1-7ct
FRAMES: A SCRIPT AND SOLO PERFORMANCE
OF SELECTED WRITINGS OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH
THESIS
Presented to the Graduate Council of the
North Texas State University in Partial
Fulfillment of the Requirements
For the Degree of
MASTER OF SCIENCE
By
Angela Latham-Jones, B.A.
Denton, Texas
August, 1986 Latham-Jones, Angela, Frames: A Script and Solo Perfor mance of Selected Writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Master of Science (Communication and Public Address), August, 1986,
141 Pp., 1 table, bibliography, 50 titles.
This thesis explores the writings of Anne Morrow Lind bergh and their potential for oral performance. Lindbergh's life and works are examined, theories of'interpretation are explored, and a solo performance script is compiled from various writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The script was rehearsed and presented so that its effectiveness in oral performance could be evaluated. Both the performer and the audience members attest to the appeal of Lindbergh's writings as literature to be performed orally. TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
LIST OF TABLES ...... iii
Chapter
I. INTRODUCTION...... 1
Statement of the Problem Significance of the Problem Review of Literature Methodology Rationale Plan of Reporting
II. THE LIFE AND WORKS OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH . 25
III. ANALYSIS AND PRODUCTION CONCEPT ..*...... 46
IV. FRAMES: A BIOGRAPHICAL PORTRAIT OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH ...... 72
V. PERFORMANCE AND EVALUATION...... 116
APPENDICES .. *...... 126
BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 137
ii LIST OF TABLES
Table Page
I. Audience Response Survey Results...... 122
iii CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Anne Morrow Lindbergh is a writer known as much, if not more, for her achievements other than writing. This fact does not discredit her writing, it merely indicates the sig nificance of Lindbergh's other achievements. Authoring books was one of several major accomplishments, any of which might be sufficient for a lifetime. This is, no doubt, part of the appeal of her books. In a majority of Lindbergh's writings she speaks directly from her own experience as daughter of a U. S. Ambassador, wife of an American hero, feminist, mother of six children, navigator, and pioneer in aviation. One can scarcely read her books without, in a sense, "meeting" Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Not only do Lindbergh's writings hold much interest as literature to be read silently, but this writer contends that they are also a rich source for interpretive perfor mance. While this may seem a natural assumption, it is not necessarily one. Lindbergh published several volumes of her private writings, primarily diaries and letters. Although many imaginative and emotional elements characteristic of quality literature are present in these works, other aspects of these writings may actually interfere with effective oral performance. For example, a letter from Anne Morrow
1 2
Lindbergh to her sister recounting a day's activities in full may well become tiresome to a listening audience.
Appropriate editing and compilation, however, could turn an otherwise tedious journal entry into an enjoyable listening experience.
This researcher prepared and performed a script using relevant and characteristic selections from the literary contributions of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The process required extensive research of her available writings as well as investigation of contextual information not dis closed in her works. Performance of the script allowed for evaluation of its orality and overall merit. The thesis contributes to the study of interpretation by providing observable evidence (script, performance, and evaluation) that the writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh are appropriate for oral presentation. In addition, the research promotes awareness of and appreciation for the worthy literary efforts of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM
The central focus of this research effort is the com pilation of a script designed especially for oral performance. The specific question posed is: Can a script compiled from the selected writings of Anne Morrow
Lindbergh be presented effectually as oral performance?
Using sources not originally written for a listening audience, primarily Lindbergh's published private writings, 3
a affords a distinctive challenge in creating orality from
literary form. Given that the audience does not have the
opportunity to reread a portion misunderstood or stop the
flow of words to seek clarification, Bowen, Aggertt, and
Rickert express the primary consideration of interpretive
performance:
The ear, however, must perceive meaning the first
time it hears -- perhaps not the whole meaning,
but certainly enough to make the effort satisfying.
We should consider the preferences of the ear,
which are few but assertive (58).
Specifically, the "preferences" are, simplicity as
opposed to complexity and the use of images to enhance sen
sory participation rather than abstract concepts. Also,
dramatic structure is preferable to a chain-like progression
of thoughts (Bowen, Aggertt, and Rickert 58).
The completion of this thesis fulfills the obvious
function of making available an example of scripting for
interpretive performance. Within that overall achievement
are several specific accomplishments, including those
addressed previously and related to the preferences of a
listening audience. The thematic focus of this effort is to
meet these conditions for aural reception of meaning. The
researcher assumes the dual role of scriptwriter and critic.
As critic, the first step taken is to review Lindbergh's
works and the responses they received in published 4
criticisms. The next step in the critical process is the selection of writings for inclusion in the script. These portions are compiled according to established standards of scripting for oral performance. The process of criticism continues with evaluation of the completed script. Fol lowing the oral presentation of the script, the audience participated in a fourth phase of criticism, responding to the performance effect. These responses are used primarily as evidence to support the researcher's presonal critical evaluation.
The oral performance itself served as an additional form of criticism. Transcending a solely textual criticism,
"As critic, the oral interpreter considers not only the
linguistic 'score' of the text, but he or she also demon strates its paralinguistic contents, exemplifying critical views in performance" (Espinola 93). A critic who records
impressions in writing can easily overlook both minor and major textual aspects. The oral interpreter, however, is
called upon to exhibit a competent critique to the partici
pating audience during every moment of performance (Espinola
93).
SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PROBLEM
The value of this undertaking is expressed in part by
David A. Williams who writes, "Humans need symbols with which to communicate in order to live. Literature provides 5
the richest symbols known to humans" (430). Further, he
specifies the socializing function of literature (430). The performance of the completed script brings to audience at
tention the literary works of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The
possibility exists that audience members will investigate
her works further. In addition, the socializing function
of literature is enhanced through the relationships which
naturally occur in a performance situation. These relation
ships happen between performer and literature, performer
and audience, audience and literature, and audience members
with each other.
This research also comments on the nature of perfor
mance literature. According to Bowen, Aggertt, and Rickert,
"All good writing is potentially good material for oral
presentation" (65). Various critics attest to the literary
merit of several of Anne Lindbergh's works. An extensive
search, however, revealed no significant attempts to per
form her writings. This is not surprising given the
unlikely format of the majority of her published works. As
would be expected of her diaries and letters, for example, much content may seem tedious to anyone not directly in
volved in the situation addressed. Given the very publicized
aspects of Lindbergh's life, the historical significance of many of her involvements in the early days of aviation, and her articulate and prolific recountings of these experiences, her writings still hold much potential for successful oral 6
performance. The script compiled from these writings is evaluated in terms of its success in meeting recognized standards of orality. This evaluation phase of the research further emphasizes the unique qualities of performance literature.
SCOPE OF THE STUDY
Not all of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's publications are utilized in the thesis script. Material is drawn primarily
from her diaries and letters and other personal records of
life experiences. A limited number of excerpts come from
Lindbergh's poetry. Her fiction writings do not directly
reveal her personality and experiences and, therefore, are not included in the script. Using the first-person voice,
the interpreter suggested the persona of Anne Morrow Lind
bergh at various points throughout her life, from early
adulthood to middle age. While knowledge of the significant
people in her life is included in the script, the primary
aim of the performance was to acquaint the audience with
Anne Morrow Lindbergh as a person and as an author.
The intent of the presentation was not persuasive, nor was it solely educational. In focusing on the personhood of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, a narrow definition of intended
effect is impossible. The audience, undoubtedly, formed
evaluations as in a persuasive situation and was informed of
unfamiliar facets of Lindbergh's life events and philoso phies. Just as important as the persuasive and informative 7
realms of the performance, however, were the less easily
defined emotional and aesthetic dimensions. The most ap
propriate evaluation of the effect of the effort is
necessarily holistic in approach.
REVIEW OF LITERATURE
The following is not an exhaustive review of the avail
able material of relevance to the present study, It does,
however, provide a framework upon which to build a more
thorough understanding of the work.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh published her first book, North
to the Orient, in 1935. Reviewers praised her work. In the
words of M. L. Richardson: "She writes very well indeed,
easily and straightforwardly, without any fuss or coyness"
(526). Blair Niles of New York Herald Tribune Books wrote,
"Anne Lindbergh has a sense of drama and she knows how to
tell a story, to tell it with simplicity of style and an
exquisite feeling for words. Every page is a pure delight"
(1).
Some might attribute Anne Morrow Lindbergh's immediate
popularity as a writer to her celebrity status. Her highly
publicized marriage to Charles Lindbergh, their explorations
in aviation, and the kidnapping and murder of Charles Lind
bergh, Jr., were factors which combined to make the name of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh a very recognizable one to the
American public. As critics lauded the literary merit of 8
her second book, Listen! the Wind, it became increasingly clear that notoriety was not the only reason behind Lind bergh's appeal as a writer.
Beyond the obvious causes, there are good reasons
for the vast success of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's
writing. She gives us factual, real experience,
autobiographical and thus satisfying beyond
merely fictional invention. At the same time she
gives us the fantasy, the imaginative excursions,
the rich emotional reaction which make fiction so
desirable to us (Soskin 1).
These first publications of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's writings dealt centrally with her and her husband's explor
atory air expeditions. The specific content of these and her other works is discussed in a later biographical chap
ter. In order to better establish Lindbergh's reputation
as an author, the present review highlights critics'
reactions to some of her writings.
Gift From the Sea, published in 1955, perhaps more than
any of her other books, qualified Anne Morrow Lindbergh as a
writer of significant merit. In 1980, critic Francine
Cardman commented:
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift From the Sea first
appeared twenty-five years ago. That it is still
in print at a time when books disappear as rapidly
as they materialized, makes its longevity as 9
surprising as it is well-deserved. . . . Like
the shells on the beach which serve as signposts
on the way to this graced wholeness, Gift From
the Sea is an unexpected gift for our time (699
700).
In 1956, Lindbergh again published her work, this time a book of poetry. To this date it is the only published book which departs from her usually prosaic style of writing. Time described The Unicorn and Other Poems ap preciatively, but not without reserve:
Some of her poems bring an ache to the throat,
remembered beauty to the eye, music to the ear,
a fresh tack to familiar musings. Some do less.
Mothers of five children are rarely the stuff of
which great poets are made, as Mrs. Lindbergh
herself has pointed out. . . . But if artistry
and eloquence occasionally flag, sensibility never
does. At their best, her lines flash with beauty
and brightness, and like "a sail spark-white upon
the space of sea, can pin a whole horizon into
place" (106).
Another reviewer was not so kind. John Ciardi wrote a negative evaluation of The Unicorn and Other Poems in the
January 12, 1957 issue of Saturday Review (54-57). By
February 16, he and Norman Cousins, then editor of Saturday
Review, were forced to respond to an innundation of mail 10
from readers who were irate over Ciardi's less than enthu siastic critique of Lindbergh's poems (54-55, 22-23). The incident left no doubt as to the loyalty of her readership.
