The Last Days of Dorothy Parker by Marion Meade

Author:Marion Meade
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2014-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

FERNCLIFF

(1967)

For her half a century as a writer, Dottie was rewarded with the equivalent of a gold watch: a front-page obituary in the New York Times.

DOROTHY PARKER, 73, LITERARY WIT, DIES

The New York Times, Thursday, June 8, 1967, Page 1

By Alden Whitman

Dorothy Parker, the sardonic humorist who purveyed her wit in conversation, short stories, verse and criticism, died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon in her suite at the Volney Hotel, 23 East 74th Street. She was 73 years old and had been in frail health in recent years.

The prominence of the obituary startled some. There were those who found it remarkable because they had thought she was already dead, while others, including a few of her dearest friends, were secretly jealous. Did she really deserve such an honor? After all, she owed her reputation to work first written in the twenties. Had she not been resting pretty much on her laurels lately?

But after the backbiting and the whispers died down, everyone donned their sympathy faces and turned up at Frank E. Campbell’s funeral home. In her will, Dottie had stipulated no funeral service, formal or informal. Reading between the lines allowed for no prayers, blessings, or eulogies, no jibber jabber of any kind. Her scenario, simple as it was efficient, amounted to a suitable farewell for a devout atheist.

Within hours of her passing, however, Lilly lost no time arranging a funeral, small but nice, including the selection of the Gloria Vanderbilt Cooper party outfit as a shroud. Of course there were other friends who might have volunteered – Bea Stewart for one – but once Lilly had accepted responsibility and began issuing orders, the rest backed away. Obviously, as the presumed executor, it was her right, if not her responsibility.

Dashiell Hammett, who had looked upon rituals of any kind with horror, insisted that he did not want a funeral, traditional or otherwise. When he died six years earlier, Lilly dressed him in a tuxedo, delivered a heartfelt eulogy, and buried him in Arlington National Cemetery. Dash just didn’t know he wanted a funeral. Likewise, Dottie’s wishes were of no consequence either. The decisions fell to Lilly who began making phone calls, notified Campbell’s, and saw that the ceremony would be covered by local papers. Decisive as usual, she handled the funeral without emotion.

•

In the days when Dottie first lived at the Volney, in the early fifties, the sight of what seemed like five hundred old ladies under one roof had moved her to a grim thought. What if she died in this Madame Tussauds? The passenger elevator was too narrow to accommodate a gurney, and the service elevator was used to collect trash. The hotel, she told Quentin Reynolds, a journalist also living there, really ought to construct a chute between one of its upper floors and Campbell’s, several blocks away. It was the ideal solution. “We’d arrive in good condition and the trip would take a minute.”103 Prophetically, she did indeed die at the Volney, and her body did indeed go to Campbell’s.

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