cliff in one of these plywood gliders. We also saw a spaceship and the Foucault pendulum. It always goes in a straight line but the earth is turning under it. Cool. Lots of people say the concept of space makes them feel small – it doesn’t have that effect on me. It makes me feel big to be a member of such an important species, even when I’m practically failing math. Attempting to explain this idea to Genevieve got me nicknamed “The Wonder Girl”. She is too sarcastic.
We saw the First Ladies’ inaugural dresses – the one I wanted was Abigail Van Buren’s. Daddy didn’t like the exhibit. He kept saying, “Boy, she was one big babe!” We all agreed Bess Truman’s was the absolute worst.
Genevieve called a friend from Plumly and we went on a double date (he isn’t really her boyfriend.) We got to drive around Washington in a convertible, and went to see The World of Henry Orient, which we thought, was supposed to be funny but was actually sad. Genevieve had to leave because she was bawling uncontrollably but apparently Jim didn’t mind because he wanted to be alone with her anyway. I didn’t mind my date, Dick. He was all right. When we got back to the car we discovered someone had blocked us in and we had to drive several hundred yards on the sidewalk. Fortunately there were no cops around. It was really late at that point and we had to get back to the Fairfax so we could wake up early and go to Plumly next morning. Plumly! How I’ve missed you!
THURSDAY, APRIL 15, 1965 You probably thought I was dead it’s been so long since I’ve written. No such luck. Still imprisoned in this mortal coil. Phil broke up with me for no reason at all, and the boys who have asked me out since then are hardly a promising lot. Barry I turned down on principle (I don’t want to be seen with him) and Jed worries me. He’s just weird and I don’t think it’s a good weird. He’s like those guys who get arrested for shooting a lot of strangers. He’s obsessed with the military, which does not bode well. I can’t figure out why Phil broke up with me, although he said it wasn’t me. At least I don’t have to worry about his hair any more. He used to style it into a kind of dog-doo pile on his head and I just couldn’t get him to stop. It’s a shame when a girl has so little effect on a guy.
Krissy and I aren’t speaking because we both want the same boy and at the Stone House pep rally last night it looked like I had him (we were having a balloon fight.) Richard Johnson is English, he’s very good looking (an especially good body, very manly) and he keeps coming to talk to me at my workjob, but he doesn’t ask me out so I think I’m going to have to sacrifice him to keep the peace on the home front. He’s making me do too much work. Some guys at Boys End don’t believe in dating – mostly the intellectuals – that makes it very hard. They want us to just sort of come together by suction, like amoebas. Thank God for the jocks. They like to know what the game is and the rules are – if it wasn’t for them we would fall into chaos. He also doesn’t send KOBS and my parents have been making noises like I’m too young to go to the Junior/Senior. So it’s probably hopeless anyway. I’ll have to do what all the other lovestruck idiots do - concentrate on English Lit.
MONDAY APRIL 19, 1965 Up to the minute report: I got a 91 in English History, which was a great relief. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but I’m the smartest one in that class (and I’m including the English teacher.) I got 100 in English grammar, which is truly amazing because I usually don’t do well in courses I have a serious philosophical beef with. (Much of English grammar is just plain ridiculous.)
I know you want to know how the Rich race is going. Well, it’s a disaster. The more distant I get with Rich the more interested he gets. Not enough to ask me out, just incessant hanging around. Krissy was asked to the Junior/Senior by Crow the sumo wrestler and she’s going with him because he’s a date. He pays her a lot of attention, sending her balloons, flowers, cards and good FOOD with which you could buy anything – I mean literally anything – at this school. It’s a tragic commentary on life in this mausoleum that a steady supply of English toffee ice cream could enslave the hardiest.
