Whistled Like a Bird, page 3
The Whitney Trip; bled at the nose at 10,000 feet, staggered and couldn’t breathe, etc. It shook me a bit, yet I continued with 4 men, the only ones of a big mountain crowd who’d been approaching, mile by mile, entirely on foot for over three weeks! Enough. It was a staggering and frightening event, adventure. Plenty.
On July 20, 1908, Dorothy had much to celebrate, including her twentieth birthday: “Twenty years old today and oh, such a day. Fourteen of us had lunch down on an island in the Kern Valley. There were gifts and cakes. Ladies night at campfire.” And the following day: “Fished down river with George Putnam. Bully trout lunch on a pine isle. Arrived late at Coyote Creek where ten of us camped overnight. Two rattlesnakes.”
Returning home to Connecticut for the rest of the summer, she boasted to her family and friends about the “swell fella” she had met. Coincidentally, she had learned that the Putnam home in Rye, New York, was a few miles from where she had been raised. But George was bent on a life in California and Dorothy was still two years shy of graduation. Young Putnam managed to court his new lady friend by returning east whenever he could, and during the Christmas holidays he joined the family at their North Carolina retreat. George was a skilled marksman, which impressed Dorothy. “Up at dawn, George and me for ‘blind’ in Cockle-bends Marsh, Shot my first duck, a redhead! After lunch over to ocean with George all afternoon.…”
Returning to college, Dorothy continued to date other men while faithfully corresponding with George. “Letters almost every day from G.P.P. History for quiz, a whopper.” Almost as frequent as his letters were the red roses delivered to her dormitory. “My picture in Boston paper, as ‘Star in Wellesley Jr. Play.’ Exciting day, everyone congratulating me. Flowers and letter from G.P.…”
A high profile on campus prompted a glowing article in her hometown newspaper. “Miss Dorothy Binney, of Sound Beach, Excels in Swimming, as Vocalist and Has Histrionic Ability”:
Miss Binney is a versatile girl. She excels in outdoor sports, is accomplished in music and the more homely arts. Among the treasures she carried to Wellesley with her were medals won during the summer in swimming races at the water sports of the Stamford Yacht Club and the Riverside Yacht Club. She rows admirably, plays basketball well enough to be twice center on the college team, holds her own at tennis and golf and drives and rides skillfully
She has taken up music seriously and her strong contralto voice is heard frequently in solo parts in the college chapel. She was elected leader of the Glee Club for the year 1909–1910. Last season she was a great success as John Hale in the dramatization of “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine” made by members of the junior class. In the annual Shakespearian production of commencement week last June Miss Binney appeared as Ferdinand in “The Tempest.”
Dorothy pushed her body to greater extremes and adopted an almost masculine sense for competition. “In p.m. won cup first prize in Ladies 50 yd. Dash at Rye Yacht Club after cheering of a big crowd. Yesterday rescued a drowning man—stranger.” Music had become her soul’s companion and she had an extraordinary talent for whistling while she played piano. Not only could she whistle the latest show tunes, but Dorothy possessed an unusual gift: People remarked that she whistled like a bird. She was not shy about it, often drawing stares when she could be heard across campus whistling the precise notes of her favorite songbirds. “Glorious warm day to make anyone happy! Saw 2 orioles and a grosbeak on the hill behind the house. A Whistling Quartet.”
She had also developed an early fascination with airplanes: already flying meant freedom and escape. “Off to aviation meet. Had a splendid day—saw 2 Wright biplanes go 1,500 feet up and Latham in his monoplane.” In my grandmother’s scrapbook, there is a photograph of Orville Wright flying overhead in his simple, almost toylike airplane, the Flyer.
Yet despite all her activities, personal relationships were very much on her mind. In 1909, during Dorothy’s junior year in college, her younger sister Helen married Allan Kitchel. For several months after her sister’s marriage, Dorothy pondered her own future, and painfully described her deepest insecurity. “I wish someone would love me.”