Bring Me a Unicorn, published in 1971, was the first in a series of five books containing Anne Morrow Lindbergh's private writings. In 1980, War Within and Without completed the series and is Lindbergh's latest publication to date.
Although each of the five books has its own special sig nificance, War Within and Without perhaps attracts the broadest range of readers. These diaries and letters were written during the tumult of World War II and discuss, among other things, the Lindberghs' personal involvement in the anti-war movement. Nancy Eubank, writing in Min nesota History, includes Anne Morrow Lindbergh's own admissions in her review of this work:
Because it allows a comparison of husband's and
wife's accounts of the same years [1939-1944],
this is perhaps the most revealing of Anne Morrow
Lindbergh's diaries. "I wanted to show the unwrit
ten side of his [Charles Lindbergh's] Wartime
Journals," she explains, "to say the things he
could never say." In this she has added immeas
urably to future understanding of the Lindbergh
role in one of the great anti-war struggles of
this century (117). 11
It is interesting to note that, despite Anne Morrow
Lindbergh's numerous publications and their largely appre ciative reception, very little scholarly research exists which focuses upon the literary efforts of this remarkable woman. An extensive search revealed only one such study, a dissertation by Eloise Owens entitled "The Phoenix and The
Unicorn: A Study of the Published Private Writings of May
Sarton and Anne Morrow Lindbergh." This research investi gates the distinguishing characteristics of private wri tings. It also examines the editorial process which pre cedes the publication of such writings. A comparison is made between May Sarton and Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Sarton wrote privately with the intent of eventual publication.
Lindbergh's works, published decades after their original creation, however, stand as examples of private writing in a purer sense of the term. While Owens' dissertation does ex plore literary aspects of the writing of Anne Morrow Lind bergh, it does not include her non-private writings, neither does it attempt to explore the performance capabilities of her writings as does this study.
In light of the intent of this thesis, it is appropriate at this point to recall that all literature of quality is a potential source for successful oral presentation (Bowen,
Aggertt and Rickert 65). In the present study, a well rounded knowledge of certain respected works in the field of interpretation is essential for the selection, 12
compilation, and performance of the literature of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh. It is not sufficient to undertake any of the phases of this research without implementing recognized principles of interpretive performance. For example, Lee and Gura define the act of interpretation as "the art of communicating to an audience a work of literary art in its intellectual, emotional , and aesthetic entirety" (3).
Recognizing these three elements helps to clarify all phases of this research. The intellectual, emotional, and aesthe tic effects of the literature stand as primary considerations in selection, compilation, and performance. Lee and Gura establish another essential triad relative to the evaluation and selection of literature. They state that universality, individuality, and suggestion are the three "touchstones" of these processes (9). Throughout this research it was impor tant to understand and implement these general guidelines.
In Appendix B of the same book, Oral Interpretation,
Lee and Gura offer relevant suggestions concerning program unity, timing, adapting to an audience, and working with
different forms of literature. This appendix is appro
priately entitled "Building and Presenting a Program" and
relates well to the overall planning and development of an
interpretive presentation such as the one discussed in this
thesis (467).
Another source of guidance for this study was The Art of
Interpretation by Wallace Bacon. Most people who are 13
familiar with his work would consider it an understatement to say that Bacon contributes to a clearer understanding of the art of oral performance. At the very least, this is his accomplishment. Bacon writes in a somewhat philosophical tone, yet his statements are applicable both in thought and concrete action. Of particular interest to this thesis is
Bacon's attention to audience. Speaking of the lack of scholarly focus on the audience in interpretation, Robert B.
Loxley cites Bacon's book as a rare exception in that it devotes a complete chapter to the subject (43). In that the thesis script was actually performed before an audience,
Bacon's insights are invaluable.
Judy Yordon, in her book Roles in Interpretation, also writes of the audience, but in her discussion she person alizes the functions of the audience member (289). Rather than addressing "audience" in a generic sense, Yordon describes how the interpreter, in particular, may effectively
serve as an audience member. Her prescriptions are espec
ially helpful in a classroom situation, but are generally
applicable as well. She delineates audience roles as lis
tening, accepting, imaging, responding, and evaluating
(289-95). In this thesis it was the responsibility of the
researcher to strive for audience participation in each of
these roles. Yordon briefly refers to the role of the
interpreter as audience of his/her own performance (289).
The idea is also suggested by Keith Brooks in The Arts and 14
Sciences of Speech. In Brook's diagram of the communicative act of interpretation, he positions both reader and listener as recipients of the literature (302). Although he does not explicitly state the reader's role as audience, the function is implied. Ten years later, Judith Espinola develops the concept of the reader-literature relationship even further (93). Her emphasis is on the reader's role as critic since, in her well-supported view, performance is itself an act of critical inquiry. The overt motive of
Espinola's article is implied in its title, "Oral Interpre tation Performance: An Act of Publication" (90). She con tradicts those who would view performance and related activities as less scholarly than the publication of research. This thesis benefits from Espinola's article in that she provides a strong rationale for performance centered efforts.