Still, Krissy refuses to give up on Rich but she doesn’t have a chance – I can see that now that I know him. She dimples up, talks baby talk and teases him in a too-obvious way. He’s very polite but there’s a distinct danger that she’ll get thrown up on if she keeps this up. I’ve discovered that Rich loves sailing. Obviously I have an edge in this department. Poor Krissy doesn’t know a stanchion from a stallion. We were both talking to him after dinner last night and I discovered she’s been sending him KOBs with bubble gum in them – was I surprised! I think she’s making herself cheap and I’ve half a mind to tell her so. I must say I was looking goddess like in white Levis and a red shell on my way to checkout. Krissy, alas, looked like the fifth Beatle. This Carnaby Street thing is not working for her.
This afternoon he was hanging around the pay phones when I went to call Mom and Dad. He always acts like he was waiting for me, but I’m starting to think it could just be an act. He was holding his violin because he was supposed to be having a lesson but for some reason it didn’t happen. He played for me. I asked him why he doesn’t join orchestra but he said they were too brassy. He told me about how he’s been suspended from two schools (he never told Krissy this but I’m not surprised – Plumly is Last Chance Gulch for far too many persons of the male persuasion. He also told me he has a crush on his Big Sister (it’s Sydney Close) so not too surprising but still tactless of him to discuss it in front of me - another strike against him. As we were separating he took the red light bulb out of the exit sign and gave it to me as a kind of memento. I thought it was sort of cute but I guess I can see why he keeps getting suspended from places.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1965 Krissy’s on a meal per and I’m skipping checkout which makes a deten but I’ve really let my work pile up so I’m just going to work through and catch up. Starting any minute now – soon as I finish this. My pictures came today – I can’t help wishing I didn’t look like that. One of my eyes is bigger than the other, my nose is crooked and I have a lopsided smile like an alligator. Still I was able to send one to Preston Pugh, he’s been begging me. I have to admit I am encouraging him because there’s a lot of status in getting mail and I was also worried I wouldn’t have a date to the Tennis Court dance and I would have to import him. (I would die rather than make the first move with that sly sunuva Rich.) Fortunately neither of these horrible eventualities came to pass – the junior class has just discovered I’m alive and four boys have been asking me out steadily. Still the most promising candidate is Beales – he’s going to be class president next year – senior class – so that’s cool. He’s clever and funny but somewhat lacking in the height department.
Little does he know I ‘m attracted to big blonds with hairless chests (sigh.) Beales is very hairy – he’s a tennis player and all this black hair is sprouting every which way out from under his whites. When I told Rich I was going to the tennis court dance with Beales I was hoping for a little jealousy but instead he told me Beales has the biggest you know what on campus. I thought that was an odd remark and it makes me wonder a lot more about Rich than about Beales. (Krissy can have him. She may discover she’s bitten off a mouthful of cotton candy – precisely nothing.) Still, judging from slow dances with Beales, I think he may be right. I really like Beales and he seems to be totally smitten with me (he always calls me “The Lady Alysse”) but I can’t wear really high heels with him. Tonight was a Turnabout dance - late dating at the Cabin. Beales seemed to think I should ask him – so I did – and now we’re a Couple and nobody will ask em anywhere unless we have a Public Break Up. Oh well. Fun so far.
I am writing a book report on The Way to the Lantern for French History – it is about an actor who said he takes comfort from history, that people were born, made love and died. I wish he hadn’t put the dying part immediately after the making love part – this is the kind of thing that worries us virgins. For fun I am reading a life of Fanny Kemble. She is a very interesting person although I find her comments on theatre and acting pretty hard to take. For a Victorian she was pretty wild – always knee deep in rushing brooks, climbing lofty crags and throwing herself full length on the hearthrug. Very reminiscent of You Know Who.
When she was an old lady toting up the experiences of wonder and joy that had been hers I got depressed trying to add up mine. Sadly few. Then I remembered I’m only fifteen, not eighty and I cheered right up. Some time left. Must remember to live abundantly with a fiery heart so that I have some youthful glory too to warm me in my old age. Fifteen minutes to midnight and the tears are still drying on my cheeks. I say goodbye to childhood.
