by Shelley Wood
Ivy told me several astonishing things I didn’t know about M. Dionne and Dr. Dafoe—much of it happening right under my nose. Fred hears things from Keith Munro, his old colleague from the Star who has for some time been in charge of overseeing the bookkeeping for the quintuplets’ fund—the butter and egg man, George calls him. I hardly know how to write about this, it’s so confusing and sensational. Much of it sounds like it’s been lifted from a Hollywood gossip column—too salacious, somehow, for me to want to put it down in print. But the other part of it could very much come home to roost with me.
Apparently Mr. Munro told Fred, who told Ivy, that M. Dionne’s lawyer wishes to review all of the incoming and outgoing payments for advertising contracts. So far Dr. Dafoe has refused, but Ivy believes M. Dionne will get his way. I already feel, very keenly, that M. Dionne has not forgiven me and my “art” for fouling his lawsuit over the corn syrup. I’m not sure what he’ll do when he learns that my paintings are actually now being used to boost the girls’ trust fund and, specifically, that I’m being handsomely paid.
Of course Ivy wanted to hear all about the girls, although she went on a bit about their isolation and their public-private life, as she calls it, plus all of the changes on staff. She thinks all this will have lasting ill effects on the girls. I reminded her that, despite my repugnance for what Dr. Blatz and his scientists have done, their work does prove that the girls are happy and healthy.
“If they’re happy and healthy, Em, what on earth are they doing still living in that hospital? All the more reason for Quintland to shut its doors and for you to get on with your own life.”
Afterward I kept thinking about all the things Ivy had said and all the nurses who have come and gone. How Ivy herself has moved on too. It’s hard to get her words out of my mind, and I have no one with whom to discuss this. Perhaps I’ll write to Lewis.
April 22, 1938 (Toronto Star)
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DR. DAFOE CHALLENGES DIONNE AND ATTORNEY PROVE THEIR CHARGES
Papa Has Six Expensive Cars in 18 Months, Doctor Says
CALLANDER, Ontario—Dr. Allan R. Dafoe, physician to the Dionne quintuplets, openly challenged Oliva Dionne and Attorney Henri St. Jacques, of Ottawa, to prove that he is wasting the babies’ money and alienating their affections towards their parents.
In a declaration containing separate complaints against Dr. Dafoe, St. Jacques charged the health of the quintuplets had been impaired to satisfy Dr. Dafoe’s determination to please tourists, that they had been forced to learn English before mastering French, that Dr. Dafoe had been guilty of wanton waste of the children’s money to assure himself of an elaborate headquarters and management staff, and that Dr. Dafoe had alienated the children’s affections for their parents. St. Jacques is demanding a government probe of the guardians’ activities.
Dr. Dafoe today countered that a former teacher and former nurse at the Dafoe hospital are behind the demands for a probe of his care of the quintuplets and the administration of their affairs. He says the two women, after they were discharged, talked with the girls’ father and sowed these latest seeds of discontent. He added that M. Dionne had been invited to attend the meeting where the discharge of the two nurses was discussed, but he did not attend.
Dr. Dafoe revealed that the five babies, now four years old, have $600,000 in the bank in their own names, after payment of all expenses for the hospital and the administration and the care of them.
“Mr. Dionne is doing very well for himself,” Dr. Dafoe added. “We do not charge admission for visitors to see the children. He is the one, the only one, who benefits from the tourists because his shop of trinkets is located right across the street.
“Mr. Dionne has done so well that he has six expensive automobiles in a year and a half. He trades his cars about once every two months. He has a beautiful car now.”
Dr. Dafoe revealed that he had personally seen to it that Mr. and Mrs. Dionne’s income from contracts signed on behalf of the children had been increased from $100 a month to $300 a month since the birth of the last Dionne baby only three weeks ago.
