Eudora Welty: A Writer's Life

Overview

Eudora Welty is a beloved institution of Southern fiction and American literature, whose closely guarded privacy has prevented a full-scale study of her life and work--until now.

A significant contribution to the world of letters, Ann Waldron's biography chronicles the history and achievements of one of our greatest living authors, from a Mississippi childhood to the sale of her first short story, from her literary friendships with Katherine ...

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Overview

Eudora Welty is a beloved institution of Southern fiction and American literature, whose closely guarded privacy has prevented a full-scale study of her life and work--until now.

A significant contribution to the world of letters, Ann Waldron's biography chronicles the history and achievements of one of our greatest living authors, from a Mississippi childhood to the sale of her first short story, from her literary friendships with Katherine Anne Porter and Elizabeth Bowen to her rivalry with Carson McCullers.

Elegant and authoritative, this first biography to chart the life of a national treasure is a must-have for Welty fans and scholars everywhere.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"A judicious account, written against the odds...[Eudora Welty] is lucky that Ann Waldron is her first biographer."
--The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

"A biography of admirable and considerable detail...engaging and well researched."
--Chicago Tribune

"Waldron paints an appealing portrait of this shy, yet gifted storyteller."
--The Christian Science Monitor

"Rich in detail and anecdote, this is an elegant and worthwhile book about an amiable woman who has become one of America's greatest writers."
--The Tampa Tribune

"Fans of Eudora Welty should not miss this."
--The Oklahoman (Oklahoma City)

"A lively chronicle....Waldron draws persuasive conclusions about Welty's secrets."
--The Commercial Appeal (Memphis)

"Adds dimension and context to Welty's carefully protected image....By the end of Waldron's carefully researched treatise, Welty emerges even more of a heroine, even more beloved than she was before."
--The Miami Herald

"Truly impressive....At last, a solid foundation is in place."
--Trenton Times

"Evenhanded and respectful....A good introduction to one of our greatest living writers."
--Houston Chronicle

Library Journal
Given Welty's vocal distaste for any intrusion into her private life, it is difficult from the beginning of this unauthorized biography to be open to what Waldron (Hodding Carter, LJ 6/1/93) writes. Prodded by an undefined need to write about Welty, Waldron works primarily from published articles and interviews and the letters and papers she had access to, as Welty urged most of her friends not to cooperate. The biography begins in Welty's teenage years, opening with comments about her "homeliness," and follows her on many journeys across the country and through the worlds of publishing and photography. Her friendships with famous writers, dinner parties, and trips to visit Elizabeth Bowen and Katherine Anne Porter are interesting, but in a distant way. Full of plodding and sometimes quite irrelevant details that bog down the narrative, this biography lacks vitality, movement, and the psychic energy that would inform us about Welty's motivations and desires. Without Welty's cooperation, this type of biography isn't possible.--Barbara O'Hara, Free Lib. of Philadelphia
James Olney
There has been in our time no more assiduous practitioner of fiction than Eudora Welty, and for the mystery that pervades her work and is her artistry there can be no explanation (a la Waldron), only gratitude.
-- The New York Times Book Review
Kirkus Reviews
An unauthorized (and the first full-length) biography of the grande dame of southern literature succeeds only partially in its daunting task: to shed light on the personal life of an intensely private woman who prefers that her work speak for itself.

