Authors: Mark Dunn
IBID (22 page)
16.
“I asked him, ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough? Can you get home?’”
Jonathan’s Diary, 10 November 1953. Failure to prevent Welsh poet Dylan Thomas from imbibing that fateful eighteenth straight whiskey at the White Horse Tavern left Jonathan feeling guilty and depressed for days. He subsequently made a pledge to suspend these sodden encounters with the great, the pre-great, and the post-great by avoiding all public drinking establishments for the remainder of his life. Jonathan never lost his taste for alcohol, but he had lost his tolerance for public drunkenness—demonstrated not only by others but also by himself. His vow was put to the test on several subsequent occasions. The following observations (some of suspect veracity), which I have taken from journal entries made during the last eight years of his life, speak to the strength of his commitment. Without a single exception none propelled him, in spite of obvious impertinent curiosity, to accompany the participants and thus go back on his promise.
Singer Harry Belafonte arm-in-arm with British actor Arthur Treacher, singing “The Banana Boat Song” as they stumbled into Philadelphia’s Top Hat Bar and Grill.
Economist Milton Friedman pressing his nose against the window of the L & L in Chicago, licking his lips, patting his pocketed wallet and proceeding into the warm smoky duskiness of the bar’s interior.
French premier Charles de Gaulle, singer Maurice Chevalier, molecular chemist Linus Pauling, Brazilian soccer player Pelé, anthropologists Louis and Mary Leakey, and comedian Morey Amsterdam moving in a large boisterous clump into the Oak Bar of New York’s Plaza Hotel.
Actress Elizabeth Taylor flying out the door of the Brown Derby in Hollywood, followed by an angry Debbie Reynolds, swinging a large handbag and snarling epithets.
Deposed Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista, rock balladeer Roy Orbison, television newscaster Chet Huntley, Ethopian marathon runner Abebe Bikila, singer Ethel Merman, and Harlan Davison glimpsed through the window of the St. Elmo Steak House in Indianapolis, drunkenly pelting one another with handfuls of beer nuts.
17.
“I like bikes. I don’t like Ike.”
Jonathan supported Eisenhower until June of 1953 when the president refused to commute the death sentence of the Rosenbergs. Jonathan Blashette to Senator Estes Kefauver, 2 January 1954, carbon copy in JBP.
18.
It was another missed opportunity.
Davison was never able to tell southern writer Flannery O’Connor how fond he was of her work. Walking up to her house in Milledgeville, Georgia, he tripped over one of her ubiquitous peacocks and was shouted off the property. Davison’s Diary, 28 February 1954.
19.
Nor was he able to tell Vladimir Nabokov the same.
Settling into Nabokov’s living room Davison knocked over a glass case containing a portion of the controversial novelist’s prized blue butterfly collection and was shouted out of the apartment. Through the heavily accented barrage of profanity, Davison caught the sentence, “Flannery warned me about you!” Ibid., 3 March 1954.
20.
“I am the Tenzing Norkay of this organization.”
The reference was to Sir Edmund Hillary’s sherpa guide on his successful climb to the summit of Mount Everest. Davison compared his contribution to the health and success of Dandy-de-odor-o, Inc. to that of Mr. Norkay, who, in
Davison’s opinion, was equally unacknowledged and unappreciated. Memo to Jonathan Blashette, 12 March 1954, Dandy-de-odor-o Corporate Records.
21.
Davison did it again.
Griswold Lanham, “Harlan Davison,”
Entrepreneurial History
, 13 (1990), 25-42. As Davison’s behavior become more unpredictable, Jonathan’s unshakeable allegiance to his right-hand man became increasingly difficult to defend. While none of the Dandy lieutenants ever suggested either publicly or privately that Davison should be asked to resign, they never hesitated to bring his mishaps and increasingly bizarre corporate strategies to the boss’s attention. The following letter found its way to Jonathan’s desk on May 3, 1954.
I REMEMBER MAMA
April 27, 1954
Harlan Davison
Executive Assistant to Jonathan Blashette
Dandy-de-odor-o, Inc.