Mr. St. Jacques, the Dionnes’ lawyer, has declared that, through the request to Attorney General Conant, Mr. Dionne hoped to regain custody of his children and control their education. Reinstatement of Miss Jacqueline Noël, nurse, and Miss Claire Tremblay, teacher, recently dismissed from the Dafoe nursery, and a curb on “extravagance” in the management of the Quints’ business affairs also will be sought in the probe, St. Jacques said.
The Star has learned from a reliable source that the invested fortune of the quintuplets is insufficient to meet expenses. Upwards of $600,000, carried in Dominion and Ontario bonds at an average of 3.5 per cent interest, is said to yield about $21,000 a year. With $24,000 a year for the hospital, $36,000 annually to the Dionne family, and $2,400 a year salary for Dr. Dafoe, a total of $30,000 in addition to other expenses, current revenues from endorsement contracts are being used to supply the balance of more than $9,000 a year.
“This is just another move by the father to get personal control of the quintuplets and their funds,” said Keith Munro, business manager of the Quints. “The appointment of Mr. Percy D. Wilson, guardian of Ontario, to the quintuplets’ board of guardians ensures that all expenditures from the Quints’ funds are scrutinized and made with his full knowledge and consent.”
Used with permission.
April 23, 1938
The strain on everyone this week is almost unbearable. Nurse Ulrichson will indeed be leaving us, at the Dionnes’ insistence. The girls will be inconsolable.
April 28, 1938 (Toronto Star)
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ONTARIO CABINET REFUSES DIONNE’S INQUIRY DEMAND
Dr. A. R. Dafoe to Remain in Supreme Charge of Quints’ Health, Stays as Guardian
Demands of Oliva Dionne for an investigation into administration of affairs of his quintuplet daughters, and that Dr. A. R. Dafoe be required to relinquish his post as one of three active guardians, have been turned down by the Ontario government.
The government’s decision was made known by attorney general Mr. Conant, who issued a statement following the meeting summarizing the government’s conclusions. First, the education of the quintuplets will be forthwith placed under the direction of the department of education. Second, that payment for the quintuplets’ education should be paid by the girls’ fund. Third, that Dr. Dafoe’s position as supreme in authority in all matters affecting the health of the quintuplets be maintained.
“Every effort should be made to promote cooperation between the family and guardians and to break down any existing antagonisms,” Mr. Conant said. “Moreover, I do not recommend a judicial investigation.”
Used with permission.
May 19, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany
Dafoe Hospital and Nursery
Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
Your letter has me very worried. Did you end up raising all this with Dr. Dafoe? I can’t see that he would ever allow a situation in which you or anyone else would come to any harm, and I do think you deserve some answers.
I’ve also been stewing over what you wrote about your privacy. Are you sure our correspondence is confidential? Doesn’t Mr. Sinclair handle all those sacks of mail coming in and going out? I’m not so sure I should respond to your many questions here, in print, if you’re unsure who might read them. I’d be happy to write to you via your parents’ address in future, if that would put you more at ease.
As for being paid for your paintings: my father would say, don’t worry your pretty little head. Too often the work of lady artists is seen as nothing but a hobby, and a frivolous one at that. You, on the other hand, are a true talent and deserve to be paid. My guess is, they’re not paying you enough as it is.
I have little in the way of news myself. I went with some of the chaps from work to the grand opening of the new Woolworth’s building downtown. It is being billed as the grandest art deco struc
ture yet built in Canada. I think it’s quite something, but at least in the engineering department here, I’m the minority view.
My feathered Howard Hughes is courting. Or maybe he’s already tied the knot? Bette Davis arrived on the windowsill earlier this month amid much cooing, fluttering, and flapping. They are sweet together.
Yours truly,
Lewis
11 Rue Saint Ida
Montreal, Quebec
May 20, 1938
Another day of meetings between the official guardians, including M. Dionne and his lawyer, plus a half dozen other men in suits traipsing in and out of the nursery looking grim, while throngs of reporters waited outside the gates. The guardians are using the quiet playroom for their meeting, which has produced no end of questions from the girls. Annette asked, “Do le docteur and Papa not get any free play today?” She’s a smart cookie, that one. The tension is thicker than porridge this week, and the girls can feel it.