Dorothy was aware of George’s undemonstrative persona, but hoped that with her influence, he would loosen up a bit. There was an element of suitability about George Putnam, and the two families saw their relationship as a convenient social merger. Not surprisingly, the two-year courtship resulted in his proposal of marriage. In truth, George was desperately in love with the accomplished young college student, though she was not a total believer in the engagement. “A strenuous letter from George, and two apologies in next mail. So, do I love him enough to wear his ring? Oh, heavens. Why this?” At this early stage in their relationship, my grandmother had already begun to question her love for George. Perhaps her eagerness to leave home was in part responsible for her willingness to marry.
2
A PRELUDE TO DOROTHY
JANUARY 8, 1910 Chapel. Letters from George and Mother. Senior play trials and with my accustomed nerve I tried leading man! Wrote George I would be engaged to him! Symphony. Mischa Elman played violin.
JUNE 21, 1910 Commencement Day! And I’m a “B.A.” at last! Class supper at Somerset Hotel. Serenade. Dead tired, bed!
DOROTHY ANNOUNCED HER UPCOMING marriage to her family and friends, and shared one last Christmas holiday with George in North Carolina as Miss Binney: “George off alone, quiet day in house. Glorious moon. Wrote many letters announcing my engagement. Ahem!” The following day, she had another bout of uncertainty: “Feeling bumsky! Discouraged and scared, so stayed at camp.…” Dorothy still could not believe, given her mother’s cruel edict and the power it held over her, that she was worthy of becoming anyone’s bride, let alone the wife of a famous publishing heir.
On December 21, the young couple made the announcement of their engagement to George’s parents. “Stamford in a.m. to hairdressers. Ahem! After lunch Mr. and Mrs. Putnam called to see their new daughter-in-law elect. Quiet evening. They are extremely cordial.”
For Christmas Eve, the Binneys, their financial and social position much enhanced thanks to the success of Crayola crayons, held a dinner dance in their daughter’s honor at Rocklyn: “Hairdressers. Town with George, to lunch with his nice Dad and brother, Bob at National Arts Club. Theatre, saw ‘Concert,’ then home and big dance to announce engagement!” On December 29, 1910, a feature story appeared on the front page of the Stamford newspaper tracing the history of the intrepid romantics:
Cupid Shot Arrows at Mountain Climbers. Result is Engagement of Miss Binney of Sound Beach to Mr. Putnam of Oregon.—Linking as it will two substantial families of social prominence, the announcement is of wide interest. A pretty bit of romance gives an added interest. The engagement is the culmination of a romance that began in 1908 in distant California on the slopes of Mount Whitney, perhaps the loftiest mountain in the United States. Miss Binney and Mr. Putnam first met as members of a mountain climbing party there. While they toiled up the lofty mountain, Cupid was busy.
During the ten-month engagement period, George was living in Bend, Oregon, where he had purchased the weekly newspaper, the Bend Bulletin. He was its editor, publisher, and regular columnist on environmental and political issues. Aside from his work, his thoughts were occupied by his bride-to-be. Local residents remember that the “boy” editor kept a life-size photograph of his Mount Whitney girlfriend thumbtacked to the back of his closet door.
His father and his uncle (known as “the Major” of the Putnam clan) had urged him to return to New York and join the family publishing business. But George, somewhat of a rebel, was determined to succeed on his own, and no amount of family pressure could pull him back.
Though Dorothy and her fiancé were miles apart, they managed to design their first house and buy furniture to be shipped out west later by train. The task, however thrilling, left Dorothy rather overwhelmed: “Shopped, Oh, how I want George to see some of the beautiful rugs and furniture. Wrote long letter to George about our house plans, etc. Plumb scared!”
While waiting for George to return to New York, Dorothy was becoming better acquainted with his parents: “I went thro’ Knickerbocker Press with Mr. Putnam. Very interesting despite rain, etc.” A lengthy honeymoon was planned—to Central America—and she prepared eagerly for both the trip and her wedding: “Cut rag carpet strips, etc. Saw Mother, Mary and Helen. Bought material for my wedding dress! Hand embroidered crepe de chine, Japanese. Wrote George, am crazy about him!”
As the date for the wedding neared and Dorothy’s dreams of an independent life came closer to reality, she was clearly now enjoying the prospect of becoming Mrs. George Putnam.
OCTOBER 9, 1911 George and Helen to city with Mary in auto. Mother to Equal Suffrage Meeting in Rye. Hairdresser. After quiet dinner, Mother, Bub, George and I planned wedding, caterers. Money, etc.
