CHAPTER 57
IN AUGUST 1937, WHILE AWAITING THE OFFICIAL SEPTEMBER RELEASE of Etiquette’s fourth edition, Emily was saddened to hear that John Russell Pope, Bruce Price’s apprentice and good friend, had died. Because of her father’s clear regard for Pope, Emily had grown even closer to him and to his sister Minga after she lost Bruce, and she’d seen the two frequently. After her father’s death, she had given Pope the portfolios of photographs and drawings he had collected, an assortment he was observed “poring over” in the final months of his illness. Not only had Jack Pope kept vigil at Bruce’s bedside with her and Josephine; he had subsequently steered Emily’s way countless people seeking an interior decorator with a knowledge of architecture to help them design their houses.
Now Jack was gone too, but, thankfully, other traces of her father bespoke a fruitful regeneration. That year, Frank Lloyd Wright would create Fallingwater, a country house in Pennsylvania that many experts, including Vincent Scully, have maintained had its roots in Bruce Price’s Tuxedo Park. Chris Sonne, Tuxedo Park’s historian, also feels certain that Wright worked briefly in the atelier of Bruce Price. Amid Lorillard’s planned community, as a result of the wood and stone and landscaping he used, Emily’s father had made it seem as if nature itself encouraged the rusticated development to flourish. Similarly, Wright’s outwardly organic structure, growing out of trees and a waterfall, was in fact a highly calculated building that managed to convey the absence of design instead.
Visiting with Minga at the end of the summer, Emily confided that even though the fourth edition had not officially been released, Funk and Wagnalls staff claimed that sales figures had risen more than 117 percent over those for the same period the preceding year. Publishers Weekly was sure that “the appeal of the new edition” lay “in the fact that Mrs. Post’s dicta as to correct behavior have undergone great amendment, and have been adjusted to the changing usages in present- day society.” The historical reality driving the sales—the country was pulling out of the Depression, happy to reconsider and reenter the world of etiquette—went unremarked.
In September, Funk and Wagnalls unleashed a massive fusillade to launch the book. The publishers claimed that the company’s advertising campaign for this fall list, “headed by the modernized Etiquette, by Emily Post,” was the “most ambitious in [its] fifty- year history.” Ads would appear in the New York Times Book Review, This Week, the New Yorker, and Bride’s Magazine, and booksellers pledged to display Etiquette in windows and on counters. The Times’ “Book Notes” announced that “Emily Post has completely rewritten her book, ‘Etiquette,’ according to her publishers . . . . The book is now aimed at a wider audience than previously.” Emily’s own favorite work, The Personality of a House, which she had revised slightly in 1933, was reissued simultaneously. Still, though Funk and Wagnalls sporadically marketed the books together, as a package, it was clear that their commitment was to their moneymaker.
A NEW FLUIDITY among the American social classes replaced the strict demarcations of her own past, and Emily welcomed the change. In Etiquette’s 1937 revision, she modified her first chapter’s title, implying her increased discomfort with absolutes. “What Is Best Society?” now became “The Growth of Good Taste in America.” In many instances, she sought to show that a more casual tone had eclipsed the earlier age’s formality. Even when she disliked certain modifications, she emphasized that manners evolve with the times and the citizenry would do best to adapt to change. Something as basic as the matter of introductions had transmuted into a far more reasonable, casual routine, leaving behind the intricate calling cards from her day. Using first names for people outside one’s own circle was still not good form, but “Hello, everybody, this is Sally” was now an acceptable, casual introduction at the local country club or the neighborhood prayer meeting.
These detailed amendments were due in part to Emily’s boredom while confined to bed after her eye surgeries. Even without seeing, she had been able to dictate to her machine, “Suzy,” and she certainly wasn’t about to stay idle. The result was impressively inclusive, taking account of subtle social changes. Women should pay for themselves when on a date, decreed one forthright new prescription—followed immediately with a list of exceptions. Much of the advice had already been incorporated into the second or third edition, such as the sections on “American Neighborhood Customs” (“do exactly as your neighbors do, is the only sensible rule”) and “The Vanished Chaperone and Other Lost Conventions.” Admiring reviewers who compared the fourth edition with the original gave Emily credit for having added these updates all at once.
Some of the changes startled readers more than others. Time magazine noted the ones its reporter found most remarkable:
• Emily Post had been forced to deal with divorce. As she herself noted, “The epidemic of divorce which has been raging in this country for the past 10 or 15 years must be rated with floods, dust- storms, tornadoes and other catastrophes.”
• A man no longer had to pay the check for a woman on every occasion.
• An adult woman could take care of herself. An unmarried girl over eighteen could go unchaperoned to the theater with a man, even to dinner in his apartment—if, the always sensible adviser added, such a move would not agitate her own social circle. The young woman could also take the initiative and invite the man to a game or to the theater. Nor, in the city, did she need to lean fetchingly upon a man’s arm, as if relying on his protection.
