The Tender Hour of Twilight_Paris in the '50s, New York in the '60s_A Memoir of Publishing's Golden Age by Richard Seaver

Author:Richard Seaver [Seaver, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Biography
ISBN: 9781429949897
Goodreads: 13165873
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2012-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

Left to right: Richard Seaver; Nat Sobel, Richard Seaver, Barney Rosset, and Morrie Goldfischer

Part Two

New York, 1960s

Left to right: Richard Seaver and Samuel Beckett; Allen Ginsberg, Richard Seaver, Jeannette Seaver, Jean Genet, and William Burroughs

26

America the Beautiful

FIVE DAYS LATER, at rosy-fingered dawn, our ship pulled within sight of New York harbor. Up early, my French bride rushed on deck, where I found her overwhelmed at the sight of the skyline. Her impressions of America were based largely on American movies, and now, the skyscrapers growing larger as we approached, the reality of that new American life ahead left her numb. Flanked by tiny tugboats, we edged our way up the Hudson, our slow passage offering glimpses of deteriorating and half-empty docks, for the days of the luxury liners were already numbered, and, below the elevated West Side Highway, a scattering of tawdry buildings that, I knew, would soon dispel Jeannette’s Hollywood image of New York. But all she registered at that moment were the soaring peaks of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building thrusting their spires defiantly into the pale blue sky.

My parents had driven down from northern Connecticut to meet us. On the dock far below I saw them waving, eager to meet my new soul mate.

I had not seen either of my parents for almost three years. Father was unchanged, but Mother seemed older, her prim hair grayer, her face paler than I remembered. But they were all smiles, hugs, and kisses, and I could see from the glances they exchanged that they heartily approved of my life choice. Jeannette had been studying English, enough to make the formal greetings and to respond to their questions with brief but often poetic replies, delivered with a wonderful Gallic accent. Father was obviously smitten. Mother, innately warm but by nature reserved, was a trifle slower to accept her new daughter-in-law, but once she did, the two bonded deeply forever.

We loaded our baggage into Father’s boatlike Cadillac, a 1953. “Mon Dieu,” Jeannette whispered as she climbed into the backseat, “c’est aussi grand que notre studio à Paris!” Good Lord, it’s as big as our Paris studio!

We set off along the West Side Highway, the towers of New York to our right, the broad Hudson to our left, the lights of the George Washington Bridge before us, and headed toward Connecticut. Mesmerized, Jeannette was moving her head from left to right. Father, usually reticent, was babbling on, identifying each landmark, reminiscing about Paris, even lapsing into a few words and phrases of French. I sensed he was excited and pleased.

When her steak was served at the Red Coach Grill, Jeannette exclaimed: “Mais c’est un rosbif entier!” her eyes bulging—it’s a whole roast beef! By her postwar European optic, that portion was more than enough to feed an entire French family. Father told her not to worry, the rest would be wrapped in tinfoil and taken along in what was called a doggie bag. I translated literally. “Lucky American dogs. You

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