In consideration of the primary genre of literature com piled and performed within this thesis, Sessions and Hol
land's Your Role in Interpretation is a valuable reference
tool. The authors discuss the special considerations of
prose literature, offering suggestions for cutting three
primary types of prose: descriptive, expository, and
narrative (202). The writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh
represent each of these types of prose to varying degrees.
Oral Interpretation: The Communication of Literature by
Edwin Cohen also affords instruction for this thesis in 15
the area of program development. Cohen devotes the last chapter of his book to the "mechanics of performing" (275).
He begins, in his treatment of this subject, by discussing the requirements for becoming a "performer" (276-77). He goes on to address, among other things, the audience performer relationship and factors which exert influence upon it (281-82). Next, Cohen deals with the specifics of program development including introductions, transitions,
selecting, and cutting (283-86). All of these "mechanics of performing" pertain to efforts exerted in this thesis.
One source which quite thoroughly treats the subject of
script compilation is Kleinau and McHughes' Theatres for
Literature. They begin by clarifying what it actually means
to compile a script, or "make new forms from old" (138). A
key word for Kleinau and McHughes is "juxtaposition." Its
effect in compiling literature is to create "new meaning in
the juncture between selections, while retaining meaning
within the component parts themselves" (138). Two visual
art terms, assemblage and collage, are used to describe the
two kinds of juxtaposition (139). The distinction provided
by these terms is helpful in understanding and explaining
the nature of the compiled script of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's
writings. Whereas assemblage is a "collection of identi
fiable units" (literary selections) which relate to a
central theme, a literary collage combines material from many
works and shapes them into a new form (139). The most 16
distinguishing feature of collage, as compared to assem blage, is that the segments of literature may yet be recog nizable, but they form a new created identity which over rides the identities of its components. Collage, as a form of juxtaposition, clearly defines the scripting approach taken in this endeavor. Kleinau and McHughes continue by enumerating the processes involved in compiling a script and the forms such scripts may take.
As was alluded to previously, not a great deal of scholarly attention is given to the audience of interpretive performance. Perhaps even less is given to the role of the audience members as evaluators of performed literature. One noteworthy exception is Beverly Whitaker Long's "Evaluating
Performed Literature" in Volume II of Studies in Interpre tation. Long uses dramatic analysis as a proposed framework for evaluation (273). She develops a list of questions which serve to direct the evaluator to several aspects of the performed literature. While these questions are more appropriate for a classroom audience, they do provide rele vent information in the development of an audience response instrument for this study.
METHODOLOGY
The initial phase of the proposed study consisted of a review of material written by and about Anne Morrow Lind bergh. The researcher prepared a biographical summary based 17
on the knowledge obtained from this review. Second, Lind bergh's nonfiction writings were examined specifically for potential inclusion in the thesis script. The guidelines for this selection process were simplicity, use of imagery, and dramatic potential (Bowen, Aggertt, and Rickert 58).
Simplicity is evidenced in that literature which is written in a style that lends itself to oral presentation with language that can be immediately and easily ascertained through oral/aural channels. Specific indicators of sim plicity include understandable vocabulary and lack of excess verbiage. Imagery is manifested in those writings which employ language that elicits strong sensory responses from the audience members. Dramatic potential is inherent in those writings which involve delineated characters in action responding to events described. Potential for drama is also elemental to those described events which represent great personal significance as well as historical importance. The writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh which focus on such hap penings were selected, in part, for the dramatic elements they provide.
The third phase of the proposed endeavor was the actual compilation of the script for oral performance. Working with portions selected in the preceeding phase of the research, the criteria of simplicity, imagery, and drama were again utilized to determine the most orally effective structuring of the script. The completed script received 18
a positive evaluation by the researcher to the degree it reflected these standards for orality.
In order to provide additional evaluation, a response measurement device was prepared and administered to the audience following the performance of the script. The in strument used a Likert-type scale to numerically establish audience reaction to the presentation. Corresponding with the three stated criteria of the selection and compilation processes, the instrument was designed to determine the effect of the performance of the script at the intellectual, emotional, and aesthetic levels (Lee and Gura 3). Positively and negatively worded statements were created which speci fically related to these three dimensions. The respondents were asked to indicate on a scale of one through seven, the degree to which they agreed or disagreed with the given statements.
The research endeavor concluded with the performer's own critique of the performance experience, supported by the tabulated evaluative responses of audience members.
RATIONALE
It is beneficial to begin any research endeavor by gathering a broad knowledge of the subject of the research.
In this particular study, familiarity with Anne Morrow Lind bergh's written works, her characteristics as a person, and the significant events of her life was a necessary pre requisite to the activity of scripting. 19
Another important preparation for scripting is to rec ognize those principles which are known to enhance the oral presentation of literature and to establish these as the theoretical base for discussions about compilation and pro gram development. In this study, the three stated criteria of simplicity, imagery, and drama serve effectively as an underlying theoretical framework.
In order to accurately assess the suitability of the script for oral presentation, it was essential that it be performed. Judith Espinola suggests that the act of inter pretation is a critical process which supercedes a solely textual analysis by confronting the paralinguistic components
so fundamental to the art of interpretation (93).
Keith Brooks supports the importance of audience response in evaluating the merit of oral performance: ".
[B]ut a single listener . . . cannot speak for the total
listener response. The communicator needs to become
audience oriented . . ." (312). Brooks goes on to recom mend that evaluative instruments be designed to reflect
audience understanding and appreciation (312). These aspects
refer to the overall experience of the performance as it
affects the listener intellectually, emotionally, and
aesthetically (Lee and Gura 3).