Faced with Welty's polite but firm refusal to cooperate, Waldron (Hodding Carter: The Reconstruction of a Racist, 1993) perseveres where several potential biographers quit. Shut out by Welty's friends, she gleans what she can from letters, other writers' biographies, and distant acquaintances. Welty's autobiographical writing, One Writer's Beginnings, and prefaces to her photography collections, provide additional background already known to devotees. Waldron's main accomplishment is consolidating the writer's far-flung commentary on her work from newspapers and writing-anthology interviews. Waldron remains respectful, even when entertaining speculation about the unmarried writer's sexuality, including the nature of her intense friendship with British writer Elizabeth Bowen, or her difficult relationship with her mother. The literary influence of Katherine Anne Porter and agent Diarmuid Russell are detailed, as is Welty's antipathy for Carson McCullers. Revelations are generally minor (her first book, A Curtain of Green, was titled by her publisher's sales staff, for example), but there are genuine insights. Examining the society column Welty wrote in the 1930s for the Memphis Commercial Appeal, Waldron sees "flashes of the wit and the eye for detail, even the feeling for family, that would distinguish Eudora's fiction." She finds it notable that, despite familiarity with upper-class society, Welty "did not become the Edith Wharton of Jackson," a chronicler of belles and balls, but wrote about poor whites and blacks she met on her travels as a WPA publicist. The chapter on Welty's WPA work illustrates what is perhaps an unavoidable shortcoming (but a shortcoming nonetheless): Waldron's research yields barely three pages on this important formative period.

A passable introduction to a hugely important writer—more a starting point than a comprehensive summing up.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385476485
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 10/19/1999
  • Pages: 420
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.50 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Ann Waldron is the author of two critically acclaimed Southern biographies, Close Connections: Caroline Gordon and the Southern Renaissance and Hodding Carter.  She has been a reporter and columnist for the Miami Herald, St.  Petersburg Times, and Atlanta Constitution, as well as book editor at the Houston Chronicle.  She is also the author of seven books for children.
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Read an Excerpt

The Teenager

"As you have seen, I am a writer who came of a sheltered life. A sheltered life can be a daring life as well. For all serious daring starts from within."
--Eudora Welty, One Writer's Beginnings
By all rights, Eudora Welty should have been miserable every minute of the day when she was growing up.

"The thing you have to understand about Eudora is that she was not a belle," said a man a few years younger than Eudora who grew up in Jackson. "She was not pretty, and that is very important." He talked about this a little more. "Oh, she had friends who were boys--not boyfriends--but one of them, Frank Lyell, was such a sissy that even his own brother made fun of him."

"It wasn't that Eudora was plain," said a woman who had grown up in Jackson and now lives in Boston. "She was ugly to the point of being grotesque. In the South, that was tantamount to being an old maid. You could either teach school, be a librarian, or teach music, or, if you were far out, teach dancing. That's the way life was then." She added, not especially warmly, "At least Eudora found her feet."

"I was pretty," said one former Jackson belle, now in her eighties, "so our paths didn't cross much. She didn't go to dances or up to the Delta." (The Mississippi Delta had a reputation for raciness. Dances there started at eleven o'clock at night and lasted until breakfast.) "Oh, Eudora had beautiful blue eyes, and beautiful hands," she added. "But she never stood up straight, and she hunched over to hide her height."

A man a few years older than Eudora who was still living in Jackson said he had known who Eudora was, although she had been several classes behind him in high school. "She was not good-looking," he said. He was a nice southern gentleman, uncomfortable with saying something that was not strictly complimentary about a woman, and he shifted in his chair before he blurted out, "That's the only reason I knew who she was--because she was...well, different-looking."

"They would be checking off the girls' names who had escorts for a class party or something, and Eudora's name would not be checked off," recalled Sarah Gordon Hicks, a high school classmate. "They would say to my husband, Graham Hicks, 'Would you go pick up Eudora?' And he'd be glad to. He and Bill Wells looked after her. Everybody was glad to. She was not pretty, but everybody loved her. They thought the world of her."

Eudora's personality triumphed over her looks even when she was a teenager. As another woman classmate of Eudora's in high school said, "I wouldn't call her pretty, but Eudora was fun. We were all crazy about her. Everybody liked her. I don't remember her having dates with anyone, but a lot of us were just going out with a crowd."

