by Wayne Flynt
Love to you both,
NELLE
*Forgive a pun: I’m deadly serious about this, and have instructed Alice, who will surely outlive me, that these are my wishes. You are the only preacher I want.
10/10/06
Dear Nelle,
I hope you aren’t expecting me to deliver your eulogy anytime soon. Will I do it? Of course. How could I refuse you or Louise anything? And if Alice is as casual as you claim, we will love her just as well. We stand by the principle that an orderly house is the sign of a sloppy mind that has nothing better to do/know. Eudora Welty’s house consisted of her, her cats, a few chairs, bottles of bourbon and scotch, and stacks of books. Why, I would even come to N.Y.C. to read “Atticus’s Vision of Ourselves” were I certain the infidels would understand it (so your spirit could float happily in the winds over Manhattan and the Mets stadium [could this be the year of another world championship?]). And as for the Birmingham News, we are dealing with a paper that invariably endorses change one generation after it occurs. As long as you believe I got TKAM right, I could care less what anyone else thinks. For sure the audience understood my thesis and roared their approval of you and your book. . . .
I have included information about that eye procedure at University Hospital in Birmingham in case you did not see it.
Sincerely,
Wayne
11/11/06
Dear Wayne:
How about Saturday, 2 December for a visit from the Flynts? I think that’s better than Dec. 3 because we’ll have 2 chances for lunch instead of the one respectable place open on Sundays and of course is mobbed. You may not think so from my prompt reply to your last letter, but we are really looking forward to being with you, Dartie & any descendants you may bring along! Let us know if 2 Dec. is okay and I’ll try to have the magazines & papers picked up in the living room.
The next morning, after the B’ham Pledge ceremony, I read the B’ham News account and wondered if any journalist had been present. It was all about me and the Mt. Brook-Fairfield school-kids whom I met at the endless reception. I was puzzled and not a bit annoyed that the News had relegated the Award ceremony to 2 sentences. Annoyance that turned to fury when, sometime later, Jim Rotch told me that the Editor refused to print your address without drastic revision. The man suffers from terminal pettiness, to say nothing of his ignorance. He just turned down one of the greatest essays ever written on a writer’s motivations and intent in the creation of a work of fiction. Its analysis was as good as the novel!
I’m scared to write this, as things may be back [to usual] in Gainesville, but the news about Louise has given us a lift as has nothing in 2 years: her children say that she is responding to things and actually reading a little, seems now to remember things from ’way ago and—mirabile dictu has even laughed a couple of times. Once when told of the death (she didn’t laugh at that) of Edna Rudisill, aka Tiny Faulk to us—a writer of several volumes of fiction shot with recipes—she learned that Ms. Rudisill left a final volume of Faulk Family Recipes. Weezie laughed. “Everybody knows the Faulks couldn’t cook,” she said, a remark we cherish because at the time it was made, her memory was right on target. So little can mean so much when there is a glimmer of light in her dark world. Keep your fingers crossed for her and remember she was for years a Baptist: your influence will be greatly appreciated.
Let us know if the 2nd suits the Flynts & what time of the day to expect them. We look forward
Love,
NELLE
11/15/06
Hey,
Just got your letter of 11/14. December 3 is swell with us if you are prepared to starve. A 1:30 arrival means everything in Monroeville will be eaten. No catfish on Sunday, and we are so small-town that the Meths. & Bapts. gobble in 2 shifts, after Early Church & Church, so food tends to run out by 12:30. Please come, but at your own peril. We are not prepared to offer you one crying morsel, but love you.
I wrote you suggesting 2 Dec. because the city would have 2 respectable choices, but since the Monroeville P.O. is like the Congo (last Monday no mail was put in P.O. boxes until the window closed at 4:30 P.M. because only one person came in that day! Can you believe it?) I doubt if you got it before your letter of the 14th.
Your letter indicates travels. I hope you are lecturing & charging enormous fees.
