Road to Tara

by Anne Edwards

  In his reply to Peggy on this matter on October 6, Latham pointed out that everyone at Macmillan had been enthusiastic about her book and had done the best possible job promoting it. “Now there is an impasse because of the film contract,” he wrote. “I don’t know whether this situation could have been avoided had I been there. From what Mr. Putnam tells me, I judge that it could not for apparently although we were your agent in effecting the sale of the motion picture rights you were represented in the negotiation of the sale by your own attorney who approved the contract that you signed.”

  They were right, of course. Stephens had been at the conference table, but — not being familiar with publishing and film terminology and, perhaps, being somewhat overwhelmed by his seat at such a table — he had not disputed the clause. Peggy’s loyalty to Stephens never waned due to this, and she fought valiantly on his behalf in the next confrontation they were to have with “the film people.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE FIRST of the false rumors that Peggy had written Gone With the Wind in collaboration with John appeared in the Washington Post on September 29, 1936. Under Secretary of the Interior Harry Slattery had taken great offense to what he called the “slanderous use of his family name” in the book because the character Emmy Slattery had been referred to as “white trash.” “Under Secretary Slattery threatened to sue,” the Post declared in an article in which Slattery was interviewed, “but an exchange of letters and conversation with the young Atlanta author [have] convinced him that no malice was intended.” Peggy had never heard of Mr. Slattery, and she was appalled at the ridiculous untruth of his statement, as well as of the Post’s further claim that, “The world might know her as Margaret Mitchell but she is first and foremost the wife of John Marsh. She still cooks breakfast in her little flat in Atlanta and he keeps working at his job, in spite of the fact that they suddenly came into a fortune. Atlantans have tried to fete and exploit them — they wrote the book in collaboration over a period of seven years — but they keep their heads and decline all invitations.”

  Four or five days later, Peggy wrote Slattery, pleading with him to ask the Washington Post to print a retraction of the statement that her husband had collaborated with her in the writing of Gone With the Wind. “I am so upset about this error I have been unable to do anything but cry ever since I read the clipping,” she wrote. “I have given so many years of my life to the writing of this book, injured my eyes, endangered my health and this is my payment — that I didn’t write it! And I did write it, every word of it. My husband had nothing whatever to do with it. In the first place he is not a Georgian (he was born in Kentucky) and no one but a Georgian with generations of Georgian ancestors could have written it. In the second place, he has a very responsible position and works very hard and he seldom gets time to play golf much less to write books.

  “In fact,” she stated, “he never even read the whole of my manuscript until after the Macmillan Company had bought it.” She explained that it was not that she did not want him to read it, but that the book had not been written in chronological order and he could not have been expected to follow the story. “Not all the financial rewards I may receive can make up to me for this,” she wrote in conclusion. “Moreover, it puts me in such a dreadful light before the world — that I had concealed my husband’s work on this book. And he actually had no part in it except helping me with the proof reading when my eyes gave out and my deadline was upon me.... Of course, the story has already gone out into the world, to rise up and plague me all my life but a retraction would help some. You see, it is my whole professional reputation which is at stake — my reputation which has been ruined through no fault of my own.”

  Why Peggy wrote to Under Secretary Slattery to approach the Washington Post rather than doing so herself or through Stephens, her legal counsel, remains a mystery. An apology but not a full retraction was printed in the Post, and Peggy never was able to squelch the rumors that John had collaborated on the writing of Gone With the Wind. But neither had she been completely fair to John in her letter to Slattery. John had not read the manuscript through from beginning to end before she gave it to Harold Latham, but then, neither had she. It had been written in sections over nearly a decade, but her habit was to read John the sections as she completed them, discuss the work with him, and allow him to make notes and corrections on her manuscript. Early letters of hers to Latham reveal that John had suggested several chapter openings. It is doubtful that he contributed any historical background or helped her with research, but his encouragement and support had been given freely throughout. Before its publication, Peggy had confided to Lois that John had driven her to write the book in the first place and had then prodded her on at every juncture. She had told Latham quite frankly that the book had benefitted from John’s “tough criticism along the way,” but her attitude about any public knowledge of John’s contribution to the development of the novel once Gone With the Wind had been published contains more than a touch of paranoia.

