I am also enclosing a portrait photograph which I would like for you to copy and return to me as promptly as possible. It is not the most recent photograph I possess but it is easily the most flattering, so I trust you will indulge this final vanity on my part and see that it accompanies my obituary notice in the newspaper. Surely it is my right to choose the way I would like to be remembered.
I know that The New York Times prepares obituaries in advance on prominent people and usually calls the subject for a personal interview. I assume The Dallas News does not follow this policy since I am seventy-five years old and no one has called. If there is any doubt about the prominent position I have occupied in this community, along with both my husbands, you have only to check with your editor, whose father was my neighbor and finally even my friend.
I realize of course that the obituary notice may not be printed exactly as I composed it; however, I would be very interested in seeing any edited version. Perhaps you would be kind enough to submit one for my approval when you return the photograph.
Sincerely,
Bess Steed Garner
P.S. I have also drafted my husband’s obituary notice, which I am enclosing. In view of his failing health, you would be well advised to place it in a more current file than you do mine.
August 10, 1967
Dallas
Dear Dwight and Totsie,
There was a time when I wanted desperately to move to New York. But the children were young and Sam asked me to marry him and so it is only now, over forty years later, that I am experiencing the exhilaration of an independent life in a high-rise apartment of my own. Of course I am looking down on Turtle Creek, not Central Park, but at night all I see are the bright lights and I could be in any big city in the world.
Many of my friends have expressed a wish to return to the little towns where they were born to spend their twilight years but to me there is nothing to match sunset in the city. I take great comfort in the thought of all the strangers living above and below me in this building—of all the lives I have not touched going on around me. I exult in the size of this city and the rate at which it continues to grow. And living in the midst of it, I no longer feel I have been deprived of anything. I am sorry Lydia died without having had her own apartment. She went from her parents to her husband to her daughter without ever living a life that was completely her own.
My devoted housekeeper, who has shared my life longer than either of my husbands, is enjoying our present life style as much as I am. Fortunately she is a decade younger than I am, and still capable of driving an automobile with impunity. When I sold my house, I bought a new Oldsmobile Cutlass and registered it in her name, though I am responsible for its maintenance until I die. Every afternoon we set out on our rounds and drive till sundown when we pause to see Sam.
He has finally stopped asking about going home and yesterday I understood why. He and our former neighbor, Mrs. Perkins, were seated side by side on the sun porch when I arrived for my afternoon visit, sharing the contented silence of two people who have long since said everything they have to say. Then to my amazement I saw that they were holding hands. They greeted me politely but with no recognition of any earlier role I had played in either of their lives.
From previous conversation I assumed my neighbor still had some grasp of reality. She questioned me extensively at the time I sold my house and seemed quite concerned at what she clearly considered my final abandonment of my husband. She always took pity on him when I left town on an extended trip and during my absences he was a frequent dinner guest in her home. Yesterday I could almost suspect that her seeming indifference to my presence was caused more by her solicitude for Sam than by any reduction in her mental capacity.
When Sam finally spoke, he asked if I saw the family of redbirds nesting outside the window. I did not have to look to know that he was talking about a window he had not seen in almost four years. I realized then that he was back in our breakfast room on Drexel Drive and the hand he thought he was holding was mine. Whatever her motive, I could only be grateful to my former neighbor for providing the illusion of my constant presence and allowing me the freedom of an independent life.
Betsy and her husband have been here with the baby all summer. It is such a miracle to see another generation coming to consciousness. I would be quite content to spend every day in their company but I try to limit my visits to twice a week. I take the whole family out to dinner whenever I can in an attempt to repay the delight my great-grandchild has given me.
She talks all the time and I cannot tell you the thrill it gives me to hear a new little voice saying, “Nana.” I telephone every night just before her bedtime and talk to her until her mother takes the phone away. She never says very much but her mother assures me she listens enthralled, and I love telling her how much she has meant to me, whether she understands what I am saying or not. I have always enjoyed the telephone but the members of my family never seem to have time for the leisurely conversations I prefer. I suppose my great-granddaughter will soon be too busy for me too, but I am thankful that at the age of three she is still fascinated by everything I have to say.
The only other person who will listen as long as I care to talk is Sam. Every night after dinner I retire to my bed and from there I call to tell him good night. One night I was attending the theater with my friends the Townsends and forgot to call, and the next day the nurse told me Sam would not allow her to turn off his bedside light that night. He made her understand that he wanted to be able to see the telephone so he could answer it when it rang. She tried to tell him that the switchboard had closed but he just kept shaking his head and shouting if she got near the light. He finally fell asleep with the light shining in his face.
Since that night, no matter where I am, I have never forgotten to call and say good night. He does not have much more to say on the other end than my great-grandbaby and while her vocabulary grows daily, his diminishes. But I know he is listening and if I ask a question often enough, he will finally make some sort of sound in reply. Of course I have no idea what he is saying but then I never ask a question without already knowing the answer.