Eudora was elected "Best All Round Girl" by the members of her senior class in high school--a title not given to an unpopular girl. In fact, all her life most people who met her would say something like this: "The first time I saw her, I thought she was the ugliest person I'd ever seen. Five minutes after I started talking to her, I thought she was the most wonderful person I'd ever known." Her looks mattered to people who were not close to her. People who knew her, even in high school, liked her and forgot her looks.

Jackson was a small town on the verge of growth in the early 1920s. Its population of 22,817 was about to double during the decade, and it would soon surpass Meridian as the largest city in the state. About 13,000 of its residents were white, the rest black, and this small white society was in a sense closed. Almost everybody in town was a native southerner. Therefore, if Eudora's looks made her remarkable when she was growing up in Jackson, her origins also almost made her an outsider. Both her parents had grown up outside the South, her father in Ohio, her mother in West Virginia, which had separated from Virginia because its citizens objected to secession.

"I could never talk about the old family home that was burned during the Civil War," Eudora once said. But then she said another time that because her mother was from West Virginia and her father from Ohio and they held views about the world that sometimes differed from those of the parents of her friends, she learned early on that there wasn't just one side that was right.

There's an old way of telling news in the South, rather like a folk version of "I have good news and bad news for you": "It's a pity that ..., but it's a blessing ..." The pity for Eudora Welty the teenager was that she was not pretty, that she was tall, and that her parents were not from the South. The blessing was that she was smart, that she was nice, and that her father was a prominent, well-liked citizen in town. Christian Welty had joined the Lamar Life Insurance Company soon after he and his wife, Chestina, arrived in Jackson in 1904. He rose steadily in its ranks until, when Eudora was in high school, he was vice president and general manager.

Eudora entered Central High School in 1921, when she was thirteen years old, after spending seven years at Davis School (named, of course, for Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy). She and her classmates had stayed in the same classroom for seven grades--nobody moved around--and they knew each other quite well by the time they all went to Central High. (All her life Eudora could remember all the new people who had come to Davis School while she was there. The class's first Yankee arrived from Indiana when she was in the fourth grade and said "cor-dju-roy," while Mississippi children said "cor-du-roy."

Jackson had always provided only eleven grades of school, with freshmen entering high school in the eighth grade. The powers that be decided to add a twelfth grade in 1925, the year that Eudora would finish the eleventh grade, so her class would have to remain an extra year. That meant there would be no graduation, no valedictorian, no senior pictures in the yearbook in 1925. To prevent this, the administration selected some of the seventh-graders from all the grammar schools to take a little extra work each year at Central and accomplish four years' work in three. Eudora, who had been an outstanding student at Davis School, was of course selected.

By all accounts, Eudora seems to have enjoyed high school. She had plenty of friends who were boys, if not boyfriends. "They were all devoted to her," said a girl in her class. "They were all intellectual. She could talk to them."

These young men were brainy and funny and astonishingly literary, considering the time and the place; they liked her and remained her friends for life. One was Nash Burger, a classmate who became an editor at the New York Times Book Review, and another was Ralph Hilton, whom she admired because he wrote sports news from Central High for the Jackson Daily News. She gave Hilton two chapters of an untitled work and seven thousand words of notes and asked his opinion. He found the material years later, after he had retired from a diplomatic career and was running a newspaper at Hilton Head, South Carolina, and sent it to the Mississippi State Archives, where her other papers were stored.

Nash had trouble with Latin, especially Virgil. Eudora, who loved Latin, often helped him before class with his translations. She was often so good in Latin that she could read something else during class. Half a century after she finished high school, she confessed that she fell in love with the work of the humorist S. J. Perelman in Cicero class, while the other students were translating "How long, O Catiline, must we endure your orations?" An entire issue of Judge magazine was filled with Perelman's drawings and writings, and she hid it in her lap.
Eudora was a member of the Girgil Club, which was featured in the Quadruplane, the high school annual. Obviously a creation of someone's imagination (probably Eudora's), the Girgil Club had for a motto "Listen, cram and be careful,/For the eighth period you may read," and its colors were black and blue. The club book was the Aeneid.