  The Washington Post’s article had been untrue, possibly even libelous. However, it is not too difficult to trace its roots. John had many newspaper friends in Washington from the days of his job with the Associated Press. The secrecy that surrounded John’s editorial help on the book, combined with the knowledge many of his Atlanta and Washington press colleagues had of his involvement in it, caused them to suspect his contribution had been more than it was. And Peggy’s silence fed these suspicions. The book had contained no acknowledgements of assistance; there was only the dedication to J.R.M. To those people who liked to speculate, it could have seemed that Peggy had something to hide.

  The question of her sole authorship did irreparable damage to Peggy’s confidence. Some people thought she did not have the capabilities to have written the book on her own, and she herself confessed to Lois that she could not have done it without John.

  Gone With the Wind’s tremendous success presented its author with responsibilities that she could not shoulder. Her life had been upended as Maybelle had predicted it might be one day, and she was not prepared for it. She could not help but entertain the thought that her mother had been right — education would have helped her to overcome at least a portion of her problems. She did not feel adequately educated for the role of a literary personality.

  In Gone With the Wind Peggy had dealt with what she knew best, and her span of knowledge was limited to that subject — Atlanta during and directly after the Civil War. She had thought the publication of the book would renew her stature in Atlanta, that friends would stop saying she was wasting her life, and that the literary crowd would regard her with a small measure of respect. But she had not suspected that her life would be so disrupted. Not until the Book-of-the-Month Club chose Gone With the Wind as their July selection had she thought she would make more than a thousand dollars from its sale. At the time, the Marshes’ finances were such that the amount would have been the difference between debt and solvency. Now, suddenly, she had become a business.

  In September, a royalty check had arrived from Macmillan for $43,500 and, in October, another came, for $99,700 — a veritable fortune in the heart of the Depression. In addition to these earnings were the original $500 advance, the $5,000 paid on behalf of the Book-of-the-Month Club, Latham’s authorized $5,000 advance on royalties, and the $45,000 from the film sale. Peggy was a rich woman and growing richer with each passing day. The large amounts she was earning seemed unreal to her. She was certain it could not continue and yet she was implacable in her decision that she would not write another book. This meant that royalties from Gone With the Wind had to last the Marshes a lifetime.

  Court orders were much on Peggy’s mind as Stephens conferred daily with her on all the manufacturers of clothes and cosmetics and toys who were infringing on her copyright by using her name, the title of the book, and the names of its characters in advertising their products. Organizations — professional and amateur, and including church groups — were
quoting the book without permission. Stephens’s best talents were now put into action. He became the guardian of her copyright and, although it is doubtful that many transgressors slipped past him, the Marshes were kept in a state of constant litigation. All legal and business entanglements were reported each day to Peggy. And not only were people swooping down, as she said, “like buzzards to a carcass” to infringe on her copyright, but impostors were appearing in California, Mexico, and New York who claimed to be Margaret Mitchell, gave statements to the press and, in one case, tried to use her name to establish financial credit.

  No day seemed to pass without a flurry of agitated calls from Stephens. Whatever little free time the Marshes had was taken up with conversations dealing with the subjects of Stephens’s calls. Peggy was short-tempered and sharp-tongued, and not easy to live with. It now appeared to her that the world was filled with “thieves and chiselers” and that they were all feeding on her good fortune. This cynical attitude manifested itself in her dealings with Macmillan.

