Whistled Like a Bird, page 18
And on the next tiny three- by two-inch page she wrote:
8:00 am. 13 hours on the way. If anyone finds the wreck know that the non success was caused by my getting lost in a storm for an hour and then the exhaust manifold, resoldered at St. John blew out and I have crawled near the water for hours dreading fire.
Once Amelia’s safe arrival made the news, Dorothy was swept up in the excitement, and joyously recorded:
MAY 20, 1932 She’s done it! She flew across to Ireland. Solo. World Attention!
JUNE 14, 1932 A.E. decorated by Albert of Belgium. How she and G.P. must eat up all this!
JUNE 15, 1932 G.P. and Amelia en route to U.S.
Sixty years later I found The New York Times front-page story of Amelia’s solo flight folded up inside my father’s childhood scrapbook. My grandmother had saved it for him. The headline, “Mrs. Putnam Flies Alone for Paris on ‘Lindbergh Day,’” must have sent chills across Dofry’s body when she first saw it.
After safely crossing the Atlantic, Amelia realized she had left home without a passport, and before sailing back to the United States she obtained a new one in London. The maroon leather passport is dated May 27, 1932, and describes Amelia as five feet eight inches tall with light brown hair and blue eyes. On the line under place of birth (Atchison, Kansas) is the date of birth, July 24, 1898. It is believed that Amelia’s actual birthdate was July 24, 1897. For some unknown reason, perhaps in 1919, she began to use 1898 as the year she was born. And written casually above the signature, Amelia Earhart Putnam, was her occupation: Flyer.
It is possible that Amelia presented her pilot’s license to the consul general in London, and he simply copied the information from one document to the other.
Dorothy was relieved when she realized she was not carrying Eff’s child after all, for she now knew he could never assume the responsibility of fatherhood. Frank Upton, decorated soldier and celebrated war hero, was an alcoholic. He must have succeeded in hiding this from his new fiancée and her family during their courtship. But now, having moved into Immokolee, it became obvious that his bouts of solitude and erratic behavior were a result of his drinking.
In 1930, Frank had designed his own private Captain’s Room, an exact replica of the aft quarters of a Spanish galleon. Crafted with panels of polished mahogany and teak-wood, it even included a porthole, and a single ship’s bunk, as well as a fold-out desk and three brass antique ship’s lamps that hung from the ceiling and walls. Inlaid in the center of the floor was a color-tiled compass the size of a sundial, and a fireplace was tucked in one corner. Dorothy’s contribution to this sanctuary was two small bookcases on either side of the miniature picture window.
As a child, I recall being forbidden to enter the room. I always wanted to know what was behind that heavy cypress door, but my grandmother kept it locked. The prospect of some family secret only served to arouse my curiosity and my imagination knew no limits. It wasn’t until years later that I finally learned her reason for keeping this room locked, and the bitterness she felt for providing her husband with such a haven.
Soon after moving into Immokolee, my grandmother’s diaries begin to describe the slow deterioration of their relationship. “Half the time Eff is overtired. He falls sound asleep on the floor in the evenings. He yawns from 7 p.m. on.” Dorothy had begun to record his drinking, rather cryptically at first. “Dinner alone with Jr. Eff at Elks Club for 8 hrs.! He’ll go stale above the ears as well as below if he keeps it up.” The private diaries were her most intimate confidences, and she could no longer deny the truth. “Eff late for dinner. Odor—first time familiar.”
Dorothy’s initial response was to ignore Eff’s habit of coming home late, often drunk. She was acutely aware of his problem, but chose to hide it from her family and the outside world. Drinking was socially acceptable, and for some time she simply tolerated it, perhaps because their physical passion was still a source of intense pleasure. “Calming down, controlling tempers, not risking loss of happiness.” In a way, the sense of danger and living on the brink may have fueled their insatiable desire for one another. “Swam at noon with Eff. Cheers, Whoops, Cheerio! And the bed goes through the window! What a terrifying temper, yet—?”
My grandmother spent part of each summer visiting her parents in Connecticut, and these vacations—a result of the divorce agreement—reunited George with his youngest son, June. In 1931, June stayed with George and Amelia at Rocknoll, and my grandmother was with her parents at Rocklyn, as she had been forced to rent Journey’s End because of her financial losses.
