So Nelle’s college plans did not surprise her classmates. Nor would they have been surprised, really, to learn about her admiration for two adults who had begun to exert a powerful influence over her plans. Both were women with a go-it-alone attitude. The problem was that they had selected different career paths. This dilemma over which direction to take would eventually be one of the most critical decisions of Nelle’s adult life: choosing writing or law.
The first of her two role models was her high school English teacher, Miss Gladys Watson. Like an apprentice learning the craft of writing, Nelle willingly submitted herself to Miss Watson’s instruction. Tall, blond, and angular with hipbones that protruded under her warm-weather dresses, Miss Watson lived with her parents across the street from Nelle in a yellow two-story house with a deep, wide veranda that ran around three sides. Her father, “Doc” Watson, was a three-hundred-pound giant of a man. Miss Watson, outside of being one of the best teachers of two generations of students at Monroe County High School, was also a quilter and a gardener. Neighbors were accustomed to seeing her in her parents’ yard pruning the lilacs, tending the potted succulents on the porch, and yanking out weeds in the grass, her fair face hidden beneath a big straw hat. She remained single until late in life, preferring to devote her time to reading and teaching.
Because the faculty of the high school was small, students had Miss Watson for three years—sophomore through senior English, which included a semester of British literature. Looking back, most of her students counted themselves lucky to have been given a triple dose of “Gladys,” as a few called her behind her back.4 “I adored her,” said Sue Philipp, a friend of Nelle’s. “She was very strict. She gave you two grades. One was for your grammar in a paper—and you got a whole letter taken off for any mistake and that included commas. So I would usually get a ‘C’ for grammar and an ‘A’ for writing.”5 English professors at state universities in Alabama were known to remark to some of their most proficient undergraduates, “You must have taken Miss Watson.”
Her classes always began with students receiving a blue booklet of grammar rules, a sort of early Strunk and White Elements of Style, which Miss Watson had personally selected. It was going to be their bible, she told them; they should never lose it.6 Grammatical writing also was the key to developing a clear style of writing. She had students read their compositions aloud so that everyone could hear how good writing had three Cs: clarity, coherence, and cadence. As she listened, she leaned forward, sucking on an earpiece of her pink tortoiseshell glasses and saying in an encouraging voice now and then, “That was good, very good.”7 In her heart, little did her students know, she would have given anything to be a writer herself.8
Sometimes, when her students had grown weary of gerunds and so on, and their writing hands ached, she would read them a story, poem, or scene from a play instead. She was a gifted reader of Chaucer in the original fifteenth-century English. As she recited The Canterbury Tales, the travelers in the tales lived again as they visited the taverns, shrines, and waysides of England of the Middle Ages.9
Nelle worshipped her. From the time Miss Watson came into her life, she became devoted to British literature. After school, she spent time in the library looking up in an encyclopedia the topics Miss Watson had mentioned. And there was also one well-thumbed copy of Pride and Prejudice in the library’s collection that opened for Nelle the intimate world of Jane Austen.10
Whether Miss Watson perceived Nelle as a budding writer is hard to tell, especially since Monroe County High School had no school newspaper or yearbook to showcase the talents of stellar English students. But if being in print really mattered to Nelle, she easily could have been—in her father’s newspaper, the Monroe Journal, of which he was part owner. Mr. Lee wouldn’t have turned down a submission from his hopeful daughter. However, except for a poem titled “Springtime,” which Nelle composed when she was 11, no byline of hers appeared in the Journal.11 After Truman moved away, she wrote only in secret, though not in a journal. Her desk at home contained personal essays, short stories, and limericks. But she never dared share them with her parents or siblings. “Not even the family knew the content of these writings,” Alice would later say, “as they were destroyed.”12
* * *
Nelle’s second role model was her sister Alice. Alice Finch Lee, the eldest of the Lee children, reminded many Monroeville residents of her father made over. In most families, a son was the heir apparent to a business, store, or farm. But Alice broke the mold. She seemed destined and determined to follow in her father’s footsteps.