Oral interpretation provides both the performer and
listener opportunity to experience the literature. The physical separation of the performer from the audience does 20
not indicate a strict definition of roles. Throughout the presentation the performer is also a recipient of the lit erature. Likewise, the audience members do not remain passive in their roles as listeners, but actively recreate the literature in their own imaginations. This lack of strictly defined audience/performer roles distinguishes interpretation from the art of theatre which strives for a representational effect and requires somewhat less involve merit from audience members (Brooks 302-06). Therefore, in supporting or rejecting the oral effectiveness of the com piled script of the writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, both performer and audience responses were used.
PLAN OF REPORTING
The major divisions of this thesis are as follows. The first chapter introduces the reader to the purpose, sig nificance, and central concerns of the study. The second chapter provides a biographical summary of Anne Morrow Lind bergh's life. This summary especially emphasizes the events of her life as they relate to and influence her writings.
Supported by theories of interpretation, the third chapter gives a rationale for the manner of selecting the content of the thesis script as well as provides a production con cept. The fourth chapter consists of the compiled script created from the selected writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
The fifth chapter reports the performer's evaluation of and 21 the tabulated audience responses to the performance. It also contains overall commentary on the research effort, summary, and suggestions for future research. BIBLIOGRAPHY
Chapter I
Bacon, Wallace A. The Art of Interpretation. 3rd ed. New
York: Holt, 1978.
Bowen, Elbert R., Otis J. Aggertt, and William E. Rickert.
Communicative Reading. 4th ed. New York: Macmillan,
1978.
Brooks, Keith, ed. The Communicative Arts and Sciences of
Speech. Columbus: Charles E. Merrill Books, Inc., 1967.
Cardman, Francine. "Books: Critics' Christmas Choices."
Rev. of Gift From the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh,
Commonweal 5 Dec. 1980: 699-700.
Ciardi, John. "A Closer Look at the Unicorn." Rev. of The
Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. Saturday Review 12 Jan. 1957: 54-57.
"The Reviewer's Duty to Damn." Saturday Review 16 Feb.
1957: 24-25, 54-55.
Cohen, Edwin. Oral Interpretation: The Communication of
Literature. Chicago: Science Research Assoc., 1977.
Cousins, Norman. "John Ciardi and the Readers." Saturday
Review 16 Feb. 1957: 22-23.
Espinola, Judith. "Oral Interpretation Performance: An Act
of Publication." Western Journal of Speech 41.2 (1977):
90-97.
22 23
Eubank, Nancy. Rev. of War Within and Without, by Anne
Morrow Lindbergh. Minnesota History Fall 1980: 115-16.
Kleinau, Marion L. and Janet Larson McHughes. Theatres for
Literature. Sherman Oaks: Alfred Pub. Co., Inc., 1980.
Lee, Charlotte I. and Timothy Gura. Oral Interpretation.
6th ed. Boston: Houghton, 1982.
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and
Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928. New York:
Harcourt, 1972.
Gift From the Sea. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc.,
1955.
Listen! the Wind. New York: Harcourt, 1938.
North to the Orient. New York: Harcourt, 1935.
The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955. 1956. New
York: Vintage Books, 1972.
War Within and Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944. 1980. New York: Berkley
Books, 1981.
Long, Beverly Whitaker. "Evaluating Performed Literature."
Vol. II of Studies in Interpretation. Eds. Esther M.
Doyle and Virginia Hastings Floyd. Amsterdam: Rodopi,
1977: 267-81.
Loxley, Robert B. "Roles of the Audience: Aesthetic and
Social Dimensions of the Performance Event." Literature
in Performance 3.2 (1983): 40-44.
Niles, Blair. Rev. of North to the Orient, by Anne Morrow 24
Lindbergh. New York Herald Tribune Books 18 Aug. 1935:
1.
Owens, Eloise Suzanne. "The Phoenix and the Unicorn: A
Study of the Published Private Writings of May Sarton
and Anne Morrow Lindbergh." DAI 43 (1982): 1547A. The
Ohio State University.
Rev. of The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955, by Anne
Morrow Lindbergh. Time 17 Sep. 1956: 106.
Richardson, M. L. Rev. of North to the Orient, by Anne
Morrow Lindbergh. New Statesman and Nation 12 Oct.
1935: 526.
Sessions, Virgil D. and Jack B. Holland. Your Role in
Oral Interpretation. 2nd ed. Boston: Holbrook Press,
Inc., 1975.
Soskin, William. Rev. of Listen! the Wind, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. New York Her&ld Tribune Books 16 Oct. 1938:
1.
Williams, David A. "From Academic to Psycho-Social Uses of
Literature." Performance of Literature in Historical
Perspectives. Ed. David W. Thompson. Lanham: University
Press of America, 1983. 419-35.
Yordon, Judy E. Roles in Interpretation. Dubuque: Wm. C.
Brown Co. Pub., 1982. CHAPTER II
THE LIFE AND WORKS OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH
In the preface to North to the Orient, Anne Morrow
Lindbergh writes:
What, then, is this collection of chapters? How
explain it? Why did I write it? There is, of
course, always the personal satisfaction of
writing down one's own experiences so they may be
saved. . . . And there is another personal satis
faction: that of the people who like to recount
their adventures, the diary-keepers, the story
tellers, the letter-writers, a strange race of
people who feel half cheated of an experience
unless it is retold. It does not really exist
until it is put into words. . . . For, paradox
ically enough, the more unreal an experience
becomes -- translated from real action into unreal
words, dead symbols for life itself -- the more
vivid it grows (viii).