  Peggy now felt she had not “taken the Selznick skull” at all, but that Macmillan had failed to alert her to how much money could be made by the commercial tie-ins should Selznick decide to lease rights for Scarlett O’Hara dolls or Rhett Butler wristwatches. Some angry letters went from Peggy, John, and Stephens to George Brett and Lois Cole. Convinced by Stephens and John that Macmillan had been remiss in protecting her best interests, Peggy insisted something be done to amend the contract. George Brett wrote that her lawyer should, perhaps, come up to New York to discuss the matter and that Macmillan would “pay the costs.” The Marshes and Stephens naively assumed that this meant Stephens’s legal fees, as well as his travel and hotel expenses, and Stephens wrote Brett a curt letter setting this forth. Appalled by the tone and content of this communication, Brett withdrew his offer.

  At this point, relations between Peggy and Macmillan became severely strained. Lois was especially upset over the situation and Allan Taylor, her husband, stepped in to smooth Peggy’s ruffled feelings. He wrote her a long, placating letter on Lois’s and Macmillan’s behalf, but Peggy’s strong family loyalty had been put to the test. She defended Stephens’s position to the wall. Perhaps to ease the situation, Macmillan gave Peggy back all foreign rights except the English. But the Selznick conflict was not settled until a later date.

  Despite the Marshes’ feeling that they had been ill-served in these last two disagreements, it is only fair to say that Macmillan had always bent over backward to do the right thing for Peggy. Even their decision to employ Annie Laurie Williams was an effort on their part to have Peggy competently represented. No matter what its merits, they had accepted a manuscript in shocking condition, altered original contracts to her advantage on two occasions, given her monies before her royalty payment was due, and produced, published, and distributed her book with great care and attention. Along the way, Peggy had repeatedly written to Latham and Lois, “I never knew publishers could be so nice.” But once the success of her book was guaranteed and the film sale completed, Peggy seemed to feel that Macmillan’s niceness was a way of taking advantage of her former naiveté.

  On October 9, she wrote Herschel Brickell that Stephens would arrive in New York the following Tuesday for conferences with George Brett and the Macmillan lawyers, and that she would now pay his expenses.

  This present business and legal tangle in which we are now involved has about exhausted us all. It has ruined what ever disposition I had, taken all John’s time after his working hours and most of Steve’s after-office time too. I think if it can just be settled perhaps I will begin to get well.... I hope Steve can settle it all by a trip North. Of course, I should go with him as there will be papers to be signed but I would as soon stick my head in a lion’s mouth as leave this house. You haven’t any idea how peculiarly people can act around a new celebrity. Really, we’ve been living behind a barricade for weeks.... I wasn’t cut out to be a celebrity.

  Then, for the first time, she expressed her puzzlement at the mass appeal of Gone With the Wind.

  Herschel, sometimes, when I have a minute I ponder soberly upon this book. And I cannot make head or tails of the whole matter.... I can not figure what makes the thing sell so enormously.... Here in Atlanta, the fifth and sixth grade students are reading it — obstetrical details and all.... The old people, God bless them.... The bench and bar like it, judges.... The medical profession — most of my letters and phone calls from men are from doctors. Psychiatrists especially like it. File clerks, elevator operators, sales girls in department stores, telephone operators, stenographers, garage mechanics, clerks in Helpsy-Selfy stores, school teachers - oh, Heavens, I could go on and on! — like it. What is more puzzling, they buy copies. The U.D.C.s [United Daughters of the Confederacy] have endorsed it, the Sons of Confederate Veterans crashed through with a grand endorsement too. Debutantes and dowagers read it. Catholic nuns like it.

  Now how to explain all of this.... Despite its length and many details it is basically just a simple yarn of fairly simple people. There’s no fine writing, there are no grandiose thoughts, there are no hidden meanings, no symbolism, nothing sensational — nothing, nothing at all that have made other best sellers best sellers. Then how to explain its appeal from the five year old to the ninety five year old? I can’t figure it out.

  In retrospect, of course, the mass appeal of Gone With the Wind is not too difficult to analyze. It contains something for everyone.