Love,
NELLE
11/21/06
Wayne!
Hooray for Saturday at 10:30 A.M. okay with you all? We are so relieved because Sundays in Monroeville haven’t changed much from Sundays in Finchburg when you couldn’t splash above a whisper, & laughter earned banishment. As I’ve indicated, in addition you will fast for the day, or share a late breakfast with Alice, which consists of a blood pressure pill, a glass of orange juice & one cheese straw.
The B’ham children would be horrified by us—not only wild untidiness—(you are too young to remember the Collier Bros.) but total indifference to décor.
In this house you will find one of the 2 genuinely modest human beings I’ve ever known. When I showed [her your] letter she said, “Shall I just fade into the background when they get here?” She truly did not realize that you are paying a visit to her more than to me, that you are already acquainted w/her through Louise, that this is a family visit, not a gawking session on either side.
She is acutely aware that communication is difficult, but is grateful to people who take the trouble to talk with her. Our friends do so cheerfully & they are rewarded. She’s still brighter than all of us put together.
Well, you’ll see us warts & all, and Julia’s (who works for us) odd little fence she put up to protect one dim flower from Harry, the yard man who is simple & works for Alice because nobody else will hire him. (She is also noted for taking care of the blind, the lame & the halt—me, that is. She keeps me out of the Federal pen.) At any rate, come to see us!
Love to both of you,
NELLE
Law Offices of
BARNETT, BUGG, LEE & CARTER, LLC
December 11, 2006
Dr. and Mrs. J. Wayne Flynt
1224 Penny Lane
Auburn, AL 36830
Dear Dottie [sic] and Wayne:
As I changed the water to keep fresh the lovely pink roses from you, I was reminded of an incident in the life of my sister, Louise. Since you are the parents of two sons, it may bring a smile if you have not previously heard the story.
Louise had decided she wanted to grow roses. A bed was prepared in her yard and twelve healthy bushes were placed in it. Not long thereafter she came home and was startled to find that all dozen rose bushes had been very neatly removed. She questioned her younger son, then six years of age, and quickly got this answer: “I gave them to Benjy cause he had no roses at his house.” Benjy was his black playmate who lives a short distance away. End of Louise’s efforts in rose culture.
After your visit I faxed an account to Louise in care of her son, Hank. He read it to his mother to see if there would be a spark of recognition. No response. That gives you a report of the present condition.
Your visit is to be treasured and I hope that it will be repeated even though Nelle Harper should be in the City. I need an address for Sean and Shannon.
I look forward to receiving the Monroe County note. Perhaps you can bring them.
The huge tree cutting machine which was in the yard next to us when you were here finally took down the very tall oak which was leaning in the direction of the house and the very large limb that was spread over it. The trunk was hollow so we breathed a sigh of relief when we look in that direction. The next Ivan or Katrina could have turned it to us instead of the direction it was pointing.
One more item: A neighbor brought us something for the meal last evening which was entirely new to Nelle and me. It was a grits pie! Have you ever eaten one? It’s good.
Best wishes for a blessed Christmas.
Sincerely,
Alice
7
The Stroke a
nd a Forced Return Home
In January 2007 I suggested renewing our campaign to elect Alice to the Alabama Academy of Honor. Nelle, ever the shrewd tactician, investigated the number of deaths among members during the preceding year and concluded that we had little chance of success. Besides, her older sister had invested her life not in flashy leadership roles but in “serving humanity quietly, with modesty, with no thought of recognition or reward.” Five years later, members of the academy would contradict our opinion of their values by sensibly electing the nation’s oldest practicing attorney and one of the state’s best people.
Alice’s correspondence combined affection for Confederate ancestors and Alabama history with dislike of biographer Charles Shields and concerns about the worsening health of her sisters. In time, she added more personal regrets about her own loss of vision and hearing, particularly her inability to listen to sacred and classical music. Nonetheless, she stoically vowed to live for the future (even at age ninety-six) rather than retreat into memories.