I found George during the lunch break, seated on the steps of the back porch with his jacket off and his tie loose, his eyes closed and his face turned up to the sun. He has dark smudges under his eyes, but didn’t look to be asleep, just tired. I sat on another step and waited to see if he wanted to speak. He opened one eye to look at me, then smiled crookedly.
“Nosy Nurse Trimpany,” he said and winked, tilting his chin back to the sky.
“Can you tell me anything?” I asked in a hushed voice.
George was quiet. For a long moment the only sound was the trembling of the birch leaves, as if they, too, were anxious for an answer.
“Miss Rousselle believes she will be fired,” I offered.
Still nothing from George. I said: “I can’t help wondering if M. Dionne has set his sights on me too.”
George opened one eye and fixed me with it intently, then let his lid drop again. When he spoke, it was almost a murmur. “If you heard half of what’s being said, you’d likely quit of your own accord.”
I was staring at him, thinking of Ivy’s gossip, and I sensed he could feel my fretful gaze darting over his features. He sighed. “There’s been no talk of any more staff being fired, and none coming back either. Satisfied?” His face rearranged itself in the sunshine.
When I didn’t respond, he opened one eye again to meet my gaze, then sat up to look at me properly, tugging at the knot of his tie again as he did so. My fingers twitched as if they had a mind to reach out and help him put it straight.
“Most of the talk is about the girls’ trust fund, how it’s being spent, and what sort of time line might be required to build a new house, for the whole family—one that would accommodate the quintuplets and their staff.”
“But Dr. Dafoe told me—”
George waved a hand to stop me. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t say it. I’m telling you what’s being discussed, not what’s going to happen. You’re a smart girl. The best thing you can do is stay out of the way.”
He stood and stooped to pick up his jacket, hooking an index finger under the collar and hanging it over one shoulder, like a man in a magazine. Then he stopped and, for a fleeting instant, rested his warm hand on the top of my head as he stepped to open the door. “Don’t worry about the wrong things, Emma,” he said. Then he went back inside.
I stayed on the steps for a long while, half my thoughts thrumming alongside my racing heart, the ghost of his touch still tingling on my head. The rest of my brain was digesting George’s words. The very idea of the girls moving with the rest of the Dionnes to a bigger house, with all of their nurses and teachers in tow, the doctor making his daily visits—this, I knew, would never happen. I, for one, would never make that move. But Ivy’s words have stuck with me: the girls can’t stay here forever. And nor can I.
The outside world knows so little of what’s really going on behind these walls. They lap up Dr. Dafoe’s weekly column and assume that’s the merry life we’re living. And the funny thing is, these days, I’m not sure I know what life I’m living either.
May 22, 1938 (King Features Syndicate Inc.)
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DR. DAFOE’S COLUMN ON THE QUINTUPLETS AND THE CARE OF YOUR CHILDREN
By Allan Roy Dafoe, Personal Physician to the Dionne Quintuplets
Watching the five Dionne Quintuplets, especially when they are really going places, is too much of a job for any one nurse. In fact, it often takes our two nurses, backed up by the teacher, to keep track of them all and see that they don’t get into any mischief.
Not that the children are given to being naughty or annoying: they are just fell [sic] of animal spirits. When I arrive at the nursery in the morning, the whole five charge at me. They weigh over forty pounds apiece, and when they’re done I feel as though I had been mauled by the Cornell line and backfield.
A few months ago, Émilie got herself dressed to go out a bit ahead of the others. She stood around for a moment or two, waiting for the others, and then she announced she was tired of waiting and was going out. As she went out the door, the nurse in charge told her to stay in the yard.
Well, Émilie stayed in the yard for a moment or two and then decided that Tony, one of the police dogs, must be lonely. So she opened the gate, left the yard, and went over to Tony’s doghouse to pay him a visit. Since she openly disobeyed the nurse’s instructions, she was told to go back to the house and stay there for five minutes before she came out again. This is all the punishment the Quints ever get—being put in a room for solitary confinement for a few minutes.