Alice and Nelle were as similar, Truman once cracked, “as a giraffe and a hippopotamus.”13 Alice was a petite, birdlike young woman who wore black glasses like her father. She was obedient in school, conservative, and the essence of tact. All through school she remained at the head of her class, and she graduated from Monroe County High School in 1928 at age 16. That fall, she enrolled in the Women’s College of Alabama, a Methodist institution in Montgomery, enjoying the privilege of becoming the first member of her family to attend college. Her freshman year, 1928–29, was one of the happiest times of her life.14
Unfortunately, it was also her only year in college in Montgomery. The stock market crash in October upended her plans—at least that’s what she told friends. The truth was, her father had other plans for her. For years he had pushed ahead without the support of a helpmate because of his wife’s poor health. Now that Alice was entering adulthood—and was clearly a very capable young woman—he began to shift more and more of his professional duties to her. And she quickly rose to meet his requirements.
The year Alice left college, A. C. Lee purchased a partnership in the Monroe Journal. As a smart business move, he cut Alice in as the fourth of four partners, giving the Lees half interest. Alice was only 18, but her father had every faith in her. He put up the cash, completed the legal paperwork, and appointed her associate editor.
He needed her there while he went off adventuring in state politics. Three years earlier, in 1926, he had been elected Democratic representative to the state legislature. Politically, he was a centrist, a “states’ righter” (meaning he was wary of federal power), and a fiscal conservative (meaning he was against big government). He was required to be in the state capital regularly.
In addition, A. C. Lee’s business interests were expanding. Since 1923, he had been pivotal in helping the town council electrify all of Monroeville. As a result, in 1929—the year he and Alice became newspaper owners—Riviera Utilities Corporation moved its headquarters to Monroeville and appointed Lee as its corporation counsel for the entire state. If that weren’t enough, he also accepted a post as director at the Monroe County Bank. Alice was the obvious choice to be his representative in Monvoeville.
Alice had her work cut out for her on South Alabama Avenue, too. Her job was “keeping the home fires burning,” as she later put it.15 Her siblings, Louise, Edwin, and Nelle, were then 13, 9, and 3, respectively. The stress of raising them added to Mrs. Lee’s mood swings. Black housekeepers could straighten up, do laundry, and make meals, but Mrs. Lee required attention, too. Alice had to take over.
She stepped into all these roles for the sake of helping her father, to whom she was devoted. If she were to entertain any thoughts of marriage, she would almost certainly require a larger pool of smart, eligible men than Monroeville could offer. But for the next seven years, from 1929 to 1936, she put her young life on hold while she worked side by side with her father at the Journal and helped him manage at home.
Meanwhile, A. C. Lee toiled away in the Alabama legislature on a career that was not exceptional: his convictions were too rock solid for politics. During his 12 years in the state capital, he was proudest of making good on a campaign promise to push through a budget bill that put county fiscal systems on a pay-as-you-go basis, thus reducing deficit spending. He also sponsored a bill that substantially raised the pension amount awarded to several thousand Confederate soldiers and t
heir widows still living in Alabama in the 1930s.16
As the 1938 election approached, he decided he would not run again. Ten years shuttling back and forth to Montgomery were enough. His personal life offered greater rewards. After more than 20 years on the public scene, he was one of the most prominent figures in south Alabama. In his hometown, he was unquestionably a guiding spirit: a highly regarded attorney, newspaper publisher, bank director, civic leader, and church deacon. His children Louise and Edwin were then 19 and 15 and responsible young people; Nelle was in middle school. Also, there was the other side of the ledger to consider: he was coming up on 60 years of age, and feeling he should concentrate his energy. For a man with many responsibilities, some of them no longer necessary, it was time to take stock.
Alice moved away from Monroeville at age 26 in April 1937 to begin a delayed life of complete independence. She found work as a clerk in the newly created Social Security division of the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) in Birmingham. Given time, and her talent for running things, it’s likely she would have moved up quickly, especially since Social Security, as a governmental agency, was destined to grow into a huge bureaucracy.