Her diaries are now filled with anxiety over her stock portfolio and diminished income. “Stocks still go lower! My income reduced a third and we’re awfully in debt. It worries one. Banks are closing everywhere.” Though it pained her terribly to let her home to strangers, she had no choice but to make sacrifices wherever she could. “C.C. [Columbian Carbon] has been dropping, dropping. Way down to 83. That’s ghastly, and it sinks me; especially as Eff was entirely opposed to my dabbling in the stock market at all.”
Like the summers of 1927 and 1928, Rocknoll had come alive again with children’s voices. David and Junie loved spending these halcyon days with their father and Amelia, who now reigned as mistress of the Rye estate. Both boys clearly adored her, and she became a strong maternal influence.
But Dorothy did not feel neglected and arranged to meet George Weymouth in Manhattan for dinner and the theater. Whether or not she had confided in him about Frank Upton’s drinking is not recorded in her diary. But I suspect that she did, for he made plans to travel to Florida with his wife, Deo, the following month. “Sound Beach. In town for dinner and theatre with G.T.W. He looks thin and pale. Grand newsy visit with him. Dinner ‘Divan Paris’ to see ‘Third Little Show.’” The relationship with G.W. had mellowed into an affectionate friendship.
After a few weeks in Sound Beach, my grandmother once again yearned to be with her husband.
JUNE 20, 1931 On train with Mother. My ship sailed at noon. Dog and much baggage. Comfortable cabin, uninteresting crowd. Read “Juan in America” which G.T.W. gave. Delightful. Eager for Frank again.
JUNE 23, 1931 Eff met me at 6 a.m. on dock! Such a thrill. Home, looks marvelous. New bird house is fine and lawns, groves, trees, etc. all growing splendidly. Baby quail
The warm reception was short-lived. With the arrival of the Hutchinsons and the Weymouths for a long weekend, Eff behaved abominably.
“Off at 8 a.m. for a weekend trip to Silver Springs. Weymouths, Hutchinsons and Uptons. All afternoon, great swim and boat trip. Hub swam under the glass boat in several big pools. Such fun. Bok Tower at noon. Dude Ranch for dinner. Movies in p.m.” Immokolee echoed with sung duets and piano music, which had always been a great source of pleasure for Dorothy, but Eff refused to join in. She had even avoided playing her favorite word-guessing games to spare him from competing against her more sophisticated young friends. Despite her ploy, Eff’s jealousy erupted again. “Eff in rude mood about guests and company and house full! He’s not social or even house broken! Guess I must change. He can’t.”
By now, Frank had attained a certain status in Fort Pierce, and Dorothy was loath to ruin her husband’s position within the tight-knit community. He had earned a reputation as a civic leader and had recently been given the prestigious title of vice president of the St. Lucie County Bank. But at home, he had become a different person, almost a stranger. His drinking made him increasingly dangerous. “Home—anger and threats. Scenes!—Rage—Drunk.” She makes passing reference to her husband’s impaired driving ability. “Eff slept on couch last p.m. Eff to Palm Beach. (Auto smash).”
Upton was still in touch with many of his friends among the aviation set, including Amelia’s dashing former pilot Captain Bill Lancaster. In the early summer of 1932, Lancaster made headlines in a lurid shooting that took place in Miami. The British war hero was accused of shooting a twenty-six-year-old writer, Charles Clarke, who had been hired to ghost-write the memoirs of Australian divorcée and Lancaster paramour Jessie (“Chubbie”) Keith-Miller. It was a classic love triangle, police said. Upton persuaded my grandmother to donate money for Lancaster’s defense, and she did so without question. In August, the Uptons drove to Miami to attend the notorious trial, which made torrid headlines. Frank’s loyalty was unswerving, and he was called as a character witness to testify on his friend’s behalf. The courtroom was packed, and my grandmother recalled the media circus of the event, which called into question the morals of this hard-drinking, fast-living clique.
No doubt Upton’s nights in Miami did nothing to dispel his image.