In April 2007, shortly after returning to New York City from Monroeville, Nelle suffered a stroke and was taken to Mount Sinai Hospital. Partially paralyzed, she left New York by train several weeks later for the Lakeshore rehabilitation facility in Homewood, a Birmingham suburb. Homewood was less than two hours’ drive from our house in Auburn, and so during this time our friendship with Nelle transitioned temporarily from correspondence to face-to-face visits. The small circle of people who knew about her partial paralysis was determined to keep the secret, and for years we did so. At first, we felt like snoops trying to infiltrate the Pentagon. There were false names, multiple personnel who screened us, and a near comical air of secrecy. After a while everyone learned who we were, which speeded up our visits.
The entire staff at Lakeshore was attentive to Nelle, and a welcome change from the technically proficient but cold professionalism she later said she’d experienced at Mount Sinai. We tried to help her cope with six boring months of physical therapy by bringing her a cassette player and our collection of books on tape. Her favorites were British comedian John Cleese reading C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters and Sissy Spacek reading Mockingbird, as well as Frank McCourt and Eudora Welty reading their own work—the memoir Angela’s Ashes and the short story “Petrified Man,” respectively.
As correspondence from Nelle declined, letters from Alice became more frequent. I commissioned her to write the EOA essay about Monroe County. Her declining health, too much knowledge of the subject, and an elderly woman’s frantic efforts to care for her little sister prevented its completion.
When Nelle wrote at all over the next few years, her letters were brief. After nearly six months of rehab she moved to the Meadows of Monroeville, an assisted living facility in her hometown, reversing her flight to New York City and pretty much guaranteeing that she would end life where she’d begun it.
Monday
Dear Wayne:
Alice & I were recently recalling the good things of the past year. You & Dottie were first on the list. You were so far ahead of everything else that everything else wasn’t discussed.
After a night’s meditation on the Academy project, Wayne, my feeling is no, not this year (But you will speak of the essense [sic] of time . . .), for these reasons:
1. She has outlived nearly all her contemporaries, those who knew her, and could testify to her remarkable achievements. Remember—and this hits me in some way every day—people younger than us/we don’t know what life was like before they were born, and have little curiosity about it—
2. Alice does not have a Who’s Who of being chair of this & president of that. She was awarded its first Citizen of the Year plaque by the Monroeville Kiwanis Club, though! She has spent her life serving humanity quietly, with modesty, with no thought of recognition or reward. (Example: she has educated more young people than she can remember, asking to be an anonymous benefactor [and, her sister might have added, often funded by Nelle’s royalties].) In short, she does not have a Pooh-Bah chestful of medals. She has never sought them. In the Academy, Pooh-Bahing helps.
3. Now we come to the real crunch: I think there are only 2 places available so far, and I haven’t heard of serious illness in our group. Only 2 places, and our chairman is determined to fill one of them with the world’s greatest living baseball player [Hank Aaron]. What our chairman wants he usually gets. (Always remember that!) I think our chances on that alone are very dim—one place and 35 nominees, probably—(Of course, a lot of B’ham lawyers & real estate moguls could be called to eternal rest this year, but I doubt it. They look exceedingly healthy.)
4. Although the shenanigans are supposed to be confidential, etc., and nominations are in secret, these things usually get out. I would hate it if Alice knew she was nominated but didn’t make it. She’d be proud she was nominated: any ache she’d feel she’d keep to herself. I want to spare her that probability of disappointment.
Please let me know how you feel about this, Wayne; I’ve been in the Academy long enough to know a little of how it works, and I just don’t think Alice could be elected this year. As far as I’m concerned, they should award her the whole state, but then she’d try to raise taxes [to fund decent schools].
May I call you this week? I’m sort of shy about phoning because your retirement is everybody else’s full day.