Betsy is encouraging me to fly to Los Angeles this fall for the premiere of her husband’s new play at the theater complex that has just opened there, and I am very tempted to accept. Why don’t the two of you meet me there and you can see what my family has produced in the way of plays and progeny? Both levels of production fill me with pride and I love being included in their lives. I do worry about leaving Sam, though I would of course call him every night long distance. I wonder if he would miss my visits every afternoon. Unfortunately there is no way to be sure.
I cannot get the thought of the trip out of my mind. We have maintained our friendship by letter for too long. And now, with so many of my dearest friends and relatives beyond my reach forever, I want nothing more than to put my arms around you both.
I remember in French class freshman year when we learned the expression “j’ai le coeur gros” to denote a heart swollen with emotion. At the time it seemed like a rather vulgar expression to me but that was before I knew how crude and vulgar life can be at the end as, one by one, we lose everyone we love. Everything in me aches and throbs to be with you. “J’ai le coeur gros” when I think of you and my longing will not be satisfied until the two of you are once again in my embrace.
Je vous embrasse,
Bess
November 23, 1967
Dallas
Dearest Totsie and Dwight,
My suitcase was packed for a morning flight to Los Angeles when the call came that Sam had died peacefully in his sleep. I had seen him in the afternoon and told him good night by telephone and I am so grateful I was here. I canceled my reservations and very much doubt now that I will ever leave Dallas again.
I look around at how few of my friends are left. We are like the survivors of some terrible storm. The quality of life can no longer concern us. For the moment it is enough just to exist. And so
we must go about the business of burying our dead and try not to think beyond the simple tasks that each day presents.
When I called Betsy to tell her about Sam, she told me the news she had been saving for my visit to California: another great-grandchild is on the way. So how can I despair when my announcement of death is met with the promise of new life? It is extremely dangerous to fly during the early months of pregnancy so I insisted she stay safely in Los Angeles and not consider coming home for the funeral.
I am very tired. I look at the suitcases standing empty beside my closet and wonder how I could have contemplated such a long trip.
It is getting late now. I will eat dinner and then I must not forget to call Sam—
November 24, 1967
Mrs. Garner suffered a massive stroke last night. The doctor said it would have been fatal for anyone else her age but apparently she has the constitution of someone much younger. When I was packing her suitcase to take to the hospital, I found this letter beside her bed. I know how strongly she feels about leaving letters unanswered, so I am sending it on to you, even though it appears to be unfinished.
Sincerely,
Marthareen Jenkins
Housekeeper to
Mrs. Garner
June 19, 1968
Dallas
Dear Betsy,
It is hard for me but I want you to know. Baby is beautiful. Like child of Cloud Fairy. I want to hold. Not just pictures. When will we see? You can go and leave baby here. I will hold tight to her hand when car comes. Trust me. Soon baby will walk, thinking I am always behind. Not to be afraid. All you have to teach.
Guests coming soon. Eleanor, too. And still no flowers on the table. I must go into the garden. Nothing blooms here and where did redbirds go? I want to go far away. Another country. So many places I never saw.
This is a strange land. Sun never stops shining. I am so tired. I want to sleep but light in my eyes. Must call Sam so he to bed. Then I can sail. Dining with Captain tonight. Write me. I want letters waiting.
A Dieu,
Nana
A PENGUIN READERS GUIDE TO
A Woman of
Independent Means
ELIZABETH FORSYTHE HAILEY
DOMESTIC FEMINISM IN A Woman of Independent Means
Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey wrote A Woman of Independent Means in 1978, when to most Americans feminism was beginning to become associated with angry politicos who neglected their femininity and were capable of shocking radicalism. This book, however, portrays a very different ideal for the capable, socially responsible woman of the twentieth century. The character Bess Steed Garner was partially inspired by the feminist movement of the 1970s, and partially based on the author’s grandmother. When Hailey told her husband of her intention to write a novel called Letters from a Runaway Wife, he responded, “Runaway wives are a passing fad. Why don’t you write about somebody who doesn’t have to leave home to be liberated? Why don’t you write about somebody like your grandmother?” Therefore, in the life of her heroine, Hailey portrays a domestic feminist, a woman who is not only confident about her gender’s equality, but who proves it every day in her judicious maintenance of her home and finances, her unfailing support of her husbands, family, and friends, and her personal, independent engagement with the world around her. The letters that compose this book—both personal and business letters—reveal that Bess’s liberation is not only manifest in what she does, but in how she regards herself and her position in the various contexts of life.
