Butterfly in the Typewriter (3 page)

And outside the hospital walls, the old Crescent City carried on its weekend merriment under a full moon of a clear, cool night. Like any Friday night in New Orleans, people wandered the streets and alleyways of the French Quarter. Brassy songs of jazz played everywhere from the “Negro night clubs” to the Blue Room at the upscale Roosevelt Hotel. Patrons dined on oysters Rockefeller at Antoine's, while on the streets laborers devoured oyster po'boys. And in view of Jackson Square and the Saint Louis Cathedral, French Market vendors prepared for the late-night revelers and the early risers, both craving
café au lait
and hot beignets. New Orleans was alive with the celebration of music and food. And our artist, John Kennedy Toole, newly born and cradled in his mother's arms, was heir to it all.

R
ising out of a strip of land below sea level and positioned between a flood prone river and the second largest estuary in the United States, New Orleans has always been a city of deep contradictions. In 1930 Herbert Hoover visualized a futuristic New Orleans with a soaring skyline, declaring it “a city of Destiny.” And he echoed the sentiments of French explorer Sieur de Bienville who tried desperately to make his vision of
Nouvelle Orleans
come true after he founded the settlement in 1718. Surely he had doubts a few years later when the Great Hurricane of 1722 swept the settlement away, although he stubbornly rebuilt it. And Hoover must have also paused before uttering his words so soon after the devastating flood of 1927. Indeed, New Orleans has never done well conforming to an idea or a particular vision. But somehow it lives on as an impossible city, fighting the sinking earth beneath its feet, the waters that want to fill its streets, and the people that have undermined its enterprise from poorly constructed levees to corruption at every level, from mob bosses to mayors.

And Toole was born at a time when New Orleans was making great strides in its efforts to reinvent itself. Neither Hoover nor Bienville would have anticipated that this city of destiny would bet its economic future on a reflection of its past. While cities across the country strived to present the newest and most modern innovations, New Orleans went the opposite direction. Prominent businessmen harnessed the city's unique cultural heritage, repackaged it for tourists, and marketed it throughout the country. By 1938 Mardi Gras had expanded from a local
celebration of social elites to “a national holiday celebrated in the unique city of New Orleans.” The rundown French Quarter or
Vieux Carré
, once considered a blight on the city, was well on its way toward revitalization through preservation and restoration of its European charm. Strip clubs began setting up on Bourbon Street, echoing the indulgent past of the famous red light district, Storyville. And in February 1938, New Orleans celebrated, with great fanfare, the release of
The Buccaneer
, Cecil B. DeMille's film based on Jean Lafitte and the Battle of New Orleans. A year later, the battlefield where Toole's ancestor had fought so valiantly became a national park. With a gilded mirror positioned toward the city's past, and its deep-seeded sense of isolation, New Orleans began its love affair with itself.

But the visitor beheld only an intended version of the city. A tourist in the late 1930s was presented a kaleidoscopic parade of decadent fare and subservient African Americans, a mask that glossed over the city's intricate texture. The New Orleanians of Toole's generation grew up with a unique awareness of the many layers of the city, an awareness that the true city lies underneath the surface where one finds a complex patchwork, a city of cultural divisions carved out of the various neighborhoods, distinguished through accent, mannerisms, and worldviews. Bobby Byrne, a friend of Toole's, described the genesis of modern New Orleans as “a whole set of little places that eventually coalesced. And you have different attitudes” in each of these places. Of course, only the native would be sensitive to the characteristic differences.