Thursday, May 13, 1965 Class pictures. I call mine Lady Horseface (horseface with a flip) but Beales liked it so much he bought a frame for it. On the other hand Beales’ picture makes him look like a character in Wind and the Willows. I guess it’s all that hair. At 7:15 while I was under the hairdryer I got a call from my parents. I was accepted into theatre camp! I cried and told everyone. Even Krissy said she was happy for me – probably because I gave up Rich “The Impossible Dream”. I’ve been happy ever since – hard to contemplate a summer in Brockton.
When I’m this happy it’s hard to write – I feel like an overgrown exclamation point. That’s probably why all great writers were miserable human beings.
Sunday, May 16, 1965 I’ve got my lamp on even though it’s lights out so I’ll probably get caught but I’m too excited to mess around with that cheap plastic flashlight. Besides, Krissy is up and messing around with her scrapbook — she flew home this weekend for her home Junior Senior. My parents would NEVER do that. Fortunately the Rez sounds like the German army whenever she makes a move – we’ll probably hear her coming. Krissy bought me an ice cream cone so I carried her luggage down to the racing shed which is where you catch the van. She said the school doesn’t look so bad when you’re leaving it. She sounded positively nostalgic. I think it looks like a Victorian insane asylum at the best of times. You can almost see the place where the Home for Incurables sign used to be. I was afraid all this nostalgia meant she was bound to be killed in a plane crash, but no such luck. I still have to share a room. When Heidi Weiss’ roommate was in a car accident they let her use the infirmary bathroom which is the only place where you can take baths. I heard she was furious when her roommate came home and now they’re not speaking.
Saturday night was Camp Suppers. As usual the freshman girls were in every room but their own trying to find out what everyone else was going to wear.
“I’m wearing white jeans and a red shell.” “I’m wearing my new green shorts.” “I’d wear shorts except they’re madras and they’re ripped.”
It’s the little things like this that make us different from the animals. Fortunately for me (if not for Beales) I don’t care whether I’m in style or not. I’m a trendsetter, rather than a follower. I wore my sweatshirt inside out because it has a really interesting pattern on the other side.
“Camp Suppers” is basically a cookout down at the lake. I had three hamburgers and a hotdog but it’s not as much as it sounds like. They stamp on the meat to get it as flat as possible and then they cut it with cookie cutters. Really! I’ve seen it! Then there was oatmeal with raisin cookies and brownies and in and out canoe races. Once you’re out of a canoe it’s really hard to get back in. Beales was angry at me because I was laughing so hard we didn’t win. He says we didn’t win because I couldn’t get into the canoe because I was laughing and I think we didn’t win because he couldn’t get into the canoe because he was angry.
This is why when summer comes I will just drift elegantly away. Men! Beales is too much work – dating him is like taking an extra class. Even Kip is starting to look good. Beales thinks he’s got me figured out (he’s a straight A student so he thinks he’s smart) but that’s my protection - like an armadillo shell or porcupine quills - I make myself deceptively simple. I got even with Beales by challenging him to a tree-climbing contest. Trees love me. I couldn’t fall from a tree if I tried.
Beales was afraid and he didn’t want me to know he was afraid. Tree-climbing is just not his sport (I’ve seen him throw discus with those huge hairy arms.) But when we got to the top I made it worth his while - we made out. I have a psychic sense of when someone is going to kiss me. Beales turns out to be a shy but impassioned kisser – he kisses all over my face. You don’t have to worry how far a boy is going to go if you’re in a tree, so I could really give myself to the experience. We didn’t go in till a quarter after ten and I spent the rest of the night in deep thought. Maybe Beales is bearable after all.
Got a “social warning” for “lights out” with a boy! It was only six o’clock for heaven’s sake! I have much to learn about the Art of Shiking. Things are rough for the Prisoners of the Tower. We were talking about hobbies. His is photography. I said mine is philosophy. Social philosophy. Like why people are so very, very strange.
Also got a warning for not wearing a “covering” on my curlers in the upstairs Girls’ End Hall! What is this, Moulay Idris? What a place!