This attitude resulted in Lindbergh's publishing not only North to the Orient, but twelve subsequent books. It is appropriate that each of these publications be discussed.
Life events relevant to the development of these writings will also be reviewed. The immediate discussion, however,
25 26
will focus on early biographical information about Anne
Morrow Lindbergh.
Dwight Whitney Morrow and Elizabeth Cutter Morrow became the parents of their second of four children on June
22, 1906 (Bring xii, War 12). They named her Anne Spencer
Morrow. Anne grew up in Englewood, a small town in New
Jersey (Bring xiii). She and her brother and two sisters were brought up in a closely knit family headed by two
parents of "strong moral fiber" and who greatly emphasized
the value of education (Bring xiv). Lindbergh later
describes them as ". . . frankly ambitious, with enough
energy to match their aspirations" (Bring xv).
Elizabeth Cutter Morrow taught school for several years
before her marriage to Dwight Morrow. She became a long
time member of the board of trustees of Smith College, she
was its first female Chairperson of the Board, and she
served as interim President of the college for a short time
(Bring xvii) .
Dwight Whitney Morrow began his career with a position
in a legal firm. He later turned to banking and inter
national finance as a member of J. P. Morgan & Company.
After several years with this partnership, Morrow became
Ambassador to Mexico (1927-29). At his death in 1931, he
was a New Jersey Senator (Bring xv).
The careers of their father gave the Morrow children
many informal educational opportunities. Morrow's 27
leadership positions and the frequent necessity for the family to travel because of his responsibilities, broadened the world of his children and brought them into contact with numerous public figures of the day (Bring xv, xix). In spite of her exposure to the world, Lindbergh later describes her early life as "sheltered" and herself as the
"youngest, shiest, most self-conscious adolescent that -- I believe -- ever lived" (Bring xx).
Her years at Smith College in Northampton, Massachu setts played an important role in Anne Morrow Lindbergh's development in a number of ways, not the least of which was allowing her to recognize her ability to write. Although encouragement in this area came in a number of other ways during her college career, two awards given prior to her graduation from Smith were especially helpful in boosting the confidence of this shy, young writer. Much to her sur prise, Anne Morrow Lindbergh received both the Montagu Prize and the Jordan Prize for her literary efforts as a student at Smith College (Bring 157).
While not evident until much later, another major im petus to Anne Morrow Lindbergh's literary success came while she was home on Christmas break during her senior year at Smith College. On this visit home, Anne became acquain ted with the new hero of the times, Colonel Charles A. Lind bergh. The two met in Mexico City while the Colonel was on a good-will mission at the request of Anne's father, then 28
U.S. Ambassador to Mexico. Charles Lindbergh achieved over whelming public recognition only a few months earlier when he made his record breaking non-stop flight from New York to Paris in his aircraft, "The Spirit of St. Louis."
Ambassador Morrow hoped that a visit by the well-known and respected aviator would improve relations between Mexico
and the United States. Quite surprisingly, to Anne's way of
thinking, the "celebrated airman" kept in contact with her.
A few months after their initial meeting, he proposed mar
riage to her (War viii).
Many years later, in 1971, Anne Morrow Lindbergh pub
lished Bring Me a Unicorn, letting the world in on these
early events of her life. This book is composed entirely of
Lindbergh's private diaries and letters written between 1922
and 1928. The content of this volume ranges from deliber
ation about which college to attend, to the experiences of college life, to her decision to marry Charles Lindbergh.
Neil Millar responded to Bring Me a Unicorn with a review in The Christian Science Monitor:
The teen-ager who wanted to be different from her
mother and sister, the tremulous hero-worshipper,
the poised young woman in love -- tried hard to be
honest, sensitive, and intelligent. . . . Bring
Me a Unicorn measures and displays her achieve
ments in late adolescence and first maturity.
Almost every page is both moving and rewarding (10). 29
Anne Morrow and Charles A. Lindbergh married May 27,
1929. The events following their engagement and prior to their wedding compose the first portion of Anne Morrow
Lindbergh's published diaries and letters of 1929-1932, Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead. The Lindbergh's first child, Charles
Augustus Lindbergh, Jr., was born on his mother's 24th birthday, June 22, 1930 (Hour 138). Naturally, a large por
tion of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's diaries and letters during
this time focus upon her new experiences of motherhood.
By the early part of 1931, the Lindberghs began plan
ning for an exploratory flight to the Orient which would
take them across Canada, Alaska, and Siberia (Hour 161).
They departed on their mission in July and arrived back in
the United States more than two months later, after logging
thousands of miles in their Lockheed Sirius monoplane. The
purpose of this trip was to survey routes for the not yet
established passenger airlines. Anne Morrow Lindbergh
played a vital role in the trip as co-pilot, navigator, and
radio operator (Hour 163, 202, War vii).
North to the Orient, Anne Morrow Lindbergh's first pub
lished book, recounts the events of this important survey
mission. Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead also gives a detailed
description of the trip, but in a rather fragmented way as
is not surprising when journal entries and letters provide
the record. Lindbergh prefaces North to the Orient with the
explanation: "I have not written a technical account of a 30
survey flight . . ." (vii). In telling of the value of the trip, she states:
It is not in the flying alone, nor in the places
alone, nor alone in the time; but in a peculiar
blending of all three, which resulted in a quality
of magic. . . . It was a magic caused by the col
lision of modern methods and old ones; modern his
tory and ancient; accessibility and isolation"
(North viii, ix).