But then, suddenly, Mr. L. J. Bugg, of the law firm of Barnett, Bugg & Lee, died. With L. J. Bugg departed, a once-in-a-generation slot for an attorney opened up. A. C. Lee discussed with Alice the idea of returning to Monroeville, conditional on her completing law school, of course, as a new partner. She hesitated.
She asked him if folks in town would view her as Mr. Lee’s “little girl,” or as a person with an identity in her own right. He answered that by the time she completed law school, she would be older than 30. Who would think of her as someone’s “little girl”? This mollified her. But she was also concerned that folks might not take a female lawyer seriously—there were fewer than two dozen or so in the entire state, and most practiced in Montgomery, Birmingham, or Mobile, where professional women were not unusual. To this, A. C. Lee had no direct answer. Instead, knowing Alice as he did, he appealed to her love of a challenge: “You won’t know unless you try,” he said.17
So in 1939 she enrolled in night classes in the Birmingham School of Law. It was a demanding regimen she set for herself: working full-time during the day and sitting through lectures at night. Nevertheless, attending school part-time, she completed her last semester at the end of four years. Then, in July 1943, during World War II, Alice and three “4Fs”—men who had failed the physical examination for active duty in the armed forces—presented themselves as candidates for the legal profession at the Whitley Hotel in Montgomery.18
The complete battery of examinations, 16 in all, lasted four days. On the fifth day, the phone in Alice’s apartment rang early. She had passed. Her father was elated when he got the news.
Thus Alice assumed her place as a second-generation attorney in the law offices of Barnett, Bugg & Lee, eager to begin. As a country lawyer just starting out, she was prepared to accept practically any case that came through her door.
However, there was still the question of whether people would take her seriously—someone fit to give advice on weighty issues of law. On this score, she faced a real challenge. In the beginning, few clients brought her cases of any consequence, and her fellow attorneys in south Alabama treated her as a curiosity. She looked too delicate for contests in a courtroom; but more to the point, she was a woman in a small town. None of the leading civic organizations in Monroeville—the influential Kiwanis Club, for example—accepted women. Church and school committees were all that were open to her. Hence, she was shut out of the higher circles of power in Monroeville, and in the whole county, for that matter.
Then one day she received a call from a Mobile attorney with an exceptional reputation. He told Alice that he had a wrongful death suit in the docket for the next session of the circuit court in Monroeville. Would she assist him? She was flattered; of course she would.
As it turned out, what he really had in mind was using Alice as a legal assistant. During the trial, she sat quietly at the table watching the old pros in action. Presiding was circuit judge Francis W. Hare, a Monroeville native and a Lee family friend. With testimony taken, and both sides having made their arguments to the jury, the trial was clearly winding down. Alice had not said a word. Then Judge Hare made a statement to the jury.
“It is customary in cases like this for there to be two speeches on each side. However, we have with us the youngest member of the Bar. And if this young lady would like to address the jury, I will grant her that privilege.” Alice rose, walked to the jury box of 12 men, and gave a memorable speech for her side. “Judge Hare had paved the way for my acceptance,” she said later, “and I was treated as a member of the Bar and not as an aberration.”19
* * *
Thus, as Nelle approached graduation from high school in 1944 and was faced with making a decision about college and a career, her sister Alice presented an example of a woman who had overcome challenges that would have discouraged anyone less determined. To someone of Nelle’s spirit, who always enjoyed a good tussle, physical or verbal, her sister’s quietly combative style and choice of law was an inspiration. As far as Nelle’s love of literature and writing, and the example of Miss Watson, was concerned, perhaps she could find a way to write, too.
Since Alice had started off at the Women’s College of Alabama, that’s where Nelle decided to enroll. By now it had been renamed Huntingdon College, for the Countess of Huntingdon, a sponsor of the Wesleyan Movement (the foundation of the Methodist Church) in England. Wasting no time, Nelle signed up for summer classes in June.