Favorite song this week – “I like it” by Gerry & the Pacemakers.
“I like it! I like it! I like the way you run your fingers through my hair…” Exactly.
Doggerel for English:
“To laugh and love and run and sing Are gifts beyond all price. And when I die for die I will I’ll feel no pain or strife. It is enough for me to know I’ve sipped the wine of life! In a way I’ll always live In all I’ve loved and seen The whirling whiteness of the snow The emerald spring of green. A rock that’s round and hard and smooth The restless roaring sea The pale blank beauty of the moon All have a piece of me. So I can die without a qualm ‘Cause death is never mean. Dying too is part of life – Remember – dirt is clean!
Eng teacher gave me a B MINUS and asked me to write it again without rhyme! But since it’s in the past, why would I? Life rushes on, Master Gwill! Better get moving!
I recited it at the dinner table (maybe it is more of a recitation piece) and – Miss Womrath liked it so much she gave me her notebook from a Trip to France in 18 BC. It is full of sketches of fishermen and birds – the poems are unbelievably bad. There are a surprising number of breasts – even men had breasts in those days! Maybe she is a nympho-lesbo.
TUESDAY, MARCH 30, 1965 – Brockton, Ohio
Tonight Mom and Genevieve and Avril and I went to a concert at Avril’s school – my old school. It was like walking smack into the past—a nightmare come to life. Old Miss Quinn came lurching toward us like Boris Karloff in the Mummy – she was even trailing some sort of torn drapery. I stared disbelieving at the puniness of the drinking fountain –more like an animal watering device than any kind of implement to be used by human beings – was I EVER that small? The halls were narrow and grimy but I remember them in my dreams as vast and spacious with the edges seeming to drop away like unmapped territory. The children’s faces even seemed familiar – as if I grew up and they didn’t – maybe children’s faces are indistinguishable.
The Auditorium was pathetic. It had a tiny stage – made of wretched splintered boards. I felt my rear end itch in memory. I imagined myself, old and famous, donating decent drapes to replace those ratty dust catchers. But probably it would be better to deny any association with this place. Of course Avril performed horribly. Years of relentless babying have softened that poor child’s brain.
Genevieve and I walked home so as to avoid the reception afterwards. I don’t recall my mother going to a single one of my concerts – and Genevieve doesn’t remember it either. This mothering thing is something she’s only recently discovered – twenty years into the job. Oh well.
As Genevieve says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. When we got home we watched The Man from Uncle, (naturally Avril gets a TV!) then I worked on my novel about teenage stardom while Genevieve set her hair with beer cans. That’s because we were going to the movies - the second showing of 36 Hours and she might see someone. Genevieve had already seen it and couldn’t help giving me a running commentary. I need all the help I can get in war movies. My favorite part was when Pike and Anna were in the hole and the German soldier, looking in sees a nest of baby birds instead of them and whistles to the birds. I thought it was very mature of the scriptwriter to resist the urge to have him murder the baby birds.
When I got home Daddy called me into the study where he had an application for summer theatre camp! I can go! Off to sleep in a haze of bliss.
Wednesday, March 31, 1965 Sure is hellish trying to write in a car. It’s 4:12 pm and we’re in the Shenandoah Valley. So far we’ve traveled through five states. I have a feeling this is going to be a short entry because I’m feeling carsick. Avril has been carsick twice already.
We got up at nine and left at nine thirty. Call last night to Phil - saying goodbye was rather a greasy experience. I wish he had a sort of brake control. I promised him I would write. He will probably be back at school by the time I return.
The countryside is all the same, dark woods, yellow grass and ridiculous road signs. We had lunch in a bone-chilling wind at 12:30 and now I’m starving again. We ate at Howard Johnson’s and Dad embarrassed us about the food. He always complains but I like the clams. Mom’s scarf blew out of the window so we are turning back to get it.