Bess’s first letter is dated 1899, and her last 1968. The tremendous social changes that occurred in this sixty-nine-year span are reflected in the ever-evolving personality and character of Bess, who is gradually transformed from a sheltered, privileged child into a competent woman, encountering adversity with increasing intelligence, sensitivity, and courage. In 1913, Bess writes to her husband, “Last night the train sped through the heart of a forest fire, and I watched with fascination as the flames encircled but could not touch us. Sometimes my life seems as safe and insulated to me as the compartment in which I was riding last night. I see the flames of death and deprivation outside, but they do not touch me.” In 1916, however, those flames swept closer when Bess’s daughter was hit by a car and forced to undergo a long, difficult period of hospitalization. Bess’s relentlessly energetic care was probably instrumental in saving her daughter’s life, while her creativity and devotion assured that Eleanor’s psyche, as well as her body, mended during the long convalescence. This is the first tragedy that tests Bess’s domestic heroism, but not the last. Over the next several years Bess endures the untimely deaths of her husband and eldest son, yanks a failing business back to its feet, and—ironically—loses her home and all of her possessions in a fire. Though her wealth eases Bess’s burdens, it does not remain a protective shield that keeps the most painful realities of life at bay. Gradually one comes to feel that the “independent means” are not the social status and financial security Bess was born into, but the personal and spiritual strengths and resources she has acquired.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ABOUT Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey
Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey, born in Dallas, Texas, in 1938, studied at the Sorbonne in Paris and received her bachelor’s degree from Hollins College in 1960. In the same year she married Oliver Hailey, a playwright, and in the years that followed, the couple had two daughters, Elizabeth Kendall and Melinda Brooke. Hailey worked briefly in journalism and publishing before joining her husband in writing for film and television. They served as creative consultants for the enormously popular television series Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.
Hailey’s first novel, A Woman of Independent Means, published in 1978, was an instant bestseller, and her stage adaptation won the Los Angeles Critics Award. In 1995, NBC aired A Woman of Independent Means as a six-hour miniseries starring Sally Field, and in this medium, too, the work won critical acclaim. In addition to A Woman of Independent Means, Hailey has published three other novels: Life Sentences in 1982, Joanna’s Husband and David’s Wife in 1986, and Home Free in 1991. All of these novels have been praised for their commitment to searching out the subtler truths of interpersonal relationships and personal integrity.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. This book is in an epistolary format, meaning that it’s written in the form of a series of letters. What do Bess’s letters reveal that a first-person narrative would not? How do the style, tone, and subject matter of her letters change as Bess matures and grows older?
2. Once she reaches middle age, Bess begins to muse on the process and consequences of developing relationships through written correspondence, an example being when she writes to her son, Andrew, “I have always had enormous respect for the written word and invariably find a letter more revealing than a face-to-face conversation. In a strange way I suspect I will get to know you better at a distance than I would if you had stayed at home.” How do you think a written correspondence can be a greater spur to intimacy than “a face-to-face conversation”?
3. Bess seems an extraordinary woman for her time in many ways: her open-mindedness toward people of other social classes, creeds, and races; her eager acceptance of technological and social progress; her interest in and savvy regarding business affairs; and her unstinting assertion of herself as the equal of the men around her. As admirable as these qualities seem to us, is there ever any indication that Bess’s acquaintances and associates are shocked or threatened by her attitudes? Who do you think tries to discourage her ideals, and to what end? Are there instances where you as a reader feel Bess has gone too far in her unconventionality?
4. Bess’s marriage to her first husband, Rob, seems to have been undeniably a union of love, whereas, in comparison, her later marriage to Sam appears to have been one more of convenience and even coercion. How do the tone, subject matter, and style of address to each of her husbands affirm or refute this analysis? How do the benefits and drawbacks of Bess’s marriage to Rob compare to those o
f her marriage to Sam?
5. We are witness to Bess’s tragic losses of loved ones —her parents, her elderly cousin Josie, and, as she ages, her friends, as well as the untimely deaths of her husband and eldest child. How do Bess’s reflections and feelings about death change over time?
6. When her son, Andrew, and her daughter, Eleanor, leave home and grow autonomous, we observe Bess attempting to modify her maternal relationship with her children, tempering it with a sense of friendship. To what extent is this attempt successful? In what ways does Bess retain her role of mother and in what ways does she assert herself as a friend to her children? How does the advice and encouragement she offers Andrew differ from that offered to Eleanor? Does Bess have similar expectations of each of her children?
7. Bess’s lifestyle is neither typical nor modest, and we see many examples of how Bess’s wealth makes her life more comfortable and easier to manage. We can easily imagine how the outward circumstances of Bess’s life would differ if she were in another social class, but how would her character and her personal philosophy be different?
8. There are many marriages to scrutinize in this book, all rendered with varying degrees of detail and depth: Bess’s parents, her father and Mavis, Totsie and Dwight, Totsie and Arthur, Lydia and Manning, Anna and Hans, Mr. Prince and his wife, not to mention Bess’s two marriages and those of her children and grandchildren. Is there a single, abiding message about marriage in this book, or does each marriage contain its own message, emphasizing the varieties of romantic and marital experience? Is there one romantic relationship that seems to be particularly poignant or familiar to you? Do any seem idealized or unrealistic?
9. Originally Hailey wanted to write a novel called Letters from a Runaway Wife. Does Bess fit your image of a “runaway wife”? Is she at any time errant in her responsibilities to her husbands and the other people in her life? What is the impulse behind her many travels?
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