When Lancaster was acquitted, he and Chubbie immediately drove to Fort Pierce to escape reporters. They spent the weekend with Dorothy and Frank at Immokolee before departing. (Soon after the trial, the government started deportation proceedings and the couple fled to England. Eight months later, while trying to set the flight record from London to Cape Town, Lancaster disappeared. His preserved body and Avro Avian 5, Southern Cross Minor, were discovered in 1962 in the Sahara Desert.)
By now, there were rumors swirling in aviation circles about Eff and Dorothy, possibly passed on by Lancaster, who must have been aware of his friend’s drinking problem. In late summer, these rumors reached the New York Daily News, which printed a gossip item about an upcoming Upton divorce. Eff was furious and telephoned the paper, which printed a retraction. The apology appeared in the form of a telegram, dated November 7, 1932:
To Captain Frank M. Upton, Fort Pierce, Florida… in an article published… October 30, 1932, referring to Mrs. Dorothy Upton, wife of Frank M. Upton… it was erroneously stated that she planned to obtain a divorce from Captain Upton on the grounds of incompatibility.…
It was signed, “D. A. Doran, New York Daily News.”
This was obviously embarrassing for Frank. Nonetheless, it was clear the Uptons were going their separate ways.
Dorothy decided to concentrate on community work, and with the help of her new acquaintances, she began to enjoy the simple life she had always craved. Her routine was the same, but the people she associated with were towns-people, not celebrities. They were Garden Club members, local politicians, and environmentally minded folks committed to beautifying and protecting the burgeoning waterfront town. Dorothy was content in Fort Pierce. Her garden flourished year-round as she reigned over her small, private paradise. “Off to Indian River Narrows in Bub’s boat… on the river in the sun and wind… an outdoor Oyster Roast at Hole’s. It’s a good way to have a feast and an orgy of seafood. Big fire, outdoors, a grill and much food. Saw movie, Morocco, afterwards.”
She and Junie were brought together more and more as Eff’s absences became routine. Her younger son had taken to his new home as if it were a summer camp. His yard was a zoolike playground that gave him enormous freedom. A dog, guinea hens, chickens, caged snakes, and a mule were permanent residents at Immokolee, all under Junie’s care. His schoolwork revealed an intelligent, lively mind that delighted his mother. “Jr. got twelve A’s this last time!” He and Dorothy fished together, either from the jetties lining the inlet leading into the Indian River from the ocean, or from her sixteen-foot fishing boat, Mud Turtle, which was noted for its uncanny nose in locating snook or grouper. “Choppy sea, increasing wind. Rough, Only 3 groupers. Jr. grand at rod and reel.”
My grandmother volunteered as a speaker and writer on a variety of subjects, including aviation, gardening, birds, trees, and even snakes, which had fascinated her since discovering so many on her land. “Wrote Rattlesnake article for paper. Fourth snake story. Bluebirds are here. Prepared vegetable garden for second crop.” A story in the Fort Pierce News Tribune headlined “Exhibits Snakes in Bank Foyer” described Mrs. Frank Upton as a scientist who was interested in teaching the locals to identify the differences between poisonous and nonpoisonous snakes. Dorothy arranged for eight specimens preserved in alcohol to be exhibited in the bank’s lobby, much to the amusement of its customers. She even draped her pet python over her shoulders and brought it to the local high school. (Motivated by my grandmother’s curiosity about snakes, I recall driving down U.S. 1 in Fort Pierce as a teenager with a six-foot boa constrictor wrapped around my neck, to the horror of drivers in the next lane.)
As Eff’s behavior worsened, Dorothy’s devotion to Immokolee increased. “Am enjoying our new radio, at least I can hear concerts and I can dance by myself!” The nights in Fort Pierce had grown violent, and Dorothy would bear this terrible secret and endure the terror for the next two years. While the country celebrated George and Amelia, Dorothy was terrified that the scandal within her marriage would be exposed, despite the Daily News’ retraction.
Eff and Amelia are sandwiched together in her diaries only pages apart. From the depths of her disgust with her husband to her mixed admiration for the flyer, she felt torn apart.
“I wish I were going far away,” she wrote.
I can’t help but feel my grandmother was somehow testing her own strength. First she had made her decision to leave Rye, and now she was left with no alternative but to survive.
16
TORN OUT PAGES
Without exception the most horrible and disillusioning experience or my life! Excruciating pain and horror! And from the man who promised to love and cherish me.