FRIDAY APRIL 2, 1965 At last a moment! We have really been having fun. We ended up in Front Royal Virginia the last time I wrote you at The Colonial Motor Court. Dad said it was about as colonial as a TV dinner. We went to see Goldfinger after dinner and Dad pretended to be Oddjob in the parking lot. Mom was rigid and disapproving but whether of murderous Oddjob or boisterous Pussy Galore I couldn’t say.
Next day we went to Monticello. I could spend a lifetime there! We made it to Williamsburg by late afternoon and went straight to the Candlelight Concert at the Governor’s Palace. Concert mediocre. Then we went to the Sheraton, which was a pretty cool place except the pool is shut.
We ate at Chowney’s and I had Brunswick stew and apple pie. Dad rousted us out at an ungodly hour so we could see all of Williamsburg. First place we saw was Bruton Parish where I liked the graveyard. I found a small stone with just the initials B.S. on it. That’s the way to go – keep everyone guessing. Then we saw the George Wythe House. Rough way to live. I preferred the Palace, where we got lost in the maze. I said I was sure I had been an aristocrat I in an earlier life and Dad said everyone thinks that. I found the middle of the maze all by myself, but it began to rain and so we ducked into the Brush-Everard house. We had lunch at Christiana Campbell’s. I had potpie and stoked myself quite full. After lunch we hit the shops: I bought a blank book, a thistle seal (Mary Queen of Scots) and a gingerbread man. I was so sleepy I slept in the car on the way to Washington, but I woke up when we got to our hotel, the Fairfax.
The Fairfax is a rather doubtful looking place – Dad has a tendency to choose hotels that look like the owner just died. Our rooms are on the eighth floor. We went to dinner at an Italian place called Nino’s. The food was good, but you can get better pizza at Benet’s. We drove around after dinner and Dad said this is the second most beautiful American city (after San Francisco.) Mom said its No. 1. All I could see was huge monuments looming at me through the gloaming.
SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 1965 I was rudely awakened by someone trying to strangle me – it was Daddy. And yet nobody’s allowed to make noise while he’s trying to sleep – just one of the many inequities between parents and kids. Genevieve called me a sloth and I reminded her that it takes a sloth three hours to drown because of their generally superior construction. They probably experience things more deeply too. I know I was having a wonderful dream, I just can’t remember what it was. It was six a.m. – earlier than I get up at school. We drove around looking for somewhere to eat, finally stopping at the Ambassador where I had strawberries and coffee. (You’ve gotta start sometime.) We decided to climb the Washington monument but a surprise awaited us: to be exact, a line that stretched as far as the eye could see, comprising: Girl scouts Brownies Old ladies Fat ladies Dead ladies Dead girl scouts Hoboes hired to stand in line for somebody smarter.
What to do? Fortunately Dad decided to pretend to be a tour guide and just walked in front, talking and waving his arms, something about how the building was built of pennies collected by Brownies and some statue, covered with pigeon poo, was a memorial to a man who invented a way of cleaning pigeon poo off statues. At one point we had at least thirty people in our group – everyone was riveted. Of course all that climbing was pointless and not worthwhile. Genevieve said the monument looked like a giant planeria, which is a repulsive image.
Other deathless thoughts from the day’s experience: The White House does not look like it would be fun to live in. I failed to catch a glimpse of Luci Baines who has probably gratefully gone somewhere else. Dad made us stand in front of the Treasury Building for what seemed like an eternity (“because we owe them so much money”) and then we went to see our Congressman. Although he is a Republican he seemed like a good fellow. Daddy called him Chuck and he talked to us for quite awhile as if he wasn’t really busy. He gave us passes to the next session of the 89th Congress which I thought was nice until Dad pointed out that we’re paying for everything. So we trudged over to the Capitol. I liked the classy pillars and noticed the meander design everywhere (matching my sweater – which my mother knit while I studied the Greeks.) I also liked the chandeliers. They have a lot of them. There was one hall where each state had put two statues of famous men – one of ours was Garfield (who I’ve heard of) and the other one was Allen (who nobody’s heard of.) The tour guy said Garfield’s assassin is one of the Capitol ghosts and the guards see him occasionally. The best statue was Will Rogers.