Shortly after their return from the Orient, the Lind
berghs' eighteen-months-old child was kidnapped and mur
dered. This tragic event is now one of the most well-known
facts associated with the Lindbergh name. Briefly, the im
portant details of the case are that on the evening of
March 1, 1932, Charles A. Lindbergh, Jr. was taken from his
crib at the Lindberghs' home in Hopewell, New Jersey. The
kidnapper left behind a note on the window sill which de
manded a ransom for the safe return of the child. For
weeks, negotiations with the kidnapper and in-depth inves
tigations continued. Finally, on May 12, ten weeks after
the kidnapping, the Lindbergh baby's body was located in a
woods near their home (Hour 211, 248). Anne Morrow Lind
bergh's letters and diaries covering this period in her life
are especially poignant. References to her first child and
his premature death reappear in several of her other books,
but Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead provides the most immediate 31
narrative about the loss of the child. This volume of dia ries and letters, published in 1973, also includes an account of the birth of the Lindberghs' second child, Jon, and concludes with the wedding of Anne's older sister,
Elisabeth (Hour 301, 322).
Anne Morrow Lindbergh describes the period 1933-35 as
"an interim between two lives. It is the story of our
recovery from the disruption of an old life and an account
of our attempts to find a new one" (Locked xv). These years
are recorded in Locked Rooms and Open Doors, Lindbergh's
third volume of diaries and letters, published 1974. With
the loss of their child still so recent, it is no surprise
to discover that a great many feelings of grief find ex
pression in the pages of Locked Rooms and Open Doors. One
can gradually sense the immediacy of the event lessen, but
the impact of the child's death is still evident throughout
a major portion of this third volume of diaries and letters.
Several additional subjects further increase the sig
nificance of Locked Rooms and Open Doors. In the summer of
1933, Charles and Anne Lindbergh began an exploratory flight
around the Atlantic which lasted for five-and-one-half
months. Again, Anne Morrow Lindbergh played her vital roles
as radio operator, copilot-navigator, and diarist (Locked
xvii). Her careful notes about daily events of the trip
eventually yielded two publications. The first was an
article in the September, 1934 issue of National Geographic 32
Magazine entitled "Flying Around the North Atlantic." This publication actually preceded the publication of Lindbergh's
first book, North to the Orient, published mid-1935. After
reading her National Geographic article, Harold Nicholson,
a writer and author of Dwight Morrow, a biography about
Anne's father, encouraged Lindbergh to do more writing
(Locked 8, 210-11). His praise was a source of great in
spiration to a still somewhat insecure young author.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's experiences surrounding the
publication of North to the Orient are recorded in Locked
Rooms and Open Doors as are her continued efforts to write.
These efforts eventually led to the publication of Listen!
the Wind. This second book provided an expanded version of
one portion of the North Atlantic trip described in the
National Geographic article and in journal entries from
Locked Rooms. As with her first book, Lindbergh spent a
great deal of time preparing the manuscript and actually
published Listen! the Wind in 1938, five years after the
exploratory mission.
Other events discussed in Locked Rooms include Anne
Morrow Lindbergh's receiving an honorary Master of Arts
degree form her alma mater, Smith College (253). Also, on
December 2, 1934, Elisabeth Morrow Morgan, Lindbergh's close
friend and sister, died after suffering with bronchial
pneumonia (218, 220). Although her death is specifically
addressed in Locked Rooms and Open Doors, one can sense the 33
effect of this additional loss in other writings of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh's, particularly in some of her poems (Uni corn 23-26, 28-29).
Continued attention from the press, especially surround ing the trial of Bruno R. Hauptmann, convicted murderer of the Lindberghs' child, plagued Anne and Charles Lindbergh
(Locked xx, 249). After the trial, they left the United
States with their son, Jon, to seek a more secluded life in
Europe (War ix). This is the point at which Locked Rooms and Open Doors concludes.
The Flower and the Nettle, Anne Morrow Lindbergh's fourth of five volumes of diaries and letters, contains the record of the family's years abroad in England and France.
Between 1936 and 1939 the Lindberghs found "private peace and happiness" in their temporary residence in Europe (War ix). Several major events are covered in these published private writings.
Because of the couple's notoriety, they were frequently asked to attend social gatherings with other very prominent people of the day. Anne Morrow Lindbergh writes twice of trips to London as invited guests of Kind Edward VIII
(Flower 42, 49). Some of the most significant contacts the
Lindberghs made, however, were in association with the in creasing prewar tension in Europe. In 1936, the U.S.
Military Attache in Berlin asked Charles Lindbergh to come to Germany and assess the growing Nazi air power. Official 34
observers needed such assistance because their positions
made it difficult to obtain accurate information about
military aviation (War ix). Several similar investigative
trips followed, since Lindbergh's "fame and presence" was an
effective opening wedge in attaining the vital estimates of
air strength (War ix). In the words of Anne Morrow Lind bergh:
Charles Lindbergh's survey of European military
air installation was not, as is sometimes implied,
for the benefit of any foreign power. It was to
inform his own country's air command, and he car
ried out his mission as requested. Inevitably,
the information he obtained for U.S. Army In
telligence filtered down to world news services,
causing a flurry of false or exaggerated stories
(War ix).