When Eudora had to write a book report for English class, she always chose one of the "better books"--something by Jane Austen or Walter Scott, recalled Nash Burger, while he tended to report on Zane Grey and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Once he gave an oral report on a nonexistent book by an imaginary author, Milton C. Milton (the class had just read "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso"), complete with plot summary, characters, and setting, all fabricated. Eudora, who knew what he was doing, raised her hand and said that she would like to read that book. Would Nash bring it to school? Nash promised he would. Every day for several days Eudora repeated her public request, to no avail.

Eudora, Nash, and Ralph Hilton all wanted to be writers and haunted the local library, waiting for the appearance of the annual volumes of Best Short Stories so they could see which authors had won and why. When they had to write their own stories in English class, Eudora's were "invariably smooth, beautifully and painstakingly written." Eudora also wrote for Tiger Talk, the school paper (Bill Wells, her occasional escort, was the editor), and in her senior year was art editor of the yearbook, the Quadruplane, for which she did a drawing of an Olympian athlete.

When construction crews began work on enlarging the Central High building, Eudora wrote an editorial for the school newspaper wondering what would happen to the wisteria vines and noting that the pupils studied while bricks and timbers crashed about them. "Very sentimental," she later said. She also wrote an essay for the Quadruplane, "Youth and Age," in which the New Building talks to the Old Building, saying, "It may be pleasant to be old, but I love being New and Young. I adore it."

The theme for the Quadruplane in 1925 was the Greek myths, and those elected to the Olympic Council (of outstanding seniors) were given Greek names. Eudora was called not only Irene, "Best All Round Girl," but Demeter, "Most Dependable." Under her picture was the legend "Of talents and good things she owns such a store,/You think where they come from there'd never be more."

Graduation brought a flurry of parties for every girl in the senior class--"bridge parties, seated teas (where a plate was served with frozen salad or chicken salad), luncheons, teas (olive and pecan sandwiches, cheese straws, beaten biscuits and ham, salted almonds, fudge cake, and mints), buffet suppers, and dinner parties." Many of these parties took place at Shadow Lawn, Anita Perkins Pate's home on the Terry Road, where she provided catered meals that were the height of fashion in Jackson. A feature of the garden at Shadow Lawn was the Cofrana rosebush, planted in 1874 and fifteen feet tall by 1926.

Eudora was a guest at what the local newspaper called in its cozy, hometown voice "a merry party of high school girls" who "enjoyed a Slumber Party' in the home of Miss Doris Comly." After a "delicious" supper, the girls played games and sang until midnight, when they had a "feast" and told ghost stories. "On Saturday morning before returning to their homes, the party had pictures taken so that they all might keep a souvenir of the happy party."