388 Park Avenue
New York City, New York
Dear Mr. Davison,
Thank you for your letter of April 20. I have reviewed your suggestions and shared them with Mr. Nelson and the producers of the television program
I Remember Mama.
We, like you, are happy that sponsorship of our show has been a successful undertaking for your company, and we look forward to continued success in the future.
We cannot, however, endorse any of the story suggestions you offered in your letter. Without exception, all would be ill-suited for the program, and
in some cases creatively counterproductive. As you know,
I Remember Mama
, is a warm and gentle look at an immigrant Norwegian-American family living in San Francisco at the turn of the century. The story line of each episode is carefully crafted with respect to established characters and milieu, and in accordance with network standards and practices. I am happy to state our specific objections to each of your requests.
1.
“Papa should die. Mama, now a widow in reduced circumstances, will be forced to let rooms for the needed income. Thus, opportunities will abound for bringing popular guest stars on the show and for creating many opportunities for shenanigans and hi-jinks. Milton Berle, for example, could play Uncle Oofda, a fishmonger with a penchant for tomfoolery.”
We have no desire to lose the character of the father. He is an integral part of the story. Nor would Milton Berle’s participation be wise. His enormous popularity notwithstanding, he would, no doubt, hijack the program and put everyone in frocks.
2.
“Katrin, rather than opening every single episode by leafing dreamily through her family album, should on occasion “remember Mama’ from a sudsy, sultry bubble bath.”
The idea of turning wholesome Katrin into a sex-kitten is one with which none of us would be comfortable.
3. “
You have dodged the bullet for far too long. The time has come to put your characters through the event that historical accuracy dictates must certainly have occurred at some point during Katrin’s remembered youth: the San Francisco Quake of ‘06. It is inconceivable that Katrin would remember so fondly the rich details that defined the
day-to-day lives of Mama and Papa and young Nels and Dagmar, yet resign to lifelong amnesia the catastrophic carnage that could not help but rip to ribbons the fabric of this close-knit family. You do your viewers a great disservice by pretending that the lives of these San Franciscans were conveniently untouched by one of the greatest tragedies of the early 20th century. Should you wish a less overt approach, I might suggest the following: an episode which takes place before the tragic event in which Mama has a terrible premonition that the town is about to experience carnage on a grand scale. She will be sent to a doctor for counseling but he will dismiss the forewarning as simple dyspepsia. However, in the last minute of the show, the rumbling will begin. It will be a chilling moment. Katrin’s voice will be heard, hauntingly: ’I remember the time that Mama was right. Dead right.’” The following week we would see the family sifting through rubble
.
Mr. Davison, our program is set in a different San Francisco. A San Francisco in which earthquakes
do not
occur. A San Francisco that does not even rest upon a single seismic fault line. This is our choice. Our viewers do not tune in each week to witness “catastrophic carnage.” They can get that by watching the Roller Derby.
With all best wishes,
Frank Gabrielson
22. “
I fired Davison today.”
Jonathan Blashette to Andrew Bloor, 3 May 1954, AnB.
23. “
I have lost my best friend.”
Jonathan’s Diary, 3 May 1954. The estrangement lasted eighteen months and took its toll on Davison. In addition to being his friend, Jonathan
also served as both rudder and fender for Davison, whose interchange with the world often left a deficit of understanding for all concerned. Rather than receding from a society from which he felt alienated, Davison often found himself shoved front and center, there to be ridiculed by a press that had come to dub him “The Wrongway Corrigan of the Eisenhower Era.” Typical of Davison’s struggles in this harsh public light is the “Levittown Incident.” The account which follows comes from
The Long Island Courier
, August 4, 1955.
Wandering in the Levittown Wilderness
by Kerr Barabas
Levittown resident Harlan Davison, former executive assistant to Jonathan Blashette, three-legged president and CEO of Dandy-de-odor-o, Inc., had a little trouble making his way home on Tuesday night.
“We were in the middle of dinner,” reports Levittown resident Eddy Rubio, “my whole family and me—and all of the sudden the front door opens and in walks Mr. Davison. He goes straight to my favorite chair, kicks off his shoes and settles himself right down with a
New York Newsday
.”
It appears that Mr. Davison was unaware he had entered a Levittown bungalow that clearly was not his own.