The nurse turned her mind to other things for a minute or two, but when she looked again, Émilie didn’t seem to be at all chastened by her solitary. She was at the window and seemed to be having a great time.
So the nurse went in to investigate and as she tiptoed into the room where Émilie was supposed to be doing penance, she found the little girl with enough snowballs to make a fair-sized snowman. She was having a whale of a time, skidding them along the floor and watching them bounce off the baseboards when they hit the wall. When she investigated further, the nurse found that the four Quints outside in the yard had taken pity on Émilie and since she couldn’t play with them in the snow, they would bring the snow to her. So they had opened the window and were making snowballs and handing them in to her through the window.
Émilie stayed for the mopping up process and said over and over again that it was too bad that the snow had made all the mess. “But really, Émilie didn’t make the mess, did she, Nurse?” she asked again and again, a twinkle in her eye.
© 1939 King Features Syndicate, Inc. Used with permission.
May 28, 1938
Happy birthday to my beloved Annette, Yvonne, Cécile, Marie, and Émilie. You are so big and strong and kind and beautiful, you are breaking my heart.
M. and Mme. Dionne and the rest of the brood came over for a birthday party, and Dr. Dafoe stayed away. It felt more like an army occupation than a festive occasion. Maman and Papa Dionne gave the girls a big wooden train with a locomotive, a passenger car, and a caboose. The older Dionne boys swiftly commandeered it and were charging all over the playroom while their sisters watched in awe. Of course, they’ve never once seen a train in person, let alone been in one themselves. Daniel sent the train careening along the floor to the circle where the girls were sitting quietly, and the locomotive struck Émilie in the knee, not hard, but it caught her by surprise. She sprang up, her eyes flooding with tears.
Her mother was submerged in the settee within arm’s length of the girls, but Émilie wheeled around, looking frantic, then darted over to me, her hands out, sobbing. I lifted her up, rubbing her back.
“Oh, pumpkin, you’re fine. You just got a little fright. Nothing too terrible.”
I glanced over her shoulder as I said it and saw the expressions on the faces of her parents. Maman Dionne’s face had puckered in pain at the sight of her daughter running to me in her moment of panic. Most days Mme. Dionne is fearsome, commanding her children this way and that, her thick
arms jabbing the air. Other times, times like these, she’s like a balloon with a leak, her whole countenance falling and her face slack with longing. M. Dionne I could only glimpse in profile. His eyes were on his wife, but he was clearly seething, his funny red earlobe trembling like the snood of a turkey. Then he abruptly turned and glared at me so ferociously I had to turn my face to the side. I whispered, “Let’s go see if Nurse Trimpany can find you a plaster, shall we?” Then I hurried Em from the room.
After that, I made myself scarce. I sent Em back to play with her sisters, and the Dionnes left shortly thereafter. Only later did I get all five girls to myself in the private playground outside. “This is my birthday gift to you,” I said and showed them how to make daisy chains, threading the tiny flowers together through tiny splits in the stems. Their little fingers are too clumsy for this kind of work, so I set them picking the flowers and bringing them to me. They all insisted on wearing their daisy necklaces to bed, which I permitted. Imagine what Miss Beaulieu would have said? Or Dr. Blatz? They will wake tomorrow to find them wilted and brown and I’ll have to explain that nothing beautiful lasts forever.
June 1, 1938
MISS ROUSSELLE IS leaving as soon as they can find a replacement this summer. Score a point for M. Dionne.
June 7, 1938
I’M BACK FROM a day at home with Mother and Edith, but I didn’t spend the night. In fact, I managed to miss the paying guests who stayed in the rented room last night by arriving after they’d departed, then slipped away before the next couple arrived. It’s hard these days, going home—it feels more and more as if I’m merely a guest myself or, worse, an inconvenience. Back at the nursery, I learned I’d missed a visit by Shirley Temple! On my only day off, of course. She was given a private audience with the girls. (Private, that is, plus photographers.)