Then we went to see the Supreme Court. I wish they had been in session but they weren’t so I actually saw more of the ladies’ john. There were a lot more steps. I was beginning to get a rubbery sensation in the knees.
We went out to lunch at Hogate’s where I had crab imperial and Dad lost his air travel card. Then we drove to the Pentagon because Daddy wanted to see it. Not interesting. We went to Arlington, which was very depressing. You wouldn’t want to live your whole life just so you could be seventh from the end in the thirty-ninth row of Section A.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was not as impressive as the one in France. Daddy was angry at us for giggling but I don’t think it was the kind of place to make you want to be quiet. The French know how to do these things right. I was taken out of my mood by the Jefferson Memorial. It’s adorable. I would like one in my yard. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve seen. “I have sworn on the Altar of God Eternal Hostility Against Every Form of Tyranny over the Mind of Man.” Wonder what he would have said if they added “woman” to that.
Back at the hotel Avril and I hung out in her room, Genevieve went shopping and Mom and Dad went to an art museum nobody else wanted to see. I washed and dried my hair and at six-thirty we all walked to a Japanese restaurant called Tokyo Sukiyaki, which Dad said, would be like opening a restaurant in Tokyo and calling it New York Steak and Potatoes. I must say we are eating well. Dad said it was the most authentic Japanese restaurant he’d ever been to in the States. They painted the walls to look like paper and we had to take off our shoes. The tables were low and there was nowhere to put your feet. We all ate with chopsticks. Dad said you’re a pro when you can pick up three peas I in a line. He can do it – I can’t – and Genevieve pretends she can.
After that we tried to see Zorba the Greek but it was all sold out. So we went to Lord Jim instead. And guess what? Sold out too. Lots of parents would have been stymied at this point but Dad said he had just begun to fight. We went to a discotheque called Le Bistro where everyone was dressed to the teeth but there wasn’t any dancing. Dad bought us all beers (except a coke for Avril. I hate beer, as it turns out) and we waited around but we didn’t want to be the only ones dancing so we went back to the hotel and played Hearts. I got the Queen of Spades twice, which is definitely a sign of something.
A protective life regulated by bells. We come up the stairs at days’ end singing, hockey sticks over our shoulders like the dwarves in Snow White. Friends, bathrobes, curlers, bathing suits hang everywhere. You are Not Alone.
You go into your room and kick off your hockey shoes so forcefully the spikes damage the wall and throw yourself full-length on the bed even though you have only 15 mins to get pretty for dinner. Your roommate is laughing and throwing socks about. Life is good. Yet somehow I am wary of this idyll.
Tues Sept 22 – 64
I wish I was beautiful. It would make my life so much easier. But no, I have the Nose of the Aallyns, and the Jaw of the MauMau.
Writing under the sheets ONCE AGAIN by flashlight. This would mean a deten if caught which involves cleaning flowerpots down at the greenhouse. It could be worse. Boys have to shovel manure, which explains their smell. Many are the benefits of the female sex.
The smell of laundry soap is strong under here. Not that the sheets are clean – heavens no – they are stained with apple juice and blood. A brain-damaged girl got me in the ankle with her hockey stick.
Got my first KOB tonight so of course I have to memorialize it. A boy in my art class named Bob. I don’t know about Bob. I’m not sure he’s got what it takes. He’s too nice. Oh where will I find the boy f my dreams? My eyes wander over the Senior Class.
Left my razor kit at home and my legs are a hairy mess. Plus I wear kneesocks constantly and the rubber bands are cutting off my circulation. And my skin shows signs of becoming volcanic ground on a rich diet of creamed chicken and scalloped potatoes. Run for the boats, men, the Angry Goddess is about to explode!
At dinner I sit next to a very cute boy named Phil although he’s at least an inch shorter than me.
Got an interesting book out of the library about Anne Boleyn. Those Tudors certainly knew how to live. Well, enough of burning the midnight battery. See you in the AM.