So while John and Thelma had come from the Faubourg Marigny to settle in Uptown, from the Uptown perspective they would always be “downtown people.” And downtown people, Bobby Byrne explained, are “all a little mad . . . some of them are really downtown mad . . . intensely private and intensely nosey.” Thelma would, of course, contest. She always maintained that while she grew up among the “hot-blooded Italians” and “lowlifes” she never mingled with them. Citing her father's position as a clerk of court, she distinguished her family with its proud cultural heritage. While she observed and impersonated the “dagos yelling at each other” in their raspy voices, she always considered herself superior to them. “We had wicker rockers . . . two pianos in the house . . . and we always had maids!” she declared. According to Byrne, no matter how cultured or dignified she presented herself, the mores of
New Orleans took precedence. At least her son would have all the benefits of high society, and she would share with him the stories of the characters of the old neighborhood. Indeed, Kenny's upbringing in Uptown sophistication with the inescapable dose of “downtown madness” likely propelled him to seek out the unique neighborhoods, looking to observe and understand New Orleanians. He would discover his city behind the mask, delving into all its complexity by way of observing its people. And while he would roam about the town and eventually throughout the country, Uptown was always his home.

So in the final days of 1937, John and Thelma brought their precious Kenny home. They enjoyed the wonderment of their newborn child in their house at 1128 Webster Street next to Audubon Park. They celebrated a memorable first Christmas, with a huge tree and newly purchased European ornaments. A few weeks later he was baptized in the Catholic Church at Loyola University. In the late spring of 1938, the extended Toole family spent an afternoon together at the park. There his father, aged but proud, held his smiling Kenny boy high in the air, up to the sun. It appears the child had entered into a warm family embrace.

But neither the new home nor the joyful celebrations could merge the rift that had formed between John and Thelma. For reasons unclear, she took issue with the entire Toole family. Publicly, she never questioned the talents of her husband, claiming him the best of the Tooles, but privately she judged that he had never lived up to his potential. “He could have been a professor,” she remarked. And his decision to leave his steady job of managing a parts department in order to sell automobiles, shortly after they were married, always bewildered her. While he enjoyed some loyal clients at the car dealership, Thelma lamented that he was a fool with money, always claiming herself the main breadwinner in the home. But where Thelma saw foolishness, other people saw integrity. At times, John worked against his own interests as a salesman to follow his moral compass. Before selling an automobile to a walk-in customer, he would often make sure the person could afford it. If a family came into the dealership, and he noticed the children's shoes were worn through, he would dissuade the head of the family from purchasing the vehicle, suggesting they wait a few months to get the new model.

His nephew, Harold Toole Jr., fondly recollects the success of his uncle. From what he saw, John Toole provided well for his family. Harold recalls,

According to Harold, John's clients simply requested a car. Knowing his clients' tastes, John “would choose the style, color, motor, and accessories.” The car was delivered, and with no discussion of price, the client paid for the vehicle and usually offered John “a very handsome tip.”

Thelma recalled different anecdotes of his salesmanship. While he certainly had high-end clients, he was not the shrewdest of businessmen. Perhaps eager for one of those generous tips, on one occasion he took out a personal loan of three hundred dollars to cover the initial down payment on a car for a judge. Days later, Thelma had to go retrieve the money from the judge. To put himself at such financial risk for an affluent client while Thelma raced around town teaching music lessons and tracking down loan obligations, struck her as thoughtless. Of course, her issues with John in regards to money or his career choices may have been indicators of deeper marital problems. In a heated moment at the end of her life, she claimed her husband “never honorably supported his multitalented wife and multitalented son.”

Fortunately for John, children often remain blissfully unaware of the ways of work and money. Regardless of the ebb and flow of his income, John and his son shared a mutual interest in automobiles. From an early age, Toole became infatuated with these works of industrial art—an appreciation that lasted his entire life. Before he was two, he was propped in the driver's seat of the family car for a picture. His hands on the wheel, he turned his head toward the camera, ready to hit the road. On his first trip out of New Orleans, he accompanied his father to Lansing, Michigan, the home of the Oldsmobile factory. At the age of two years, he could identify different makes of motorcars as they drove by: “Cadillac, Oldsmobile, Packard, La Salle, Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge, Plymouth, Studebaker, Buick, Pontiac”—he could name them all. And when he was only five years old, in either an over-eager or oddly oblivious
moment, John allowed him to drive around the block in the family car. When Thelma spotted her angel rounding the corner, his eyes just above the steering wheel, peering out of the windshield, she was furious. But her reprimands did not quell the shared love of automobiles between father and son.

