Last month Dody and
I were watching a James Baldwin biography on TV and I said, "Remember
that time we had dinner with James Baldwin? I ought to write about
that." And Dody
said, "You already have. Just after he died in France in 1987."
And so I had, in 1987
when I was writing a column for the now defunct Houston Post
from out here in Los Angeles. And here it is, edited a little:
Ed Doctorow, (E.L.
Doctorow) was my editor at Dial Press at the time. That was some
years before he went from being a part-time novelist and full-time
editor to being one of the country’s most respected novelists.
He was also Baldwin’s editor back then. Dody and I couldn’t remember
what year we had dinner with Baldwin at Doctorow’s home a train
ride from New York City. Dody said, "My sister was with us that
time. Maybe she’ll remember."
I couldn’t remember
her sister being along. (I guess I was having a senior moment
even before I was old enough to qualify for them). Dody said she
was with us and had a picture to prove it. I didn’t remember us
having our picture taken with Baldwin, either. But there it was.
James Baldwin with Dody, Cissy (her sister) and me. Dody was wearing
the fur coat she bought in Switzerland during our spending year
and her sister had on her Leon County mink (Aberdeen Angus cowhide
with the hair on), bought in Texas. "And you had that Russian-looking
fur hat that you’d bought in Boston."
We phoned Cissy in
Houston and she said, "It was before you went to London (I do
welcome an opportunity to drop city names). I went out to Ed Doctorow’s
with you. In New Rochelle. It was an old house. They’d just moved
in and didn’t have all their furniture yet." Dody said it couldn’t
have been just before we went to London because that was in August
and both of them were wearing winter fur coats in the picture
with Baldwin.
Cissy said we’d all
been complaining because we’d had to take a train to Doctorow’s
and he’d sent a car and driver for Baldwin.
That, I remembered.
Then Dody found another picture of her and Cissy in their fur
coats and me in my Russian-looking hat taken in December 1966
when we were in New York for the opening of my play, My Sweet
Charlie (if we’d stayed on for another 30 days we’d been there
for its closing, too — every performance a loser for its
producer).
Establishing that our
dinner with James Baldwin was in 1966. We’d been kind of nervous
when we learned he was going to be at Ed Doctorow’s, too. Not
only was he a world-class writer, which I wasn’t, but we’d read
his work, especially The Fire Next Time, and found them
militant, race-wise. Though painfully true.
We couldn’t have been
more wrong about him.
Baldwin was soft-spoken,
gentle, charming. When he learned Doctorow hadn’t gotten us a
car and driver, Baldwin said he would give us a lift back to New
York in his Doctorow-provided car. But would we mind if we if
we first stopped off at his sister’s when we got there? It was
her birthday and she was having a party. We accepted gladly.
There was a crowd at
his sister’s apartment. We figured a lot of the people there must
be famous because she was James Baldwin’s sister but we didn’t
recognize anyone. No one knew who we were, either or that we weren’t
famous even though we’d come to the party with James Baldwin.
As for the our books
with Dial, Baldwin’s and mine both came out in 1968. His, Tell
Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone, was a critical and financial
success. Mine, Song Of the Young Sentry, wasn’t published
by Dial. I wouldn’t make the changes Doctorow had asked for and
my agent took it to Little, Brown. It got a few favorable reviews
and barely earned its advance back.
I guess Doctorow knew
what he was doing when he provided a car and driver for James
Baldwin but left me to shift for myself.
David Westheimer,
SeniorWomenWeb's resident male, lives with his wife of 57 years,
Dody, in the same Los Angeles apartment they moved into from Houston,
Texas 41 years ago. Their son, Fred, is a Senior Vice-President
at the William Morris Agency and his younger brother, Eric, is
a veterinarian. Succeeding generations include five grandchildren
and two great-grandchildren. As a journalist, David worked for
Oveta Culp Hobby.
At 85, David Westheimer
continues to write, and not just for Senior Women. The Great
Wounded Bird, his recollections of World War II, is winner
of the Texas Review 1999 poetry prize, was published by Texas
Review Press and may be ordered from Amazon Books, where it has
surged to 821,374th on their sales list. It is also listed with
Barnes & Noble and Borders Books. David's latest novel, Delay
En Route, is hovering at 1,485,676th on Amazon's list.
Poet and novelist,
David is a retired Air Force Officer. He can be reached for a
repertoire of feigned curmudgeonly remarks at: DWestheime@aol.com.