The ceremony was held on October 26, 1911, at Dorothy’s family home in Sound Beach. The elaborate affair was catered by the legendary Delmonico’s, with four hundred and fifty guests seated beneath a white canvas tent anchored to the sloping lawn beside Long Island Sound. Dorothy had chosen her youngest sister as maid of honor. “7:19 p.m. wedding with red-red roses. Mary as Maid of Honor. A clean ‘get away.’”
After the wedding, crates of silver, Dorothy’s delicate trousseau, winter clothes, odd pieces of furniture, and the essential grand piano were all packed and loaded onto a train for the cross-country journey to their remote destination in Oregon, a world removed from the elite enclaves of Sound Beach, Connecticut, and Rye, New York.
On November 18, Mr. and Mrs. George Palmer Putnam sailed out of New York Harbor for Panama. The honeymoon to remote villages of Central America would reflect their unconventional lifestyle, and would also launch George’s career as an author and newspaper correspondent. Their mutual sense of curiosity was a powerful bond.
My grandmother was as much in her element, embarking on an unfamiliar journey, as her adventurous husband. How ecstatic she must have felt, for at last she was on her own. “Sailed for Panama. Eight of us to lunch at Flemish Room. Then the ship with many there to say goodbye. Our deck cabin full of fruit and candy and my red roses. Cold and clear.”
The extended honeymoon was an opportunity for George to visit Panama, Costa Rica, and Guatemala, and it provided the material for his first book, The Southland of North America. His new wife was an enthusiastic collaborator. She insisted upon reading and typing her husband’s daily pages while he studied the Panama Canal project, taking notes and photos. He and Dorothy were shown Panama’s dense interior by its president, Don Pablo Arosemena. They met other political leaders on the trip, thanks to George’s family connections, for the Putnam name was a passport around the world.
NOVEMBER 18, 1911 Sat in Cathedral Plaza all a.m. while George had interviews with Arosemena and the leader of the “Outs.” Read a book and studied Spanish. Dinner at Club—Bailey, Close and Arosemena. Walk in Plaza.
DECEMBER 2, 1911 On tug at 9 a.m. for 22 mile rough voyage to Porto Bello where we rambled thro’ old Spanish ruins of forts, cloister, etc.—cemetery. Saw Black Christ in church. At 4 went out in President’s coach with Bailey and Arosemena. In p.m. a picnic—lovely ride in moonlight to Tobago. Read copy for George.
The unconventional couple celebrated their marriage again in Guatemala by toasting each other from the misty summit of Mount Acatenango. Though the climb represented a physical accomplishment for both, it was also a sentimental reminder of their first days on Mount Whitney. “Awfully stiff and aching in every joint from that terrific climb down 6,000 feet yesterday. By 12:30 p.m. were again in our saddles on 18 mile ride down to Antigua. A glorious day, with sunlight on orchids and flowers. George rubbed my stiff body, supper, bath, bed.”
In studying my grandmother’s diaries, I find there is little mention of intimacies in contrast to the detailed accounts of endless meetings with various dignitaries. In many ways the honeymoon appears to have been more of an extended business trip than a passionate interlude.
On February 25, 1912, the Putnams steamed into San Francisco, boarded a train for Portland, and finally arrived at the western settlement of Bend, Oregon. “Took 11 a.m. train for home. Delayed two hours landslide. All day sky rather cloudy but glorious country. Bend 10 p.m. ‘Pinelyn’! Oh, Oh, our home!” The newly built brown-shingled bungalow, Pinelyn, was filled with George’s friends and neighbors, who had provided an extravagant feast for the exhausted couple’s first night in town. The next day came very quickly. “Up early and plowed right into mountains of crates and furniture. Morris Lara helped all afternoon—with Steinway grand piano! Finally got bed, bath and kitchen rooms habitable then had tea, To dinner at Lara’s. Home by 10. Chill.”
Dorothy was never far from her piano, despite the tedious task of unpacking. “Busy with ‘pots and pans’ for most of day. Wrote Grandma Faulkner. Played my beautiful grand piano for half an hour.” She quickly established Pinelyn as a social center. Her dinner parties were soon the talk of the small town, where she orchestrated her soirées with musical acts and dancing. In typical Binney fashion, the Putnam parties required costumes and often prepared skits were attached to the invitations. Away from her parents, Dorothy had come into her own. For the time being she was completely fulfilled.
