Bill Scott’s mostly family-run operation published five books in 1938. His wife, Ethel, wrote one of the books, and her brother John McCullough acted as the company’s editor in chief. The small publishing company pushed the boundaries of the standard book—adding textiles and textures, writing from unique perspectives, and inviting accomplished fine artists to try their hands at illustrating for children. Margaret had learned a great deal about editing and publishing during her time at Bank Street, and she brought everything she knew to Scott. Her mind was always searching for new ways to engage children through books, and fortunately for her, Bill was bold enough to try most anything she dreamed up.
One of their first books was written by Margaret’s friend and Bank Street alum Posey Thacher. Margaret wrote another two of Scott’s first books, edited all of them, and found illustrators willing to work for low fees. It was standard for publishers to pay artists a flat fee for their work, and the fledgling company was on a tight budget. For Bumble Bugs and Elephants, one of Margaret’s books, she found an excellent artist through her friend Montgomery “Monty” Hare. Monty had attended college with an artist named Clement Hurd, whose work Margaret saw hanging in Monty’s bathroom. She loved Hurd’s style and wanted to call him right away, but Monty knew he had no phone. Instead, Monty and Margaret headed over to his apartment in a run-down Greenwich Village building. One wall was crumbling and made the place feel like a war zone. Margaret was fairly sure from his living conditions that she could afford to hire him, and she was right. The next day, she was training him to illustrate for children.
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That summer, Bill and Ethel Scott invited their staff, illustrators, and writers to join them at their Vermont farm to brainstorm ideas for their next list. Dogs roamed around as their owners reclined in chairs, on hammocks, or on the soft green ground. Margaret had an idea but didn’t want to appear too eager. She had recently heard a broadcast of Gertrude Stein comparing the nursery rhyme “A Tisket a Tasket” to one of her own writings. It dawned on Margaret that Stein might be interested in writing for children. She proposed they contact Stein.
Everyone agreed her idea had merit. Being able to list a literary giant as one of their authors would be a coup for any children’s publishing house, especially a small one like Scott. Other authors whose styles might work for children were suggested. They also wanted to contact Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck, whose descriptive but simple writing styles would easily adapt to children’s literature.
At Bank Street, Margaret led workshops for writers and teachers on how to write for children. She was certain she could coach established writers how to tailor their work successfully. Margaret was sure that if a Stein or Steinbeck stepped from adult books to children’s, the questionable designation of their Here-and-Now books as literature would disintegrate. Those hard-to-please critics and self-important librarians who showed such disdain for their work would not dare dismiss a children’s book by Stein or Hemingway as pabulum.
Fortunately, most librarians, book buyers, and reviewers were impressed with Scott’s first list of books, and sales were brisk. Even so, Bill was worried about his company’s future. While the library market did not return books, it was customary for bookstores to return unsold copies to a publisher. The Scotts’ barn served as their book warehouse, and some of those returns were making their way back to Vermont. No one was sure how many more copies would end up back in the barn.
Returns were not something the fledgling company had accounted for, so Bill needed to reset the estimated earnings and reduce expenses on further publications if they were to survive. As a favor, Bill asked Margaret to agree to a reduced royalty on the books she wrote. She loved working with Scott and believed they were changing the landscape of children’s literature. These were her friends, so she agreed. In a small operation like Scott’s, everyone had to pitch in any way they could. One of their first books, Cottontails, had been printed on cloth with cottontails sewn onto the illustrated bunnies. But the tails on the bunnies weren’t attached firmly enough, and they soon began falling out of the books. Margaret had not been able to sew straight stripes on a sorority sister’s pants, but she was handy enough with a needle and thread to tack the cotton onto the bunnies’ tails alongside the rest of the staff.
Margaret was delighted that Bill liked her idea to contact established writers. She longed to meet Stein. How marvelous it would be to work with her literary hero and tell her how instrumental her words had been in shaping Margaret’s style. Bill, though, tasked John with approaching each of the authors. If the writers responded, then Bill himself would work directly with the authors. Margaret was crushed, but she agreed to help craft the letters.
John told Margaret this was a fruitless venture. He bet her a set of box seats at the Metropolitan Opera that none of the authors would respond. Margaret felt certain they would at least hear from Stein; she took him up on his bet.
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Margaret also spent part of the summer off the coast of Camden, Maine, with fellow Bank Street staff members Jessica Gamble and Tony McCormick. Tony brought her two sons and piano along to the spacious old house on Vinalhaven Island. The rambling cabin, Sunshine Cottage, was rustic, but that didn’t bother the merry band from Lucy Mitchell’s ranks. Even the bats that occasionally made their way into the upstairs bedroom and bath couldn’t spoil the mood. A rowboat and a sailboat came with the rental of the house, and Margaret and her friends explored the series of islands dotting the shoreline off Long Cove, the slough where the house was situated. They had a marvelous time getting to know the locals, exploring the forests and islands, and picnicking anywhere that struck their fancy.