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Table of Contents

A Point of View 1
The Early Years
1. The Teenager 9
2. Richard Wright, 1923-1925 15
3. Role Models 18
4. The W, 1925-1927 23
5. On, Wisconsin, 1927-1929 34
6. Columbia, 1929-1931 42
7. Home Again, 1931 47
Finding Her Feet
8. Local Literati, 1931-1935 55
9. The Journalist, 1933-1935 64
10. The WPA, 1935-1936 70
11. Photography, 1935-1937 73
12. The First Stories, 1931-1936 81
13. Getting Published, 1936-1940 86
14. More Stories, 1936-1940 90
15. Diarmuid Russell, 1940 99
16. Bread Loaf, 1940 102
17. The Natchez Trace, 1940 106
18. The Atlantic Monthly, 1940-1941 111
19. A Curtain of Green, 1941 115
20. Henry Miller, 1941 120
21. Yaddo, 1941 123
22. Publication Party, 1941 127
23. War Comes, 1941 132
24. The Robber Bridegroom, 1942 136
25. Leaving Doubleday, 1942 142
26. Trilling vs. Warren, 1943 146
27. The New York Times Book Review, 1944 150
28. How to Make a Novel, 1945 154
29. The Other Jackson Writer, 1945 160
30. Delta Wedding, 1946 162
31. Portrait Painted, 1946 165
Stretching Her Wings
32. A Literary Magazine? 1946 169
33. San Francisco, 1946-1947 172
34. San Francisco Again, 1947 177
35. The Levee Press, 1948 183
36. Musical Comedy, 1948 186
37. Film Scripts, 1948-1949 189
38. The Golden Apples, 1949 194
39. William Faulkner, 1949 196
40. Abroad, 1949-1950 202
41. England and Ireland, 1950 207
42. The Civil War Redux, 1950 212
43. Elizabeth Bowen, 1950 215
44. Bowen's Court, 1951 217
45. The Enigma, 1951 222
46. To and Fro, 1952-1953 226
47. The Ponder Heart, 1954 230
48. The First Honorary Degree, 1954 234
49. Cambridge, 1954 236
50. Reynolds Price, 1955 240
51. Uncle Daniel on Stage, 1956 244
The Last Years
52. Dark Days Begin, 1956 253
53. A Glimpse of the World, 1958-1959 258
54. Walter Dies, 1959-1961 261
55. Writing in Dark Days, 1962-1964 266
56. The College Visitor, 1960-1980 270
57. Millsaps, 1964 275
58. The Last Short Story, 1964-1966 278
59. Death and Bereavement, 1966 281
60. Grief into Fiction, 1966 284
61. Losing Battles, 1970 291
62. Another Book, More Honors, 1971 297
63. Glory, Laud, and Honor, 1972-1974 301
64. The Robber Sings, 1974-1976 307
65. The Image, 1975-1977 310
66. Still Reading, 1977 314
67. Oxford, 1979 318
68. "Mississippi Joins the World," 1980 321
69. Uncle Daniel Sings, 1982 324
70. Harvard and Stanford, 1983 327
71. One Writer's Beginnings, 1984 330
72. The Last Chapter 336
Acknowledgments 341
A Note on Sources 345
Notes 347
Photo Credits 383
Index 385
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First Chapter

Chapter One

The Teenager

"As you have seen, I am a writer who came of a sheltered life. A sheltered life can be a daring life as well. For all serious daring starts from within."

Eudora Welty, One Writer's Beginnings

    By all rights, Eudora Welty should have been miserable every minute of the day when she was growing up.

    "The thing you have to understand about Eudora is that she was not a belle," said a man a few years younger than Eudora who grew up in Jackson. "She was not pretty, and that is very important." He talked about this a little more. "Oh, she had friends who were boys--not boyfriends--but one of them, Frank Lyell, was such a sissy that even his own brother made fun of him."

    "It wasn't that Eudora was plain," said a woman who had grown up in Jackson and now lives in Boston. "She was ugly to the point of being grotesque. In the South, that was tantamount to being an old maid. You could either teach school, be a librarian, or teach music, or, if you were far out, teach dancing. That's the way life was then." She added, not especially warmly, "At least Eudora found her feet."

    "I was pretty," said one former Jackson belle, now in her eighties, "so our paths didn't cross much. She didn't go to dances or up to the Delta." (The Mississippi Delta had a reputation for raciness. Dances there started at eleven o'clock at night and lasted until breakfast.) "Oh, Eudora had beautiful blue eyes, and beautiful hands," she added. "But she never stood up straight, and she hunched over to hide her height."

    A man a few years older than Eudora who was still living in Jackson said he had known who Eudora was, although she had been several classes behind him in high school. "She was not good-looking," he said. He was a nice southern gentleman, uncomfortable with saying something that was not strictly complimentary about a woman, and he shifted in his chair before he blurted out, "That's the only reason I knew who she was--because she was ... well, different-looking."