• Corn on the cob, one of Emily’s own favorite foods, could now be eaten (neatly) at a formal dinner, using both hands for every ear. Whatever the host preferred, cigarettes at the dinner table were de rigueur, according to the day’s mores. Emily herself admitted that the practice was “an innovation she herself cannot approve,” but when in Rome . . .
• Slang had become progressively more permissible in good society, and nothing was gained from resisting. “O.K.,” “swell,” “divine,” “and how!,” “so what?,” and “you betcha” were expressions Emily had often heard. But mispronunciations were another thing entirely: “colyum,” “ottawobile,” “eggsit,” “tomayto,” and “cult- your” kept people out of good society: there was a titanic difference between deliberate slang and ignorant speech.
Emily had long hammered home the importance of correct speech. As far back as 1931, she had urged her radio audience to reflect upon the “old saying that in spite of a dowdy or otherwise undistinguished appearance, purity of speech proclaims [a lady’s] background or her education to have been one of culture.” After all, learning to speak well did not depend upon wealth or status. But, she continued, “people of imitation elegance who mince their words and strangle their throats and enunciate too precisely, almost invariably break the worst tabu of all, which is that of pretentiousness.” She added, “By the way, do not confuse illiteracy with accent”—of which the country contains countless varieties, “north, east, south and west. Some of them have distinction, some are charming, some are distorted, and some are just ugly—but none (not even these last) are illiterate.” In 1937, her pet peeve remained pretentious circumlocutions; the use of “permit me to assist you” instead of “let me help you” made the otherwise forgiving author shudder.
THE REVIEWS WERE RESPECTFUL if at times more grudging than in years past, as though some of the journalists were annoyed that a writer could devote serious energy to a subject they believed to be trivial. Impatient reporters scoured the book for missteps, statements they could genially ridicule as daffy or outdated. A longtime supporter from the Washington Post was perplexed that Emily insisted on four table settings, regardless of the number of people expected for dinner. Presumably, Emily’s advice was motivated by her belief in being prepared. Often she and Katharine Collier dined together in their adjacent New York apartments, and having places already set waylaid any sense of discomfort on the part of a sudden guest and allayed inconvenience for the servants, their well- being always a consideration for Emily.
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bsp; In yet another friendly though condescending notice, the Post published a small essay, “Why We Behave,” which led with a loaded sentence: “Thomas Wolfe and Margaret Mitchell might as well give up. For when it comes to turning out reams of copy, Emily Post makes them look like pikers.” The writer explained that Emily had beat her own record, with this latest etiquette tome boasting 860 pages, compared to its immediate pre -decessor of “a mere 723.”
Time magazine had begun its review of the revised edition by claiming that etiquette was in fact a game in which everyone was trying to one- up the neighbors. Emily Post, in reality “a prosperous businesswoman,” was, in the end, just like Samuel Johnson—he the “first great English lexicographer,” she the “first great lexicographer of U.S. manners, . . . imposing many of her personal prejudices as rules for contemporary and future generations to follow.” Gratuitously trotting out the details of Emily’s divorce, which turned her into a “comely divorcee somewhat in need of cash,” the Time writer downgraded her significance into the “autocrat of U.S. etiquette.” She had assumed this role, he surmised, by virtue of the “6,000 questions a week which pour in upon her from millions who have never seen Newport or Park Avenue.” Irrationally, the reviewer disdained the idea of commoners outside of society or beyond the rungs of higher education turning to an insider to find out how they might get in too.
In fact, what sometimes seemed her natural inclusiveness, enveloping dissimilar readers and wide-ranging subjects, was proving among Emily’s most remarkable strengths. Relentlessly, according to her grandson, she sought the opinions of everyone around her, “cabdrivers, house servants, socialite friends she lunched with, personnel she met through her radio or newspaper business.” On society’s behalf, as her personal mandate, she had, over the years, honed her powers of observation until they were almost preternaturally alert to nuances of change.
That September she wrote in her newspaper column of being surprised at the reemergence of the afternoon tea party among the young co gno -scenti. She believed that such a seemingly trivial event reflected a significant cultural shift. As she described it:
Not everywhere—but certainly in the majority of American communities—the invitation “Will you come in for a cocktail?” outnumbers every other. And yet there is no question at all that the trend of the moment—I am perfectly serious—is back to tea! I am not writing about people of yesterday; as far as I can see, they are not changing. I am writing of the youngest and the most fashionable of this modern day. By this I do not mean that cocktail parties are not given by the smartest and youngest, but I do mean that there is a decided return to popularity of the old- fashioned five o’clock tea table—muffins, crumpets, strawberry jam, and all.
By the time Prohibition ended, Emily explained, it had become quaint to ask anyone over for “a cup of tea.” Paradoxically, when alcohol was forbidden, hard liquor was all that was served at chic parties; if a guest didn’t want to drink, she or he had to go without. Rarely were substitutes offered. Once liquor was legal again, orange and pineapple juice, as well as tomato juice seasoned with lime, celery salt, and pepper, became newly chic—as did tea. Now the recently alcohol- saturated “horse’s neck,” which back in the 1910s had been just a tumbler of ginger ale with long lemon twists, could fashionably return to its nonalcoholic roots. People no longer felt compelled to drink—not even the ubiquitous import Dubonnet, newly popular among the social set—because, once again, they had a choice.
