August 31, 1983

Dear Alice died 31 years ago today and I often wonder what she would think of me delving, prodding and slowly uncovering the story of Alice Antoinette DeLamar.  Thirty one years ago today she was in Norwalk Hospital,largely alone except for a few visitors (chauffeur Charles being one of them) and then the waiting, dehydration and dizziness that prevailed.  Did she wonder what would happen to her large collection of photo albums, clippings, journals and the manuscript? Did she wonder who would look after her beloved cats, roses, pools and Lucia?  Did she wonder if anyone would have the nerve and sleuth-instinct to be able to piece together her story enough to publish a book and uncover the source who singlehandedly funded and supported famous painters, writers, choreographers, ballerinas, sculptors and fashion designers of the Midcentury? How directly would she approve or disapprove?  It goes without saying what I would trade for a chance to have a sit-down alongside the Weston kitchen table, Diane preparing aspic and sardines in the background, pouring glasses of chilled Pinot Grigio, the Connecticut summer sun setting earlier than usual given the Labor Day weekend, and Alice looking me in the eye ever so briefly, then turning away as she nonchalantly declared, “Let’s move out to the terrace where we’ll have some privacy and I can tell you the real story…”   Signature

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One Response to August 31, 1983

  1. We are longtime Weston residents and bought some of her first editions of Gertrude Stein’s books, etc at the Library Sale. We have come across her name in lesbian circles in Paris and Weston and would love to meet up for a drink if you are in the area.

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