At the New Deal Festival with Eleanor Roosevelt, AKA Patty Cooper

Years ago I wrote a picture book about the community built in Arthurdale, West Virginia by Eleanor Roosevelt, her friends, and the U.S. Government as part of the New Deal.  The book didn’t sell because its narrative arc wasn’t quite right. Editors were fascinated by the time period and the history, but my protagonist’s story was not compelling enough. So I am now expanding that shorter work into a chapter book. Why waste all that good research? Why not share a story that has not yet been told?

Recently, I traveled to Arthurdale for their New Deal Festival. I’ve been there before to do research, but this quick trip was to specifically be present at a time when many people who grew up in Arthurdale would return for special activities. Thanks to helpful people at the Arthurdale Heritage Association, I was able to make contacts that would ensure interaction and interviews with the people who, had my fictional character been real, would have grown up with her, attended the same school, lived in the same unique neighborhood.

I flew to Pittsburgh, then drove through beautiful Pennsylvania and West Virginia hills to Arthurdale, population 700. My first event was “Tea With Eleanor,” a lovely event with character actress, and history alive presenter Patty Cooper, portraying Eleanor Roosevelt. Before and after the lunch, I met numerous septuagenarians and octogenarians who had been children in Arthurdale. Several of them began to tell me their memories of life in the 1930s.

For dinner that night I was privileged to attend the Arthurdale Reunion with 150 people, most of whom had graduated from Arthurdale High School between 1935 and 1956 when the school closed. I found it quite moving to see the members of “the class of 19__” stand together. As one man said to me, “I made my best friends here in Arthurdale in second grade, and they are still my best friends.” There was a memorial to those who died in the past year, then I got teary again when everyone stood and sang a rousing round of the Arthurdale School Cheer. I had so much “book learning” about this project, but it was real-life people who touched my heart.

The following day, hundreds of people thronged Arthurdale center for the New Deal Festival.  I was kept busy the entire day interviewing the “former Arthurdale kids.” I’d worried that there wouldn’t be many individuals who would want to take time away from the festivities to talk to a stranger, but I hardly had a break. People sought me out, ready to talk about their childhood experiences. I learned what childhood games they played, how they interacted with Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt, what school was like, and more. The details they shared will make my book more true even though I won’t use anyone’s experiences verbatim. My guess is that as hard as I’ll try to disguise individual experiences, there was enough commonality in growing up in Arthurdale as part of a New Deal project during the Depression, everyone I spoke with will recognize something of their own story.

And when it was time to leave, one woman asked, “Will you come back every year?” I probably looked surprised since I’d already felt as if I might be horning in on their special time together. Imagine how my face changed, then when she added, “Because you’re one of us now.”

I hope I can tell my protagonist’s story in a way that honors the children of Arthurdale, now grandparents and great-grandparents, or already buried in the Arthurdale Cemetary. And I am proud to be “one of” the Arthurdale community.

Like most writers, I read constantly, voraciously, inhaling books the way I scarfed down bags of Red Vines when I was a kid. I briefly savor the last pages of one book, ready to move on to the next offering on my shelf. Some books grab me so that I don’t want to shift loyalty from one author, one title, one world, to the next. Anthony Doerr’s Memory Wall is the rare book that I could almost begin again, start to finish, minutes after I completed the first reading. I will hold off because I read a library copy and want to buy my own Memory Wall so that I can underline the gorgeous writing and meaningful phrases. Terrance Rafferty’s words in The New York Times give a better literary review of the book than I could. Let me just say that Doerr’s book transported me to other times and places, and gave me the privilege of living in people’s heads and hearts in a way that helped me see and understand both our differences and the ways we share the human condition. Doerr’s characters are now part of my life in the way old friends and relatives’ stories are intertwined with my own story. That’s about as much as any book can do for the reader fortunate enough to be touched by a gifted storyteller and wordsmith’s work.

How far would you go to own a book that was important to you?Have you ever coveted another person’s library? Do you have a personal list of books you absolutely must have in your possession? Have you ever felt book lust?

I’ve been reading The Man Who Loved Books Too Much: The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession by Allison Hoover Bartlett. I’ve learned about the world of rare books, book collectors and book thieves and must confess that although I love, love, love books, it never occurred to me to steal one. What I consider to be prizes in my own collection are:

*Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriett Beecher Stowe—I believe mine is an 1899 publication, so it is nothing near a first edition and is not in pristine condition. I love it for the physical beauty of its cover, the detailed endpapers, the signature of the original owner (Mrs. C. Kundert written in graceful script), and for the inside artwork, which is either pen and ink or black and white lithographs.
 

*Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell—a 1940 edition with photos from the movie, originally owned by Eleanor Blattner. Again, not valuable financially, but the memory of sharing that movie with my mother, who had first seen it when it came out in 1939, makes it priceless.

I have never read these versions of the books, but checked out copies from the library. I don’t love them for the plot, literary style, social significance, political correctness (lack thereof!) or what other readers might value.  With me, it’s strictly aesthetic and sentimental. Many of my other favorite books were also purchased at hole-in-the-wall used bookstores that were almost certainly not members of the American Antiquarian Booksellers’ Association that plays such a large role in Bartlett’s book. I could not identify with “the man who loved books too much” and his desperate need to be seen as an educated, well-read gentleman, judged solely on the books he owned. I do know what it means to love books for either their content or context, however, and am grateful for the joy that my own library (which one friend once said was “a mixture of the literary and the trashy”) gives me.

What are the favorite books in your library? Any good stories to tell about how you got them?

         
artwork from UNCLE TOM'S CABIN                               from my edition of GONE WITH THE WIND