Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [113]
“While his mother is killing herself to pay for the gruel.”
“Yep! So, he’s going to make a living as a poet . . .”
“Now we’re really talking two-cent soups.”
“Exactly. I mean, DuBose knew how to be a little snob but he really didn’t want to be poor. So, he struggled with the idea of a literary career, which he considered appropriate for a gentleman of his highfalutin background, versus what he considered selling out and writing something more commercial. Dorothy was the perfect solution.”
“Because she arrived on the scene with deep pockets?”
“Yes. And she was already a commercial success as a playwright when they met. DuBose Heyward didn’t have the first clue about how to adapt Porgy the book to the stage. Dorothy did it.”
“You know, it’s so funny, you never even hear her name. I always thought DuBose was the creative genius.”
“Well, to give the devil his due, he was the one who had the very original point of view about the whole Gullah world that shaped the story of Porgy and Bess. I mean, DuBose took the accepted view at the time, which was that the African Americans were shiftless and lazy and sat around all day just waiting to please Massah, you know, Al Jolson in blackface, the whole minstrel thing?”
“I’m with you. Heck, Cate, it was almost that bad when we were growing up.”
“Not with everyone. I mean, look at Ella and Aunt Daisy.”
“What? You don’t remember because you were really little but I remember that Daddy was more upset about Ella’s complexion than he was with what went on between them.”
“Come on.”
“True.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. How stupid.”
“That’s right.”
“That old skunk! All right, well anyway, DuBose turned the stuffy old Charlestonians on their ears when he described the black world as highly desirable, even enviable. He was completely enthralled by their passion for living, for religion, for love . . .”
“I’ll bet that caused some talk around the old Yacht Club.”
“Don’t you know it? Well, from what I can gather, people from other places like Boston and New York thought he was avant-garde, but people here didn’t understand what he saw in Gullah life that was worth writing about. So, it’s safe to say that he was controversial.”
“You got a picture of him?”
“Yeah, a bunch. In fact, there’s one in the front room. Come on, I’ll show you and then let’s call it a night. I’ll help you take your stuff upstairs.”
We put our glasses in the sink and rinsed them.
“What’s this room?” Patti said.
“That bedroom? Oh, that’s where their help slept and supposedly that’s the desk he used to write Mamba’s Daughters.”
“Humph.”
“Yeah, that’s what I say, too. Come in here and look at this.”
I turned on the extra lights in the front room and turned out the lights behind us and pointed to a picture of DuBose with George and Ira Gershwin.
“That’s him,” I said.
“He looks like a total wimp,” Patti said.
“Well, there was talk . . .”
“That what? He was gay?”
“There was that rumor but I don’t think so. I think he was just a gold-digging, self-promoting, opportunistic, arrogant ass and also a total wimp.”
“Oh! That’s it? But not gay.”
“I don’t think so. But who knows?”
“Who cares?” Patti said.
“Not me.”
“But you have to wonder what she saw in him?”
“That’s easy. He had a name. And he belonged somewhere. She was as smart as a whip, an orphaned vagabond, and she wanted a life in the theater on the other side of the footlights.”
“Like you?”
“No, she was totally amazing. I’m just a sniveling novice. But you see, DuBose could give her all of that. But here’s the part I’ll never understand.”
“What?”
“She adored him. She absolutely adored him.”
“She must have. Aunt Daisy always said there was a lid for every pot. Gershwin died young, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, very. Thirty-eight. So did DuBose.”
“Really? How old?”
“Fifty-five. Massive heart attack.”
“And she never remarried?”
“Nope. She canonized DuBose instead. She spent the entire rest of her life protecting his name and making sure he got all the credit he was due.”
“Now that’s love.”
“That’s what I think, too. Come on, I’ll even