Answering the confused queries filling her in- box, Emily instructed women in how to serve tea. Assuming that young children probably accompanied the hostess and her women guests during their afternoon visits, she suggested ways such a group could take turns caring for the youngsters, teaching children in the process a gentle etiquette for visiting among themselves. She urged the mothers to encourage the oldest child to take over the “host” role and to supervise the cookies and milk, allowing the children to feel worthy and important and providing their mothers a well- deserved break; meanwhile their offspring painlessly learned good manners.
INCREASINGLY IN DEMAND as a radio spokesperson for major marketing campaigns, Emily Post began telling Americans how to get more out of life while they grew healthier in the process. By 1937 she had received enough offers for sponsorship that she could pick and choose. She opted to talk about ways to become stronger, physically and mentally, through one’s diet and one’s attitude, a combination she had long wanted to discuss on the air. In September, Emily began commanding a twice- weekly fifteen- minute spot, a six- month radio show sponsored by the Florida Citrus Commission on New York City’s WABC, heard nationally. Her talks not only helped Florida oranges outsell those from California, at least according to her typed notes, but were greeted by an amazing number of letters that shared a common theme—a family’s modest budget and queries about how, with such limited resources, to “get the most out of life.”
Emily was impressed by the earnestness of her fans. “Every letter strengthens my faith in the basic goodness of human nature. In every question I read a sincere desire for those intrinsic qualities which mark the person of taste and cultivation,” she wrote. Her listeners frequently asked her about social change and its impact on the mores of the young, a subject always dear to her heart. “There is nothing new in the fact that youth is the backbone of our nation—it always has been; it always must be,” she said. “Don’t worry when you hear laments against modern youth. Youth is far better prepared to face the new problems of a changing world than are those who would be its teachers. Do all you can to encourage—never discourage—and never try to force any one into a pattern chosen by you.”
She herself had found endorsing Florida citrus an easy fit because it was an obviously beneficial, nourishing product—and, she explained, because she could honestly vouch for the grapefruit- centered diet, which she had tried more than once herself. Smaller, more frequent portions, fresh vegetables and fruit (no dressing), and grapefruit juice or grapefruit as often as you want: those were her recommendations for losing weight. She also urged her readers to exercise, not mentioning that she herself rarely managed to do so. “Unused muscles often become flabby, and it is important to prevent this if you want to look trim, slim, youthful and attractive,” she advised.
Still, in spite of the commission’s emphasis on nature’s bounty, Emily, almost defiantly, promoted even more strongly the importance of financial stability over any produce on the market: “The happiness of every family is dependent on financial solvency. It does not matter what your income is, if you can live within it you are rich—if you go beyond it, you are bankrupt.”
OCTOBER ENDED WITH a large display ad for the new edition in the New York Times: “Today, As Always EMILY POST is the supreme authority on MANNERS—good taste, not only in the things we do and say—but in the things we think and are,” it boasted. The following month, among dozens of prominent speakers at Rockefeller Center’s New York Times National Book Fair, Emily’s appearance merited a headline in the New York Post: “Etiquette Author Tells of Her Woes.” The article reported on her attempts to adapt conventions to modern behavior, noting that she had written five million words on the subject in the last fifteen years. Emphasizing how much she disliked the word etiquette because of its unfairly high- toned attitude, Emily pulled out her old saw. Telling people what fork to use held no interest for her, she said. After all, she was as likely to pick up the wrong utensil as her neighbor, for two reasons: she was absentminded and nearsighted. As for propping your elbows on the table at dinner? “It really makes no difference,” she answered airily.
The interviewer, hoping for less sanguine copy, was clearly taken aback at Mrs. Post’s unwillingness to indict the day’s behavior. This maven of etiquette, rather than deploring recent changes, considered herself “the living record of the change in manners and customs.” She even chuckled over intriguing new questions that had arisen. More surprising to the reporter, Emily eagerly took credit for expanding societ
y’s boundaries. “Mrs. Post says she feels she has done more to ‘knock down the social walls which used to enclose fashionable society than even Mr. Roosevelt has done,’ ” the reporter noted. Fifteen years ago, Emily claimed, “fashionable society consisted of a small group of people living within the walls of their own selection here in New York, in Boston, Baltimore, London and Paris. They fixed the rules of etiquette and used them as part of their social walls. It became my mission to tell people who did not know the rules what they were.”
As a result of the shift in demographics since 1922, Emily herself had adjusted to a slightly altered role: rather than dictating from above, she said, “I find I have to adapt the conventions to my younger readers.” Acknowledging the power of the postwar adult generation, she declared that they had “taken the bit in their teeth [and] I have been running after them ever since. I can tell that I am still keeping up with them, however, by the letters I receive.” Such attention to generations far younger than her own proved rejuvenating, as the genial woman quizzed the children and grandchildren of her associates and friends, sometimes questioning them openly and occasionally observing them quietly, as if they were invaluable laboratory specimens.
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