    "They would be checking off the girls' names who had escorts for a class party or something, and Eudora's name would not be checked off," recalled Sarah Gordon Hicks, a high school classmate. "They would say to my husband, Graham Hicks, `Would you go pick up Eudora?' And he'd be glad to. He and Bill Wells looked after her. Everybody was glad to. She was not pretty, but everybody loved her. They thought the world of her."

    Eudora's personality triumphed over her looks even when she was a teenager. As another woman classmate of Eudora's in high school said, "I wouldn't call her pretty, but Eudora was fun. We were all crazy about her. Everybody liked her. I don't remember her having dates with anyone, but a lot of us were just going out with a crowd."

     Eudora was elected "Best All Round Girl" by the members of her senior class in high school--a title not given to an unpopular girl. In fact, all her life most people who met her would say something like this: "The first time I saw her, I thought she was the ugliest person I'd ever seen. Five minutes after I started talking to her, I thought she was the most wonderful person I'd ever known." Her looks mattered to people who were not close to her. People who knew her, even in high school, liked her and forgot her looks.

    Jackson was a small town on the verge of growth in the early 1920s. Its population of 22,817 was about to double during the decade, and it would soon surpass Meridian as the largest city in the state. About 13,000 of its residents were white, the rest black, and this small white society was in a sense closed. Almost everybody in town was a native southerner. Therefore, if Eudora's looks made her remarkable when she was growing up in Jackson, her origins also almost made her an outsider. Both her parents had grown up outside the South, her father in Ohio, her mother in West Virginia, which had separated from Virginia because its citizens objected to secession.

    "I could never talk about the old family home that was burned during the Civil War," Eudora once said. But then she said another time that because her mother was from West Virginia and her father from Ohio and they held views about the world that sometimes differed from those of the parents of her friends, she learned early on that there wasn't just one side that was right.

    There's an old way of telling news in the South, rather like a folk version of "I have good news and bad news for you": "It's a pity that ..., but it's a blessing ..." The pity for Eudora Welty the teenager was that she was not pretty, that she was tall, and that her parents were not from the South. The blessing was that she was smart, that she was nice, and that her father was a prominent, well-liked citizen in town. Christian Welty had joined the Lamar Life Insurance Company soon after he and his wife, Chestina, arrived in Jackson in 1904. He rose steadily in its ranks until, when Eudora was in high school, he was vice president and general manager.

    Eudora entered Central High School in 1921, when she was thirteen years old, after spending seven years at Davis School (named, of course, for Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy). She and her classmates had stayed in the same classroom for seven grades--nobody moved around--and they knew each other quite well by the time they all went to Central High. (All her life Eudora could remember all the new people who had come to Davis School while she was there. The class's first Yankee arrived from Indiana when she was in the fourth grade and said "cor-dju-roy," while Mississippi children said "cor-du-roy."

    Jackson had always provided only eleven grades of school, with freshmen entering high school in the eighth grade. The powers that be decided to add a twelfth grade in 1925, the year that Eudora would finish the eleventh grade, so her class would have to remain an extra year. That meant there would be no graduation, no valedictorian, no senior pictures in the yearbook in 1925. To prevent this, the administration selected some of the seventh-graders from all the grammar schools to take a little extra work each year at Central and accomplish four years' work in three. Eudora, who had been an outstanding student at Davis School, was of course selected.

    By all accounts, Eudora seems to have enjoyed high school. She had plenty of friends who were boys, if not boyfriends. "They were all devoted to her," said a girl in her class. "They were all intellectual. She could talk to them."

    These young men were brainy and funny and astonishingly literary, considering the time and the place; they liked her and remained her friends for life. One was Nash Burger, a classmate who became an editor at the New York Times Book Review, and another was Ralph Hilton, whom she admired because he wrote sports news from Central High for the Jackson Daily News. She gave Hilton two chapters of an untitled work and seven thousand words of notes and asked his opinion. He found the material years later, after he had retired from a diplomatic career and was running a newspaper at Hilton Head, South Carolina, and sent it to the Mississippi State Archives, where her other papers were stored.