This scene was repeated three additional times as Mr. Davison sought without success to find his own home amidst hundreds of look-alike dwellings, each with an identically landscaped front yard.
A postwar American dream for many had for Harlan Davison become a personal nightmare.
“It would help if I could remember my address,” a
noticeably embarrassed Davison told police as he was being led away to look for his home.
Blashette could not be reached for comment regarding his erstwhile employee. A spokesman for Dandy-de-odor-o did say, “Davison never had trouble finding his office when he worked for us, but he once confused Barbara Bel Geddes with Nancy Olson at a product launch party, unfortunately in the presence of Barbara’s father Norman, who was being wooed to design packaging for a new deodorant product.”
24.
“I’m not sure which is worse—having Davison here shambling things up, or having him out there where I can’t help him.”
Jonathan Blashette to Andrew Bloor, 21 October 1955.
25.
“Then hire him back and bring someone on board to look after him.”
Andrew Bloor to Jonathan Blashette, 26 October 1955.
26.
“Shall we set that fence aright?”
Jonathan Blashette to Harlan Davison, 1 November, 1955 Davison Papers. The full text of the reconciliation correspondence follows.
Dear Harlan,
I know an old fence that’s been in need of mending for three long years. What say I bring my tool box and you bring yours and we’ll set that fence aright?
Jonathan
***
Dear Jonathan,
I’m already there, tool box in hand! I don’t quite know where things went wrong. I know I’ve made some
mistakes along the way and I know you’ve been a real trump and let me off easy. I guess the mistakes just got too big to keep brushing aside, huh? I can’t tell you why my brain doesn’t work the same way as everybody else’s. Maybe it’s because I got kicked in the head by that mule when I was fourteen. Maybe that jumbled everything up and left me looking at the world a little crossways. (Or it could have been that second kick when I was seventeen. Can’t really put my finger on which one did the most damage.)
But I keep thinking back to that day you fired me from Dandy-D. I can’t think of what it was I did that could have provoked you more than the usual. Unless it was that comment about the Ink Spots and the Mills Brothers. Maybe that was the last straw. I’m telling you, honest, Jonathan, I’ve always had a little trouble telling the difference between those two groups—there wasn’t any malice toward you (because I know you’re partial to one of them although I can’t remember which) or to Negro singers in general. You know my grandmother was probably a Negro, so why would I cast aspersions on my own people?
I know this all happened around Winny’s birthday and I know it always puts you in the emotional crapper when any of those Winny anniversaries roll around. But you know what? At least you had a Winny. And you have Lady Jane and she’s turned into a really special gal. I’m not saying this to get any kind of pity from you. I’m just stating fact. You have loved and been loved back. The revolving door of
my
love life has spun far too fast for me to know how I felt about any of those dames (or vice versa). And the one chance I did have of walking down the aisle with one of them I pretty much botched up by getting the wedding day wrong and going fishing. It
would have been nice to have had a Winny or a Lady Jane, if only for a short while. To trade in that revolving door for the kind that actually opens and stays open. Or maybe one of those Dutch doors where you can open the top part and not the bottom or vice versa just for the fun of it.
But there
is
a consolation. Friendship. Friendship with my ol’ pal Jonny, restored to its former shine. I’ve got that toolbox, Jonny, and we’re going to get that fence looking good as new. It’s a nice old fence, and nicer still, to find us both working on the same side.
Your friend,
Harlan
***
Dear Harlan,
It’s a deal. I’ll call you this weekend.
Jonathan
27.
The cause of death was congestive heart failure.
In accordance with her wishes, Great Jane was buried in a simple pine box in the Calvary Baptist Church Cemetery in her home town of Chucking, Arkansas. It was not a well-attended burial service. Yet, in New York City, three weeks later, over 250 people came to her memorial, which was held at Washington Square Methodist Church in Greenwich Village, this number including many employees of Dandy-de-odor-o and at least twenty former Time Square prostitutes whom Jane had reformed and persuaded to enroll in secretarial school. Great Jane had made a lot of friends in the Big Apple. Glover,
Three Legs, One Heart
, 222-25.