And, yet, aside from their interest in cars, John and his Kenny boy never seemed to form a close bond. “Thelma wouldn't allow it,” claimed Harold. But Thelma once cryptically mused in an interview, John “had other interests.” For the formative years of Toole's life, his father often sought escape away from the home. And while Toole never lost his affection for automobiles, perhaps an aspect of his father he could appreciate, in his early years his mother was his guide and his mentor.

Thelma cherished her son. After his birth she decided to work only three days a week in order to spend as much time as possible with him. On the days she worked, a nanny named Beulah Mathews would look after the young boy, until Thelma, eagerly returning home from work, arrived at the door. On her days off, Thelma and Kenny would spend hours strolling through Audubon Park. She was the only white woman, as she recalled, pushing her child in his stroller; the Uptown women, she commented, would never be seen doing the job of a domestic. And, after a full day out at the park, he still pleaded for Thelma to read to him, often staying up until 11 p.m., immersed in a world of stories. He required at least two hours of reading every night. Most nights, Thelma entertained his demands, but when exhausted from miles of walking in the park, she handed the responsibility over to his father. And even as she found many faults in John, she warmly recollected his poor, dramatic interpretation of fictional voices and how patiently he responded to their son's curiosity.

Thelma also exposed Kenny to the cultural riches of their city, the aspects of New Orleans he did not see in Uptown. “What he didn't know about New Orleans,” she claimed, “I told him—Santa Battaglia—the brawls and that hot Italian blood. I told him of that colorful neighborhood where I grew up, the magnificence of my culture, which I gave to him.” Thelma also exposed him to the refined aspects of New Orleans culture. He attended his first Mardi Gras Ball at the Roosevelt Hotel when he was two years old. He had an annual portrait taken of him in his Mardi Gras costume. And at the age of five when he
came home one day from school “humming the first four measures of ‘Habanera,'” a song his teacher had played in class, Thelma recognized his “keen ear.” She told him the aria was from
Carmen
and a few days later took him to see Bizet's famous opera of Spanish romance at the Municipal Auditorium. From hearing the stories of New Orleanians yelling from the stoops of shotgun homes in the Marigny to attending operas and participating in a royal Mardi Gras court in one of the finest hotels in the South, Toole was introduced to culture as a vast spectrum of class, race, and experience.

He also exhibited a remarkable speed of intellectual development. From an early age, he showed exceptional ability in observation and expression. He once described the voice of a little girl he met at a party as “silver clanging.” And one night when his mother shut off the light to his room he commented, “This darkness is darker than garden soil.” Such remarks charmed his mother. Entering kindergarten at the age of four, he declared he would please his teacher. And he did so throughout his education.

However, at the end of his first year he had not met the required age of five, so he was not recommended to the first grade. The idea of him repeating kindergarten when he had demonstrated the intellectual ability to progress unsettled Thelma. She appealed to the superintendent, citing her son's talents, and he was finally allowed to continue to the first grade at McDonogh 14 School. After one month, he came home complaining that he “wasn't learning anything.” The curriculum was too simplistic for him. So his mother made an appointment with the school psychologist to have him tested.

In preparation for the test, Kenny's father spent hours every day working with him on math. Finally, the day of the test came. He went into a closed room with a psychologist, while Thelma waited outside. She had presumed his strength would be in language arts, but to her surprise he showed exceptional strength in math. And he had scored 133 on the IQ test, with a 160 being the category of genius. But the psychologist, Thelma claimed, said his score “would have been higher” except he became bored with the test and he stopped talking. “I'll tell you why he stopped talking to you,” Thelma replied. “He was observing you.” His mother often explained how his “great asset” was “studying people and observing everything keenly.” The young boy found people far
more intriguing than any tests of the intellect. The psychologist recognized him as an unusually bright and perceptive child, although he was not classified as a genius. However, the request for advancement was approved. And at the age of five, when most children are still in kindergarten learning to read and count, Toole entered the second grade.