    Nash had trouble with Latin, especially Virgil. Eudora, who loved Latin, often helped him before class with his translations. She was often so good in Latin that she could read something else during class. Half a century after she finished high school, she confessed that she fell in love with the work of the humorist S. J. Perelman in Cicero class, while the other students were translating "How long, O Catiline, must we endure your orations?" An entire issue of Judge magazine was filled with Perelman's drawings and writings, and she hid it in her lap.

    Eudora was a member of the Girgil Club, which was featured in the Quadruplane, the high school annual. Obviously a creation of someone's imagination (probably Eudora's), the Girgil Club had for a motto "Listen, cram and be careful,/For the eighth period you may read," and its colors were black and blue. The club book was the Aeneid.

    When Eudora had to write a book report for English class, she always chose one of the "better books"--something by Jane Austen or Walter Scott, recalled Nash Burger, while he tended to report on Zane Grey and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Once he gave an oral report on a nonexistent book by an imaginary author, Milton C. Milton (the class had just read "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso"), complete with plot summary, characters, and setting, all fabricated. Eudora, who knew what he was doing, raised her hand and said that she would like to read that book. Would Nash bring it to school? Nash promised he would. Every day for several days Eudora repeated her public request, to no avail.

    Eudora, Nash, and Ralph Hilton all wanted to be writers and haunted the local library, waiting for the appearance of the annual volumes of Best Short Stories so they could see which authors had won and why. When they had to write their own stories in English class, Eudora's were "invariably smooth, beautifully and painstakingly written." Eudora also wrote for Tiger Talk, the school paper (Bill Wells, her occasional escort, was the editor), and in her senior year was art editor of the yearbook, the Quadruplane, for which she did a drawing of an Olympian athlete.

    When construction crews began work on enlarging the Central High building, Eudora wrote an editorial for the school newspaper wondering what would happen to the wisteria vines and noting that the pupils studied while bricks and timbers crashed about them. "Very sentimental," she later said. She also wrote an essay for the Quadruplane, "Youth and Age," in which the New Building talks to the Old Building, saying, "It may be pleasant to be old, but I love being New and Young. I adore it."

    The theme for the Quadruplane in 1925 was the Greek myths, and those elected to the Olympic Council (of outstanding seniors) were given Greek names. Eudora was called not only Irene, "Best All Round Girl," but Demeter, "Most Dependable." Under her picture was the legend "Of talents and good things she owns such a store,/You think where they come from there'd never be more."

    Graduation brought a flurry of parties for every girl in the senior class--"bridge parties, seated teas (where a plate was served with frozen salad or chicken salad), luncheons, teas (olive and pecan sandwiches, cheese straws, beaten biscuits and ham, salted almonds, fudge cake, and mints), buffet suppers, and dinner parties." Many of these parties took place at Shadow Lawn, Anita Perkins Pate's home on the Terry Road, where she provided catered meals that were the height of fashion in Jackson. A feature of the garden at Shadow Lawn was the Cofrana rosebush, planted in 1874 and fifteen feet tall by 1926.

    Eudora was a guest at what the local newspaper called in its cozy, hometown voice "a merry party of high school girls" who "enjoyed a Slumber Party' in the home of Miss Doris Comly." After a "delicious" supper, the girls played games and sang until midnight, when they had a "feast" and told ghost stories. "On Saturday morning before returning to their homes, the party had pictures taken so that they all might keep a souvenir of the happy party."


Chapter Two

Richard Wright

1923-1925

"Though I had long known that there were people called `white people,' it had never meant anything to me emotionally ... They were ... somehow strangely different because I had never come in close touch with any of them."