The Bend Bulletin was thriving mainly because George Putnam, too, had found his calling. As publisher and editor, he thrust himself into the center of every issue, such as town expansion, county division, irrigation, and the coming of the railroad. Almost overnight he transformed the newspaper into an independent forum for the progressive voices of central Oregon. Even as a young man, he was recognized for his outspoken opinions, and by the end of the couple’s first year in Bend he was appointed mayor of the frontier town. (The mayor-elect had fallen from a second-story window to his death, and George was chosen as his replacement by the town’s councilmen.)
In Wide Margins, George’s autobiography, he characteristically downplayed the obstacles he faced in order to bring Bend (a town of six hundred residents) into a post-frontier life of civility:
The little community, for the moment, was in my lap. I tried to do right by it. A reasonably thorough housecleaning was had. We presented a shining face to the outer world, though perhaps the back of the civic neck hasn’t been scrubbed too thoroughly. Mostly, the dubious ladies went, what gambling remained became orderly and unobtrusive. The saloons found wisdom in keeping strict hours and discouraging drunkenness. Rough stuff was frowned upon. Toughs who wanted to fight were beaten up and sent on their way.
Dorothy was deliriously happy. Her husband was a far more tender and affectionate man than she had imagined on the honeymoon. This was clearly one of the happiest cycles of my grandmother’s life. Her diary is alive with passion and excitement. And she described her contentment openly in one letter to her mother:
Dear Mother… my mighty big thin husband seems to love me more all the time. As a matter of fact he’s much sillier over me now than when we were first married. And does any number of dear thoughtful things for me.… Yes, next summer, I hope we can both go unencumbered! Then too, I want you to know him married. Oh, Mother, I’m glad he was decent and good always! And each day I am prouder of my own insistence on that matter. To think that I mean all to him, that he does to me. It’s truly wonderful, and makes me so happy. He’s good to me in every way, too. And indeed it is he “who has controlled the situation” thus far, even more than I. Of that, though I’ve told you before. No, I want a little more play and then my babies. If one comes however, I shan’t brood and worry! D.
Dorothy’s reputation as a socially prominent young heiress had preceded her to Bend. She was quickly anointed the town’s civic and cultural leader, and began raising funds for cancer—an unusual activity for 1912, when the disease was barely known. “Benefit, Moving Picture show for a ranch woman with cancer.” In a scrapbook photograph she is pictured among a group of volunteers dressed in white uniforms, sewing bandages for Red Cross hospitals.
By now, Oregon was debating whether to give women the vote. Dorothy took it upon herself to champion the fight, recruiting a prominent spokeswoman from the East to make the arduous journey to Bend to speak to the local women. “Went to train to meet Mrs. Ehrgott, prominent woman suffrage speaker who is to lecture here.” And a day later: “Another meeting in a.m., the question is a moral one from religious point of view. 18 guests for ‘tea’ in afternoon to meet Mrs. Ehrgott. Won ’em all over!”
The two most important men in Dorothy’s life, her father and her husband, were both outspoken supporters of women’s rights. George’s mother in fact was a leading suffragette. The Rye Chronicle recalled Frances Putnam’s fight for suffrage in 1911: “A branch of the Equal Franchise League embracing the whole town of Rye was formed here with Mrs. John B. Putnam as president.” The editor commented somewhat smugly, “Frankly, this paper has not taken the movement seriously yet…” He little knew what was to come.
On December 3, 1912, Dorothy claimed the honor of being the second woman to cast her vote in Oregon’s historic election. (The wife of the governor had voted first.) A newspaper clipping reported that Dorothy rushed across the continent from Connecticut, where she was visiting her family, to vote in the election. She was equally thrilled by the news that George had been reelected mayor of Bend by such a large margin: “Election Day! And Oregon Women voted! 360+ votes altogether, at Bend, and 112 were women. George re-elected by big majority!!”
On the national level, Woodrow Wilson defeated William Howard Taft for the presidency. George was unimpressed. The mayor and publisher of Bend wrote: “National politics is a diversion, a duty, and a nuisance. In its acute form and triple character it is now behind us for another four years.…”
