Margaret’s mother passed away in January of 1947. Margaret and Roberta traveled to Ann Arbor for the funeral. Margaret took a circuitous route home, going to her mother’s interment in Kirkwood, Missouri, and then to Connecticut to see Dot’s newborn daughter, Laurel. Margaret was Laurel’s godmother, and the christening took place at the same picturesque church where Dot and Louis had been married. Margaret heaped attention and gifts on the little girl, on whom she bestowed the nickname Pookie.
Dot and Margaret still hunted with the Buckram Beagles. They were at work on a collection of horse stories and poems but had not yet found a publisher. Two years earlier, they wrote and illustrated a book about the circus under the pseudonyms Timothy Hay (Margaret) and Wag (Dot). On a trip to the circus at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan, they had watched as the dazzling white Liberty horses began their intricate stepping routine. They turned to each other with the same idea—this could be a book! Horses, about a little horse who goes to his first circus, was on the shelves the following year. The art featured pops of red throughout, and the eye-catching cover showcased a red-and-white striped tent. A small circle on each spread displayed a fact about horses. Two years later, Margaret was revising and writing a voluminous horse story collection that she wanted Dot to illustrate. It would include facts, folktales, stories, and songs—almost two hundred works in total.
Margaret wanted to sell this collection to Golden because her collections with them earned her twice the royalty rate of a storybook. The publisher also was producing some of her books in an oversized format that Margaret adored. A larger size allowed more action to transpire across a double-page spread. Margaret had written a story of a bunny who rolled an egg from one page to the next, and she felt her text had really been brought to life on the book’s large pages by Leonard’s blended art. There was so much room on each spread that they decided to fill the expansive backgrounds with lush wildflowers. Margaret had picked as many different flowers as she could find for Leonard to use as models. They hadn’t known he was allergic. The next morning, he woke with eyes so swollen he couldn’t open them.
Margaret had been sending more and more manuscripts to Golden Books. Their line of Little Golden Books was exceedingly popular and was being sold in department stores around the country. Those huge print runs made their books affordable for families who once considered children’s books a luxury. The low cost, rugged cardboard binding, and eye-catching designs encouraged parents to buy more than one book at a time, too. The sales of the pretty little books with the signature bright gold spine were skyrocketing—and so did Margaret’s royalties. She was stunned by the first Golden royalty check she received and celebrated by hopping on a plane to Florida to buy a car. She returned in a yellow Town & Country convertible that matched her golden hair.
Margaret also encouraged many of her friends to submit books to Golden. She and Posey Hurd had cowritten a book called The Man in the Manhole and the Fix-it Men, which featured characters in the workaday world. Margaret had written the book for Scott, and she had more ideas for those sorts of stories, but her allegiance to the publisher was waning. Advance payments were often calculated on potential earnings, so based on her book sales, Margaret had been negotiating higher advances with Golden and Harper. Scott refused to grant Margaret an increase on her advances or royalty percentages. They also continued to use outdated printing techniques, even though Margaret had successfully negotiated affordable printing on new presses in Sweden.
Margaret and Leonard had been working with Scott for over a year on another book with an appealing word pattern. This one engaged children by describing something in their world—a daisy, a shoe, rain—and then deciding what was the most important thing about that subject. She called it The Important Book and wanted it printed in four colors as Golden and Harper were doing. Bill Scott refused, so Margaret decided to sell the book to Harper. Royalty negotiations and Margaret’s demand for higher-quality printing had stalled the final contract, so she was within her legal rights to give the book to Harper. Margaret knew pulling the book would be a financial blow to Scott, but she was certain that any manuscripts she gave to the small publisher had little chance of success against the more attractive books on store shelves.
Bill Scott’s books looked dated. Margaret’s last book with him had been a huge disappointment. The colors weren’t at all close to Phyra’s original illustrations, and the printer haphazardly altered the featureless faces she gave her characters. The results gave the book a comical look. Margaret sent him a telegram at 2:43 in the morning registering a “full protest” and demanding that Bill print the book as Phyra had illustrated it.
Margaret wrote Bill a letter officially terminating their publishing relationship. She would no longer send Scott new manuscripts. Scott editor John McCullough dug in his heels, too. He canceled Margaret’s other books that were scheduled to be published. Without explanation, he told Phyra to return a manuscript she was illustrating, The Little Farmer, to Margaret. Phyra was bewildered but nonetheless did as she was instructed.
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In July, Leonard won the Caldecott Medal for his illustration of The Little Island. He had captured the island in front of the Only House so beautifully. Margaret was happy that the critics had recognized his talent with the highest award in the industry, so in commemoration of the award, she gave Leonard a wafer-thin Gubelin watch. In return, he gave her a box of gold Caldecott Award stickers. He couldn’t have given her a more delightful gift. She stuck them to the dummy books and manuscripts she submitted to publishers—and even some copies of her finished books on her shelves.
Margaret was asked to write a piece about Leonard for Publishers Weekly. In it, she ticked off his many artistic accomplishments, behind-the-scenes stories of their collaborations, and his one publishing failure. This, she noted, was no fault of his as the illustrator, nor was it hers as the author; she laid the blame squarely at the feet of the publisher who had refused to print with the additional colors she and Leonard had been promised.
Bill Scott knew this was a jab at his dated printing techniques. Ethel Scott, too, must have taken offense at Margaret’s claim in the article to be the one who wrote Cottontails, even though Ethel was listed as the author. Whether or not Margaret intentionally used this piece to distance herself from her old employer didn’t matter. Bill Scott saw it as a declaration of war.
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