  A lurking sensuality pervades the book from the moment Rhett Butler appears on page ninety-nine, representing the ultimate in masculine appeal. But the author teases the reader by having Scarlett always ready to give herself to the paler Ashley Wilkes, while Rhett’s powerful presence is constantly felt. Not until twenty-five pages from the end, and after 1,015 pages of Scarlett’s pursuit of the chaste Mr. Wilkes, does she discover what the reader has known all along — that Rhett is the man she loves and passionately needs. For Scarlett to lose Rhett at this point is a stroke of story-telling genius. What romantic could resist such a tantalizing story? And no wonder readers of the book clamored for a sequel and deluged the author with letters begging her to reveal whether Rhett and Scarlett ever reunited.

  For the children, there was a story of adventure and war told from a point of view — the women and children left at home — that could have been theirs had they lived in those times. Old people were dealt with in the story with great reverence and, in 1936, there were still many old folks who recalled with great nostalgia childhoods spent in wartime both in the North and in the South, and the hard times that followed. The book contained enough medical data to interest doctors, and there was history told first-hand for all the history buffs. The South and Southerners were meticulously drawn for die-hard Confederates. Scarlett’s independent spirit was attractive to modern women, Eleanor Roosevelt among them. Melanie’s exemplary goodness was often spoken of from the pulpit (permission granted by Stephens). Scarlett’s rejections of Rhett’s sexual advances after they were married were understood by many a dissatisfied wife, and Rhett’s final departure was cheered by their husbands.

  Theories explaining the cause of the book’s success were always being discussed in the press. The most often repeated conjecture was first proposed in a book by Dr. Henry Link in 1938, and was condensed in the Reader’s Digest the following year. Dr. Link attributed the book’s popularity to the fact that Scarlett, though in many ways not an admirable person, was a woman who remained the master of her world rather than its victim, and who exemplified personal triumph over social upheaval. Scarlett, he claimed, experienced “more tragedies than most people ever dream,” but she “rushed to meet disaster and emerged with courage unimpaired.” The book’s million-plus readers, he asserted, were “victims of a machine concept of social security, a people still faintly protesting the loss of personal responsibility and power.” Peggy pondered this possibility for four years and then wrote to Dr. Link in 1941 that she still wasn’t sure his theory was co
rrect.

  Whatever the reason, one year after publication, Gone With the Wind remained the top-selling book in America and it did not look as though sales would wane in the near future. That is not to say that the book did not have its detractors. “Left Wingers,” as Peggy called the liberals, derided the novel for its condescending portrait of blacks, the glorification of plantation life, and its lack of a political and social point of view. However, the literary reporter for the Communist paper the Daily Worker had to quit his job after giving the book a favorable review. English reviewers endorsed the book heartily, although some of them said the entire novel was an anachronism, as it took a 1920s or 1930s heroine and placed her in the 1800s. And Franklin D. Roosevelt commented that “no book need be that long.”

  Peggy had made certain that her contract with Selznick guaranteed that she would have nothing to do with casting or publicity, nor would she act as a technical advisor or as a script consultant, although the latter were usual requests by a film company when buying rights to a historical novel in which the author had demonstrated special expertise. Selznick had offered $25,000 to come to Hollywood, but Peggy’s fear of Southern censure should the film be unfaithful to the book despite her efforts, overrode her usually acquisitive nature. She simply did not want to be held responsible for the film company’s mistakes, which she was certain were inevitable. Since the Selznick company had refused to grant her final script approval, Peggy wanted to make sure that “Hollywood’s historical inaccuracies” could in no way be attributed to her. But as soon as Gone With the Wind had been sold to the movies, it was impossible for her to remain completely detached. “Life has been awful!” she wrote Kay Brown. “I am deluged with letters demanding that I do not put Clark Gable in as Rhett. Strangers telephone me or grab me on the street, insisting that Katharine Hepburn will never do. It does me no good to point out sarcastically that it is Mr. Selznick and not I who is producing this picture.”