Rachel Ate Ecargots!: Learning More About Who Henry Van Dyke Was.

 

1970

November 3, 1962

 

How foolish one felt learning that he'd published four novels, not three. How sad, to know of his last year's struggle, expressing the desires of an undiminished brilliant intellect via the restrictive confines of a failing body, ravaged by old age, impaired by disease. It was enlightening when David Kaufmann spoke of his preference for tackling Scriabin's most difficult pieces. But, by far the most delicious intelligence was an announcement, that as soon as publisher can be identified, a candidly-revealing and hilarious collection of Henry's famous friend's profiles is in store!  All this, and a most superb celebratory brunch afterward, in Harlem, at Cedrick, make me quite happy that I attended Henry's memorable memorial service.

 

Bitterly cold, Sunday morning was not such a great time to be roaming about, close to the East River. But it was the appointed moment to bid our friend Henry Van Dyke 'goodbye', and so dutifully, off we went. We, was my friend, Thomas Wirth, the historian, who had once lunched with Henry at my place. Ill with a cold, wonderful Willard Winter, who in the late 1930's came from Boston to New York to design the most smashing hats, called to say, he dared not come after all. It was Willard who in 2006 had brought Henry along to lunch in the first place.  So I was sad he couldn't join in celebrating Henry's remarkable life, but I understood his absence too. Thank goodness, no sooner did we learn that Henry had died, that we met at the Red Rooster to grab a bite and to toast our friend. What ought one to drink in honor of Henry Van Dyke, Esquire, the fashion plate, connoisseur and exceptional writer? A generous, very dry Martini, of course! Chipps Channon wrote in his diary that he mixed in Benzedrine with the gin, "I find it really makes a party go...", he boasted. Henry, seeking subtler results, found very chilled Vodka with an olive and a whisper of 'Vermouth' the perfectl recipe for maximum joviality.

 

Thomas Wirth, Nugent scholar and cultural historian.



1950

 



Celebrating Henry at the Red Rooster with wonderful Willard Winter!

 

 





 

 

 

 

 

Carl Van Vechten, Paul Meers, Patricia Neal, Bobby Short, Alvin Ailey, Gore Vidal, none of Henry's household-name friends was in attendance. Most have predeceased him. Predictably, attractive and articulate, a teacher, an engineer, an architect an executive, Henry's sisters, his nieces and nephews, were there though. From them we learned, that quite apart from a passion to play the piano for the exhilaration of it, whenever he could, Henry, as a teenager, had actually aspired to become a concert pianist.  "Every night he practiced, so we were always serenaded to sleep with Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff...", said his second sister.  "The passion for piano, being two young black. gay and gifted men trying to make it in New York in the 1950's, that was what drew Henry and Bobby Short together..." explained his architect nephew, Eric. It was Eric, who I hadn't seen since we were graduate  students at Columbia, nor even realized was Henry's relation, who orchestrated the proceedings.  "Marvelous! Do you know you are absolutely marvelous? " Henry once, apropos of no particular incident, said at family dinner to his niece . "He realize how valuable it was to hear. Everyone should be told, sometime, that they are "absolutely marvelous!" , Henry's niece said, adding, "as long as he lived I received a book on every birthday".    







 

Carl Van Vechten 

 



Paul Meers

Patricia Neal



Bobby Short

 

Alvin Ailey

 


Gore Vidal





Rachel with Henry's family.


Henry's second sister and her handsome engineer son.









Henry's architect nephew, Eric. 

 

Old friends 

About a dozen or so long-time friends were present.  Several attested to similar encouragement. Some had known Henry since birth. I knew him for a scant 7 years. Yet we were all of us touched by him somehow, in a way that was, lovely, joyous and hopeful.





 

 

 




Rachel, for example, had gained Henry as a pal because he was a great friend of her mother's.  She told how each year, on her birthday, starting when she was just 10, Henry, her 'Uncle Mame', would take her out to lunch. "Have whatever you like." he'd instructed her magnanimously. "At our very first lunch, Henry had tried to dissuade my choice. I asked for snails and I was firm. From the first bite, I loved them!  Well, when we got back home, you should have heard Henry, beaming with delight. 'Rachel had escargots!', he crowed. As if I'd won the National Spelling Bee, he talked of it for weeks afterward, with utter awe and wonderment!"

 

 

 


Whether teaching from the piano bench, from a desk at Kent State University, perched on a stool in a saloon, or through highly insightful writing, it was this sophisticating influence that made Henry Van Dyke so admired. The world is filled with an immeasurable amount of varied refinement and delight. Henry Van Dyke was 'absolutely marvelous' about sharing such unfamiliar or obscure pleasures with initiates. If we were wise we were willing and excited to learn more. How we will miss him. 

Comments

[Edward]

what a relief to find this wonderful report published! The New York Times only ran the family's paid notice of Henry Van Dyke's death. Four novels published with major NY houses -- Farrar, Straus, and Norton -- that's not enough to qualify a black author for an obit? thanks, Michael! and thanks for publishing our photos as 'two friends' -- we're edward field and neil derrick.

[Michael Henry Adams, Style and Taste!]

thank you so much for your kind response, I hope you also saw my earlier post. Who Was Henry Van Dyke?