In the Great Green Room: The Brilliant and Bold Life of Margaret Wise Brown

*

That summer, Margaret was the maid of honor at Dot Wagstaff’s wedding. Margaret heartily approved of Dot’s new husband, Louis Ripley, whose wealthy family owned a cattle farm in Litchfield. The wedding, though, caused Margaret to feel the sting of her age and her single life. She was ready to make a change.

Bill’s divorce proceedings had not yet concluded. Weeks before, Margaret sat with Bill and a few of their friends outside a courtroom door as his lawyers negotiated an arrangement. Margaret was convinced that Lucy was dragging this out to keep Bill from marrying her, but as she watched the attorneys enter and exit, she came to see that Bill could have bought his freedom long ago—he simply didn’t like the price tag Lucy had placed on the settlement. After that, it wasn’t unusual for Margaret to place a wall of pillows between her and Bill if he wanted to spend the night in her bed.

As Margaret distanced herself from Bill, she was needier of Michael’s attention and affection. In letters, Michael professed her love and devotion to Margaret. Once home though, Michael quickly grew tired of Margaret’s neediness and sought to escape their claustrophobic apartments. Diana’s career was in a tailspin, so Michael often traipsed after her daughter from set to set between her own performances. Margaret sometimes followed, if Michael asked her to come along and she could spare the time. Margaret’s world seemed to revolve around the telephone these days. She was working on books for six different publishers, and everyone needed answers or approvals.

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On a cold day in October, Philippe Halsman, a photographer from Life magazine, posed Margaret in the hammock that hung in a window of Cobble Court. Her longtime friend Bruce Bliven sat beside her in a chair with a pad on his lap, suggesting that the photographer was capturing the interview Bruce had completed for an article in the magazine. In actuality, the interview had occurred two months earlier when Bruce came to the Only House. Bruce was still regular contributor to The New Yorker, but also was a prolific freelance writer. Over chuckles and wine, he penned a whimsical piece about Margaret that would appear in the December issue of Life. The short feature highlighted her colorful career and declared her to be not only the most prolific children’s book writer but the prettiest. It declared that anyone who met her would find her exceedingly sophisticated and claimed that she fooled her city friends into thinking she had a green thumb by tying cherries or oranges to the green bay tree she kept in her apartment. Margaret was elated by the article and being photographed for one of the world’s most famous magazines thrilled her beyond even her own vivid imagination.

Halsman wanted to capture the little house where she wrote, so he stood on a ladder outside of Cobble Court. To include the house and courtyard, he needed a higher vantage point and found it through a window in the tenement building owned by Margaret’s landlord. He photographed Margaret being served tea by an elegantly attired Pietro and opening the door for Crispian to enter.

Inside the tiny house, he positioned Margaret at her desk with a blue heron quill pen and then on the floor with copies of her books surrounding her. In another photograph, she was in repose on her zebra-skin couch as she tried to look pensive in an awkward pose.

She felt completely comfortable, though, when Halsman photographed her sitting in her rocking chair and lighting a fire.

Michael continued to perform her Great Words with Great Music recitals around the country, and the pace was grinding, so she was frequently tired and irritable. While Michael traveled, Margaret cared for the apartment and the house in Connecticut. She watched over their dogs and Diana’s, too. The pets had become Margaret’s own little fur family, and each of her letters to Michael included updates on their dogs. The letters Margaret received from Michael as she traveled were mostly tender, but with both Margaret and Diana, Michael was alternately supportive and dismissive of their accomplishments. The two women knew Michael was jealous of their successes. Diana’s career had eclipsed Michael’s, and newspapers usually referred to Michael only as Diana’s mother; Michael’s own poetry and performances were secondary tidbits of information. As Michael’s audience declined, her producer had to move most of her shows to churches. Those were easier to fill.

Diana had asked Michael to come see her in the road-show production of Joan of Lorraine and was thrilled when she came to see her in Atlanta. Diana’s performance that night as Joan was so moving that members of the cast watching from the wings were in tears. She received numerous curtain calls and was ebullient as she waited backstage for her mother to congratulate her. But Michael left the theater without a word. Michael had always hoped to play the role of her heroine, Joan of Arc. Well practiced at wounding her daughter, Michael knew that ignoring her after such a marvelous turn was the cruelest thing she could do.

Likewise, Michael had continued criticizing Margaret and her books. Many of Margaret’s longtime friends and collaborators inched away. They couldn’t bear to watch how cruelly Michael treated Margaret, who tried so desperately to please her.

The Life article became a high point in Margaret’s career. The issue’s cover featured Ingrid Bergman in the Broadway production Joan of Lorraine, which must have felt like a double blow to Michael. Margaret said little about the article in her letters but carefully pasted the cover and article into her scrapbook. It was an affirmation of her talent; she might never be a serious writer of adult literature, but she was one of the best writers of children’s books. That, for now, was enough.





Sixteen

1947

Who does your heart return to?

Who do you really love?

In that blue hour of evening

Who are you thinking of?



Who does your wild young heart turn to

In those dark dreams of night?

Whose is the face before you

When you turn out the light?

“WHO DOES YOUR HEART RETURN TO?”

White Freesias


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