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO IMAGINE my grandmother as a battered woman.
When I first read the diary entries recounting in detail her secret other life, I dropped the book to the floor and cried. The thought that anyone could abuse this gentle woman made me physically ill. For months I woke up in the middle of the night feeling the terror she had endured. She told no one, but at last she was able to reveal her secret shame to me through her diaries. It must have been an enormous relief. When I shared these pages with my husband, he also wept.
Living in her home now, there are times I can almost visualize her blood spilled on the tiled foyer floor and can hear Eff’s angry threats.
This was the darkest chapter of her life.
JANUARY 1, 1933 Drove north thro rain after seeing David on train. (Childish, violent temper. Eff). It knocks the stuffing out or me. And I know, now, that it’s not worth it to me. I must get out or it this year for I’ll do better alone and not nagged!
Yet throughout this ugly period, Dorothy hid her pain. In retrospect, I now understand why my grandmother decided that confronting her husband about his drinking would only make things worse. She knew that preserving his ego was her only chance. With Eff’s election to the County Commission, Dorothy had further reason to protect him. She did not want to undermine his position on the board, especially because her father had taken Frank under his wing. On a deeper level, the insecurities that plagued my grandmother from childhood perhaps made her believe she deserved to be mistreated.
The development of Fort Pierce was very much a family affair. Edwin Binney had invested heavily in local real estate and was using his personal fortune to promote the harbor improvements. He later became the chairman of the Fort Pierce Port Commission. Though he had already given the St. Lucie County Bank a personal check for $186,000 in 1929 to keep its doors open, the bank still needed additional funds to stabilize its weakened financial base, caused by the Depression. Two years earlier, Frank Upton had been involved in drumming up funds for the bank’s dwindling reserves. “Well, he did it; he got a large loan (for now!) On my 1400 Columbian Carbon stock and mortgaged this house, etc. $65,000 which is marvelous—for the bank.”
Dorothy was also involved in helping her father secure funds for the financial institution, and had mortgaged Immokolee as collateral for the St. Lucie County Bank. With Edwin as the bank’s board chairman and Frank as its newly appointed vice president, Dorothy was determined to hide Eff’s problem and help carry the bank through its continuing crisis.
In the year 1933, Eff’s monstrous behavior escalated, prompting his wife to write: “I swear I’ll divorce! And I ought to. Contrite all day, hanging around—sad and quiet.”
Whether Eff knew at this point that Dorothy planned to leave him is unclear. What is clear from her diaries is that the violence was unrelenting. He seemed determined to punish Dorothy, perhaps as a result of his own insecurities. At one point, this burly man resorted to grabbing a bull-whip in rage; he was even spotted by a neighbor chasing my grandmother through the orange grove, brandishing the whip. She was helpless to fend off his blows, and after one beating tearfully sought refuge at the downtown home of her close friend, Franklind Tyler, and his wife, Bess.
MAY 29, 1933 Ill in pain and miserable beyond words. Horsewhipped—19 lashes, To bed at Tylers all afternoon, in agony.
MAY 30, 1933 Just dragging myself around. 19 great black and blue swollen welts across my body—bleeding open wounds on ribs and thighs and buttocks. Moved downstairs to red room [downstairs guest room] Monday. In pain, went to doctor again.
My grandmother wrote of the beatings in her diaries, but Eff, determined to destroy the evidence, tore out the incriminating pages. The only way she could record this horror was by backdating her entries and mixing them with earlier years. She hoped he would not destroy her hidden notes. Lost somewhere in the pages ripped out by Frank is the full story of her humiliation and suffering; the severity of her abuse will never be known. “He’s torn out all these pages because they were too frank about his rotten behavior. Not in to dinner—at 12:30 came in, drunk and repulsively amorous. I loathe it, loathe it!”
Dorothy knew that the drunken rages would be followed by urgent apologies the following morning. Frank would beg for Dorothy’s forgiveness, and his repentance seemed genuine. Over and over again she forgave him, wanting to believe his anger stemmed from his passion for her. She was both ashamed and afraid at the same time, and would “go thro’ hell” before finally admitting her mistake and seeking the help she so desperately needed.
