Grace Paley: A Personal Story

Despite her popularity on the reading and lecture circuit, Grace Paley, the great short story writer and poet who died Aug. 22. at age 84, handled her own correspondence and for many years even her own personal appearances without benefit of a booking agent.

When I wrote her a letter of appreciation and invited her to read in Hallwalls' Fiction Diction Series in 1983, I was stunned to receive her handwritten response, which included an unlisted phone number.

I dialed the number and found myself speaking to a woman who sounded like a slightly more focused and cerebral version of one of my great aunts. She was a whole lifetime wiser than me, but gracious enough not to call attention to the fact.

When I asked her about coming to Buffalo, she wanted to know more about Hallwalls and the brilliant young photographer Cindy Sherman (Hallwalls’ co-founder).  Sherman and her gender role exploring "Untitled Film Stills" were then the talk of Manhattan. Grace had been to one of her shows.   "Were there more artists like Sherman in Buffalo?" she asked. 

"Uh, we're all like that up here," I lied. "This town is a regular Salon de Refuses," I stammered, which was not all that far from the truth.  She laughed.

"Now how about Leslie Fiedler and Robert Creeley, will they be there?" she asked.  "I'll make a point of inviting them personally," I promised.   "Alright then, cover my expenses and I'll be there," she said.  "How does the first week of April sound to you?"

"Great," I said, "our snow should be melted by then." 

"That's too bad. You know, we never get any snow at all here in the hills of Vermont," she said dryly, referring to the farmhouse she lived in with her husband Robert Nichols, when she wasn't at her Manhattan apartment.  My turn to laugh.

Since I had promised to drive her and Nichols up to see Niagara Falls before the evening reading, we spent most of afternoon cruising the Niagara Parkway in my garish, fire-engine red Chrysler K car with the cheap vinyl seats.  Whenever I made a sharp turn in that car, my passengers tended to slide right out of their seat belts, owing to my overzealous application of vinyl protectant on the bench-type seats.

I was so embarrassed at chauffeuring one of America's greatest writers around in my tiny econobox that I made a joke about the red "K" on the dashboard standing for "kosher."

“Do you really think that Lee Iacocca would hire a rabbi to oversee production on his assembly lines?” asked Grace.  “Don’t apologize, I wasn’t expecting a limousine.”

It was one of those foggy gray days in early April that Eliot had in mind when he wrote The Waste Land.  When we finally got to the so-called "Honeymoon Capital of the World," the mist was so thick that you could hear the falls, but barely see it.  The view wasn't much better from the Canadian side.  On the drive back to Buffalo, we reminded ourselves of Oscar Wilde's famous dictum about Niagara Falls being "one of the earliest and keenest disappointments in American married life."

“Really?” said Nichols, “I always thought he said it was the second greatest disappointment of married life.” 

“What was the greatest disappointment?” asked Grace, with mock innocence.

“Wilde never said,” Nichols deadpanned, “and neither will I.” 

The 40-minute drive back to Buffalo was like the dramatization of a classic Paley story about a long married couple for whom life was a single ongoing conversation.  “Forget about Wilde,” said Grace, “his wife was disappointed in plenty of ways. What I want to know is how Tolstoy got away with that first sentence of Anna Karenina.”

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way — that sounds like something only a man would write,” she said.  “Did anyone ever bother to ask the women whether or not they were happy?”

“Not Tolstoy,” winked Nichols, “he never had a research assistant.”

The banter went on like that all the way back to Buffalo and through dinner that evening.  When we got to Hallwalls, which back then was in the Theatre District, there were more than 200 people waiting for us.

I corresponded with Paley briefly and very occasionally over the following years, and saw her twice after her initial reading in Buffalo.  The last note I have from her was a “thank you” for a review of her Long Walks and Intimate Talks (a mix of poems and stories) in 1991.

I wouldn't presume to say that I knew her as anything other than an enthusiastic reader, and for one afternoon 24 years ago, as a not very knowledgeable Niagara Falls tour guide. 

Still, if you had the good fortune to meet her, Grace Paley was one of those people you would never forget.

Comments

[Joan Murray]

Bob,
Thanks for inviting us along for a lovely last ride with Grace Paley. You've captured her spirit, her wit and her voice--one of the truest literary voices of our lifetimes. A genius of the heart!
Joan (Murray)

[ryki zuckerman]

mr. pohl!
a lovely memory, so nicely written. i talked with her after one of her readings years ago, and she was gracious, witty, warm, accessible. i love her stories in "enormous changes at the last moment."

the comments by celeste, celia, jennifer, and others were a further embellishment to your story.

[Thom Ward]

Tight, muscular writing Mr.
Bob. Apt for a woman who
who muscled-up the English language for all of us. This little piece is a real gift. Thanks.

[Debora Ott]

Bob,

thank you for sharing this beautifully written story with me.
You are...such a character.
I well remember your quiet intent and panache.
Continues to this day.

xo Debora

[celeste lawson]

Dear Bob,
What a sweet treat of a story! Thank you.

Grace Paley lived her life for all us in many ways. Sadly, we may not even fully understand the magnitude of her gifts until, as writers, we need her courage, and when we try to call it up, we'll panic because there won't be a dial tone. We'll know then, just like she did, a seemingly ordinary moment is actually a major event.

[Celia White]

Grace Paley was one of the finest. I think it was her directness I loved most.

"Any story told twice is fiction," she said; that is a beautiful piece of permission.

[Jennifer Campbell]

A great anecdote, Bob. I love Paley's story "Wants," about a divorced woman whose ex-husband accused her of "never wanting anything." I certainly don't have the impression now that it was autobiographical! And I wonder how Grace Paley would feel about being featured in a 'blog'?

[Lisa Forrest]

Bob-- this is beautifully written and observed...thank you for sharing this experience! Your description of the overly protected vinyl seats made me laugh out loud. See you at Rooftop! All Best, Lisa