Richard Wright, Black Boy

    In the fall of 1923, when Eudora and her classmates were beginning their junior year at Central High, another young Jackson writer was starting out at Smith-Robertson, the town's black high school. He worked for a white family named Wall to earn money to pay for his books. His name was Richard Wright, and he was six months older than Eudora Welty. Compared to Central High, Smith-Robertson was a shack. As an African American, Richard could not use the public library, where Eudora and her friends eagerly read each year's volume of Best Short Stories; he looked for magazines, comic books, and newspapers in garbage cans in white neighborhoods. Like Eudora and her friends, though, he wanted to write, and he did write a three-thousand-word story about a villain trying to take the home of a poor widow, "The Voodoo of Hell's Half-Acre," in three days. It was accepted for publication in the Negro newspaper Southern Register in 1924 and ran in three installments.

    Although African Americans accounted for 43 percent of the population, each white person in Jackson knew no more than two or three black people--usually their servants. Nothing could illuminate the horror and stupidity of the segregated South more vividly than the fact that Richard Wright and Eudora Welty never met, although they were the same age, had similar interests, and lived in the same town for several years. The picture that Eudora paints in her memoir of Jackson as a safe, comfortable town where families walked to the park for band concerts on summer evenings becomes a mockery when it is compared with Wright's hand-to-mouth existence in the rundown, poorly lit, unsanitary black section of town.

    Lehman Engel, a contemporary of Eudora Welty's who became a Broadway composer and musical director, however, noticed the black people who lived in shacks, for which they paid fifty cents in rent a week. He once saw two white men get out of a car, grab a black girl on the sidewalk, and force her into their car. White men who were watching from their front porches, including Engel's father, did nothing. Eudora, in her safe enclave, was unaware of this kind of thing.

    Eudora has spoken of how when she was a child, she listened to grown people talking and to the way they dramatized their lives. (She would sit between two people in the car as they set off for a Sunday afternoon ride and say, "Now talk.") An interviewer asked her if she heard the stories of black people, and she replied that she never saw black people except as servants in white households. She did hear bits of superstitions or remarks she remembered, but she never heard black people talking among themselves.

    Richard Wright spent less than one year in school before he was twelve years old; a coal-delivery man taught him to count, and he learned to read from schoolbooks he found on the sidewalk, discarded by more fortunate children, and from a thrown-away Sunday newspaper that had an account of the sinking of the Titanic. He saw plenty of white brutality toward blacks: the father of one of his friends was taken out in the countryside and lynched, and once Wright accepted a ride from some white men, who threw him out of the moving car when he neglected to say "sir." He caddied at the Municipal Golf Links, the golf course where Eudora's little brothers later distinguished themselves.

    Wright was valedictorian when he graduated from Smith-Robinson in May 1925, at the same time that Eudora, Nash Burger, and Ralph Hilton were graduating from Central High. The assistant principal wrote his speech for him, but he refused to give it and wrote his own speech, which concerned the South's educational system and how it deprived the black population of intellectual life and human qualities.

    After graduating, Wright worked in Jackson at various jobs, trying to accumulate enough money to get out of town. Finally he stole money from the Alamo, the black movie theater where he worked, and took the train to Memphis. (The Alamo was owned by the family of Eudora's friend Lehman Engel.) He published his first book, a short story collection called Uncle Tom's Children, in 1938 (three years before Eudora's first book, also a short story collection). Then came Native Son, in 1940; Twelve Million Black Voices, in 1941; Black Boy, in 1945; and nine other books.

    "It's awful that people my age didn't even really know the conditions of the black schools," Eudora said later. When Eudora found out that Richard Wright had been growing up in Jackson at the same time she was, someone asked her, "Did you all play together?" "That would have been like playing with somebody from the moon," she replied. "It's just so sad and worrying to think of that."

    Eudora was like her contemporaries in being unconscious of Wright's presence in her home town, but unlike most white women from that time and place, she was never very involved with black servants and seldom mentioned them in letters or interviews. She was not like other white people in Jackson, who blocked out awareness of black people unless they were faithful domestic servants. The astonishing thing is that she was able to break out of that atmosphere of apartheid to take wonderful, sensitive photographs of Jackson's African Americans in the late 1930s.

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