My Stories

A Gift From Aunt Eleanor

My brood: Eleanor, Lauren, Ted, and Stewart; and me wearing the Abercrombie & Fitch camel's hair jacket Aunt Eleanor gave me.

Aunt Eleanor sat at the breakfast table in the tiny garden of her garden of her 65th Street apartment.  She held the New York Times above her plate as she perused it, looking for a subject for her daily column.  Her two Scotties were sprawled on the cool bricks at her feet.  I passed through the French doors to join her in the garden.  Before every outdoor meal, the white cast-iron table had to be wiped clean of the particles that settled out of the city air, but it was worth it to be out of doors.
    The cook brought us tea as well as fresh raspberries that had been sent down from Val-Kill.  Hyde park honey stood in a container on the table, to be dribbled on the berries if we wanted it.  Eleanor often ordered a soft-boiled egg, and just as often I joined her.  She always made toast herself at the table and did so as we discussed plans for the day.  She had a number of appointments to attend to in the morning, so Tubby would drop me off on the way to any address I chose.  That day I wanted to go downtown.  I would walk back up to 65th Street along Fifth Avenue and study store windows and city buildings and people, and perhaps go over to Madison Avenue to look in galleries on the way.
    After breakfast, she went over her mail, wrote her column, and then we left.  She wore dark, tailored clothes in the city and good-looking walking shoes.  Gloves and a hat finished the costume, which was appropriate for anything from a dentists appointment to an interview at CBS.  When we paused at a red light, Aunt Eleanor asked Tubby to pull over to the curb, then said to me, “Why don’t you go on in Abercrombie’s.  I have an account there.  Here’s my card.  Buy yourself a present and charge it to me.  There must be something that you need, that would be useful to you.”
    I have seldom had a nicer invitation than that one.  I went into the store feeling as if, indeed, I could buy myself something there.  Needless to say, it took much investigation and consideration.  Sports goods, sporty clothes, a magical tour of many possibilities.  The choice gradually narrowed down to one object I had long dreamed of wearing: a camel’s hair sports jacket with two patch pockets and two buttons.  Soft and warm and handsome.
    I carried it all the way up Fifth Avenue and showed it to Aunt Eleanor at lunchtime.  I wore the coat until the lining was in tatters, the fabric was wearing thin, and the pockets were falling off.

A Sampling of Cooks

Marge and Les with their daughter at Val-Kill

    Aunt Eleanor was an inspired leader in the fight to rectify social inequalities.  She freely admitted that the impetus for her action came from participating in an actual situation, from talking to people, not from reading about a problem or from statistics.  She saw U.S. prison camps in the Pacific theater during the war.  She traveled in the South to see firsthand the conditions of African Americans and poor whites.  She traveled everywhere: India, Isreal, Russia, Europe, and wherever she went, she talked to people.  Her sympathy grew from actual contact.
    At home, she thought about all the aspects of what she had learned and then, typically, turned her observations into action.  Being the president’s wife had given her influence, and she used it.  And although she had feared that after Uncle Franklin’s death she might no longer be heard, instead she became known as First Lady of the World.
    She had a staff of servants at her cottage, as did her contemporaries in elegant mansions along the Hudson River.  The dowagers had servants who had grown up in the household, and often, by the 1950’s, the lady of the house and her cook were equally arthritic, and neither one of them could climb the stepladder to change a light bulb.  But at Val-Kill Cottage, the household throbbed with life and activity.  Today, some might regard the hiring of refugees and minorities as exploitation, but when Aunt Eleanor did it, it was considered progressive.  She hired with little regard as to whether they were competent at their job; the main consideration was that they needed one.
    For several years, my summer visits to Val-Kill introduced me to a new staff obtained through an employment agency in New York City.  Cooks, in particular, changed regularly.  Either they found life in the country too quiet or they simply didn’t know how to cook.  Sadie, for instance, served raw sausages with the coiled eggs at breakfast, and with an impressive carving knife threatened every child who approached the kitchen.
    And then there was Daisy.  One night, when the only sound should have been bullfrogs chorusing the pond and the humid breeze stirring the maple leaves, I awoke to a faint keening sound.  Curious, I got out of bed and went exploring.
    By Aunt Eleanor’s bedroom door, Daisy was on her knees, rocking back and forth, repeating a chant.  She stopped as I approached and said, “Oh, she is a great woman, a great, great woman.  I protect her.”  She let me persuade her to return to her room.
    Irene spoke little English and feared the Gestapo might be at the door.  She tried hard to focus on my aunt’s instructions, but in her constant state of fear found that difficult, and on occasion put loose tea in the coffee percolator.
    Inez had a lovely smile and graciously complied with every request.  She ironed clothes as meticulously as she decorated platters of food.  She felt uneasy walking with my aunt along a city street, however, as though her upbringing had defined her position in society such that she should not walk beside a white woman.  Unfortunately for the household, when Inez’s husband earned his university degree, the couple moved on.
    Of course my aunt was thrilled for Inez and her family, but once again the question of household help confronted her.  And once again she would consult with Tommy, her self appointed watchdog as well as secretary.  Tommy had long been disturbed by the constant turnover of household help.  She finally suggested to her boss that they abandon the city employment agency and hire local help.  Aunt Eleanor agreed and let it be known in the community of Hyde Park that she needed a couple to help her at Val-Kill Cottage.  In this way, Marge and Les Entrup were discovered and subsequently decided to leave their local jobs in order to live in an apartment at Val-Kill and become my aunt’s permanent help.  Hard working, reliable, inventive, and loyal, they remained faithful to my aunt until her death in 1962.

History 1906-

History