A. C. Lee viewed this latest development with undisguised pleasure. Around town, he started telling a little joke. With Mr. Bugg taking his eternal rest, and Mr. Barnett running the Monroe County Bank, the firm of Barnett, Bugg & Lee might have to be changed one day to “Lee & Daughters, Attorneys”!20
* * *
Actually, there couldn’t have been a less appropriate school than Huntingdon College for a young woman like Nelle. Perhaps she was trying too hard to imitate her sister, or maybe she was also trying to please her mother by enrolling in a college that resembled the exclusive Alabama Girls’ Industrial School. In any case, it was a poor match.
Huntingdon’s 58-acre campus was located off East Fairview Avenue in one of Montgomery’s loveliest neighborhoods, Old Cloverdale. The area still felt like the country in those days. Each house was large and quite Southern-looking, with wide aprons of lush green lawns. Sprays of mums, coneflowers, columbines, irises, and day lilies looked glorious in the sunlight. Beneath the heavy trees lay camellias, hostas, jasmine, and impatiens. Husbands parked their automobiles off-street, in garages at the end of private drives.
As the freshman girls arrived with their families through the front gate of Huntingdon College, they saw directly ahead the administration building, Flowers Hall. To the left and right, extending along a low, semicircular ridge, were all the other important buildings that new girls needed to become acquainted with: the library, the student center and its tea room, two dormitories, and the infirmary. These overlooked a natural amphitheater called the Green, which served as a park, playing field, and the site of an annual May festival, complete with a maypole and May Queen.
Huntingdon was traditional. Experienced educators taught such subjects as composition, the history of Western civilization, philosophy, and theology. By and large, the Huntingdon faculty was made up of graduates from selective northern institutions: Columbia, Cornell, Northwestern, and Syracuse. Many of the female instructors were unmarried, and some gallantly said that the students were their family.
The students’ Christian education was priority at the start of every day. Chapel was at 8:00 A.M. Missing services was inexcusable, unless the offender made up the absence by attending church elsewhere.
Another important component of a Huntingdon girl’s education was becoming adept at the social graces. Dinner was never a haphazard affair. The girls ate at tables of ei
ght. At the head was a female instructor. As the food was passed, everyone was expected to take at least a small portion out of politeness. The proper piece of silverware had to match the course of the meal. Now and then the instructor would peek under the table to make sure none of the girls had their legs crossed—feet flat on the floor. Once a month, on a particular date, the girls were expected to come down to dinner in evening dress.
Off campus, Huntingdon girls were required to abide by a dress code that included hats, gloves, dresses, and high-heeled shoes. An appropriate outfit for a day in Montgomery consisted of a skirt, a cardigan worn backward, a string of pearls, a black Chesterfield coat, white gloves, and a white scarf worn in blustery weather. (“We must have looked like a bunch of penguins,” one of the fashion-conscious students later said.)21
On weekends, young airmen from Maxwell Airfield, located just outside of Montgomery, made a beeline for the Huntingdon campus. The ones who could get their hands on a car whisked away girls to Hilda’s on the Atlanta highway, a lively restaurant with dinner and dancing. There were organized dances, too. During 1944, Maxwell Airfield hosted 18 dances featuring popular big bands, including Glenn Miller’s. Usually there were three airmen for every girl, and with those odds, the young ladies could have a different date every weekend night, if they wished.
Harper Lee (far right) poses with fellow students during her freshman year at Huntingdon College. She felt out of place at the school. (Photographer unknown)
* * *
Into this whirl of social activity arrived Nelle on the Huntingdon campus as a full-time student in the autumn of 1944. Credits from two summer courses, added to the 12 semester hours she was awarded for high scores on four entrance exams in mathematics, social science, natural science, and English, resulted in her starting college as a second-semester freshman.22
She was assigned to a triple room in Massey Hall where the housemother was white-haired Mrs. Hammond, or “Mother Hammond,” a much-loved figure who enjoyed playing the role of nosy maiden aunt. She wore pince-nez—glasses without temple bars—which pressed the sides of her nose like Teddy Roosevelt’s. When a young man arrived to pick up his date, Mrs. Hammond made a show of examining him up and down as though she had never seen such a specimen. It was rumored she could smell beer from 20 feet away.
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