Love to the Flynts
NELLE
February 6, 2007
Dear Alice,
I am writing a nomination for Leah Atkins for the Alabama Academy of Honor. When I finish it, I will send you a copy. We have so many remarkable women in this state that it makes no sense to have so few of them in the Academy. A few years ago, American historians were asked to list the ten most important women of the 20th century. Two of the ten—Helen Keller and Rosa Parks—were from Alabama.
In many ways you also blazed that trail through the wilderness. And I am glad that this past year brought us together. Louise has been such a dear friend that we are mighty glad to get to know her sisters as well.
Sincerely,
Wayne
February 6, 2007
Dear Nelle,
I hope you have found your return to N.Y.C. more restful than your stay in Alabama. I must confess that I did not fully understand why you spent so much time in the Big Apple until this year. The demands on your time are relentless. As you probably know, Huntsville is using TKAM as the city-wide reading program this year. The director of the library asked if I would help persuade you to come to the city this April. Shields and Badham [who played Scout in the movie] are going to speak. My job on the program is to explain Alabama in the 1930s as the setting of the novel. I explained to him that I don’t get involved in your life, so he is contacting your agent. So be alert! Alabama will not let you rest! Like most things we love down here, we kill by holding on too tight and by demanding too much. . . .
Thanks for making this past year so special for the Flynts. When we once upon a time sat at Louise’s back porch talking about you and your family, I often wondered if I would ever get to know you and Alice, whether “in the fullness of time” as the Bible poetically expresses it, our paths might cross. We are mighty glad they did. . . . we will see you late spring or early summer in N.Y.C.
Sincerely,
Wayne
January 22, 2007
Dear Wayne,
Please excuse my less than elegant writing paper. I simply have to have lines. My writing tends to grow so small that I can’t read it, so I cross out and start again.
The carnations and mums on my desk are still very fresh and continue to draw admiring comments from my clients because of the outstanding color contrasts. I can hardly wait for spring when my desk will have roses from the Flynt Botanical Gardens.
The stopover by you and Dartie was a joy and I hope it will be repeated many times. It doesn’t matter that Nelle Harper may be in NYC, we can still dine together.
I meant to inquire as to your planned route as you conti
nued south from Monroeville. Did you continue on Highway 21 to the Atmore exit then on to I-65 to 59, or did you leave 21 at Uriah and begin 59 through Stockton? The latter route is more interesting. It basically follows the Old Federal Road and those of us who follow it are convinced that when the paving was done no engineering was included in the project. The DOT [Department of Transportation] just paved over all the curves made by the covered wagons which zig zagged around impassable mud holes.
You may recall some years ago when a group of bored teenagers got drunk one Sunday afternoon and amused themselves by burning and vandalizing several black church buildings in the Little River community. Out of that episode came a small volume entitled “Ballad of Little River” which is not read for its contribution to the field of good literature, but it depicts quite accurately the route the kids travelled. The names of its roads, Mr. Peanut’s store, are all there and you don’t need a road map. The neat little white building you pass just before getting to Red Eagle’s and Sehoy’s graves is what arose from the ashes of the excitement of arson. Incidentally, those kids served prison terms of varying lengths. Makes me wonder about the outcome of the trial of more recent, older, better educated and more affluent pranksters.
Sorry you had to send NH a copy of Poor but Proud. There was a copy in one of the many book cases in this house. She did not ask me about it and of course her vision does not allow her to do much searching on her own. The hundred of books in this house would profit from the labors of a good librarian who could bring them into some order and let us know what we have. There are two reprints that I always know where to find—Pickett’s History of Alabama and WC Oats History of the 15th Alabama. Our father’s copy is so worn that we were thrilled to find a reprint several years ago. That was the outfit of our poverty stricken grandfather Lee who gallantly fought 4 years and who from Gettysburg took the Bloody Road South and stacked arms at Appomattox with the remnants of the Army of Northern Virginia. Mr. Shields did not think much of him, but I would like that gentleman (?) to know that I am proud to be the granddaughter of that good man who came back to the wasteland the Yanks had created and survived Reconstruction.