Thurs. Sept 24. 1964
Rewriting Agnes Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England. She has her ideas, I have mine.
ISABELLA OF VALOIS – Unprepossessing, ye thinks? Look closer: this little chickadee is padded like a football player. Life was very rough and tumble in those days. Her face is all greased up and her ears seem to be missing. She married Richard II when she was eight and had no idea what was in store. Later he either was murdered or committed suicide so he wouldn’t be murdered. JOANNA OF NAVARRE – Things are getting worse. Two fungus growths on either side of this head. She is wearing one of the new French bras but she still has to hold up her chest. When the French captured her, they gave her right back. Can you blame them? KATHERINE OF VALOIS – Isabella’s sister but you’d never know it. She’s a dead ringer for Ringo Starr. No chest, a potbelly, and when they called her “Katherine the Fair” they were being sarcastic. Still, Henry V was madly in love with her. Maybe he was kidding. MARGARET OF ANJOU – Maggie also well padded for the games, but content to take life as a bystander. From the expression on her face you can tell her team is not winning. She was a goalie in the Wars of the Roses. ELIZABETH WOODVILLE – Her head is wrapped in mosquito netting and she is sucking on a lemon. Your guess is as good as mine what she was up to. ANNE OF WARWICK – More sport, Old English Style. In one hand she holds a hockey stick, in the other, the ball. ELIZABETH OF YOURK – An amateur magician. Saying, “Nothing up my sleeves, nothing up my socks.” I’d watch those sleeves, though. KATHERINE OF ARAGON – Pictured holding a dead bouquet of flowers to symbolize her husbands whom she beat at wrestling. First one died, second one divorced her. More anon!
Sun. Sept 27 – 64
Madness reigns! I’ve been behaving strangely for the past three days. Ah me. It is just too much that I have not been invited to the fall dance, and girls can’t invite boys here. Still there’s six days left. I will be disappointed if I don’t get KOBS from six boys all madly in love with me and threatening to throw themselves into the lake with one mighty splash. I can dream, can’t I?
Saturday was Night Problems – a strange affair where they blindfold girls & boys, put them in trucks and dump them in the woods couple by couple and make them find their way home. I was dumped off with Art the Wolf who made no moves on me but very practically suggested we follow the railroad tracks to the school! There was plenty of moon. We were the first ones back and won the box of cookies (which I gave him because I hate ginger snaps.)
Thurs Oct 1 - 64
Guess what, I’m in the infirmary. Lovesick or Night Problems? When first I entered Nostrils the nurse thought I was faking. But I had a real temperature all right! The doctor says I have SPOTS on my tonsils! (Lovespots.) Dr. Jax is one of those smooth mass-production doctors who advertise things on TV. Probably an incipient sex maniac.
Nostrils went snoopily through my bag asking what my Noxzema is for and confiscating my chocolate covered cherries (they were getting old.) Her nostrils really are amazing. You could pick her out of a crowd. She asked if Felix Krull, Confessions of a Confidence Man is a novel of sex and violence! I’m reading it but I don’t like it. Sometimes I read Vanity Fair (vey good! – Nostrils had heard of that one) and sometimes Nero Wolfe.
There are two boys in the Boys’ Section and I can talk to them over the swing door but I can’t see them! I’m going to write them both KOBS. Nostrils says I’ll be here till Sun which means I’m down for the count at the dance. These male sickos will have to be my dates.
Wed Oct 7 - 64
Life is so full. My whole being is just one big question mark. While waiting here to be fulfilled I am actually living. Reading Violet Brooke’s The Prisoners of the Tower. That’s what we are – prisoners of the tower. But at least it’s a co-ed tower.
I am introduced to the Art of Shiking – which is Being where you are Not supposed to Be. “Off bounds”. It has many sophisticated ramifications such as jumping from window to window, even running between the chimneys on the roof playing Viet Cong Vs French Resistance. Or it could just mean meeting boys in Central after dark!
Alysse Aallyn 