In this statement, Anne Morrow Lindbergh latently responds to some of the accusations against her husband for his prewar involvement with military figures in Europe.
The Lindberghs were somewhat more separated from the criti cism of the American press and public during their two-and a-half year stay in Europe. They could not have foreseen, as they left the war behind them in April of 1939, that they would soon be enmeshed in a different kind of conflict, a heated and bitter debate over America's role in the war overseas (War x-xi). 35
In 1980, Anne Morrow Lindbergh published the final volume of her private writings, War Within and Without:
Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944.
This book begins where The Flower and the Nettle left off, with the Lindberghs reestablishing their home in the United
States. In many ways, it is the most complex of all of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's publications. It is a remarkably transparent account and provides deeply personal revelations from the mind and spirit of a woman obviously in turmoil over the happenings in the world around her. In the intro duction to these diaries and letters of World War II, Lind bergh writes:
I find, in the end, I have revealed, not an an
notated record of those years, but simply an
intensely personal story of two individuals; a
complex man and his struggle to follow what his
background, his character and integrity demanded;
and a complex woman of quite a different back
ground, who must reconcile her divided loyalties
in a time of stress. It is not so much history or
a factual wartime record as it is simply a per
sonal story. It is, I realize, more personal,
more open, and more vulnerable, and, because of
this, ultimately more honest than any of the
preceding four volumes (xx).
)mNamoofto 36
While she was almost daily recording her impressions of these tumultuous times in private journals and letters,
Lindbergh also expressed her perspective on current issues publicly. Unlike her husband, who spoke audibly in oppos
ition to U.S. intervention in the war in several public
speeches, Anne Morrow Lindbergh chose to communicate in the
manner more characteristic of her, in writing. Although
world situations greatly distressed her, the years 1939
1944 were among Lindbergh's most productive. During this
period, she published two books and two articles. She also
had two children, bringing the family membership of chil
dren to four, their oldest living son, Jon, having been
joined by a brother, Land, while the Lindberghs resided in
Europe (Flower 138).
The first of Lindbergh's wartime publications was a
well-received article in Readers Digest entitled "Prayer
for Peace." A poll of readers rated "first" this entry into
the December 1939 issue of Readers Digest. Also, the
British Ministry of Information requested permission to
reprint "Prayer for Peace" in pamphlet form (War 69). Un
fortunately, Lindbergh's next publication would not receive
such affirming responses.
In October of 1940, as America became increasingly
divided in its position with regard to military involvement
in the war in Europe, an anti-interventionist essay by Anne
Morrow Lindbergh reached the reading American public. The 37
Wave of the Future: A Confession of Faith, without a doubt, stands unparalleled as the most adversely criticized of Lind bergh's written works. This is evident in reading her private responses to various condemnations of the essay re corded in War Within and Without (127-29, 130, 145, 151, etc.). Also, published reviews of that time included such comments as:
It was unnecessary to read very far before the un
happy outcome had been made completely obvious.
Mrs. Lindbergh does agree with her husband. No
more need be said. Her prose is, as before, prose
of distinction -- a delight to the eye, on the ton
gue. But what is she saying? Can one trust her
reasoning? And so one arrives at the conclusion
that beauty of prose, a prose which is rooted in
poetry, is not enough (Christian Science Monitor
11).
One of her more objective reviewers kindly but point edly reveals the mixture of reactions that The Wave of the
Future aroused:
This confession of faith by the wife of America's
most articulate isolationist, Col. Lindbergh, will
probably be one of the most widely debated titles
of the year. It is exquisitely written. To many,
its premise "The Wave of the future is coming and
there is no fighting it" bespeaks defeatism and 38
Fascism. To others it is hard-headed realism and
Americanism (Current History 32).
These reviews provide more than just critiques of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh's controversial essay. They also testify to the prominant role her husband played in the U.S. anti interventionist movement. War Within and Without is a tangible record of the extreme anxiety Anne Morrow Lindbergh experienced as a result of what she saw to be complete dis tortions and misinterpretations of Charles Lindbergh's position of anti-interventionism (War xiv).
In response to the criticisms of her own anti-interven tionist communication, The Wave of the Future, Anne Morrow
Lindbergh expressed her intent in writing the essay as:
[T]he urge to say what. one believes passionately,
and to say it again and again. To say it better
and clearer and more fully, if possible, but even
if it is said awkwardly and baldly -- still to say
it again until it is understood (Atlantic 681).
These words are found in the May 1941 issue of Atlantic
Monthly in an article entitled "Reaffirmation." Defensive ness does seem to add an edge of decisiveness and clarity to
Lindbergh's message, but the viewpoints expressed in this article are consistent with its predecessor, The Wave of the Future.
In early 1944, Lindbergh published her fourth book,
The Steep Ascent. It is the first of two attempts at 39
writing fiction. The book is based upon a particularly
memorable flight the Lindberghs made from Reading, England
to Pisa, Italy (Flower 114, 118-19). The story retains
much of the basic factual content of the actual trip. Sus
pense builds as the two primary characters, Gerald and Eve
Alcott, become lost in a heavy mist clothing the foothills
of the Alps. Though fictional characters, the Alcotts have
qualities noticably similar to the Lindbergh's. Response
to this book was not overwhelming, but certainly more sat
isfying to its author than reactions to The Wave of the
Future (War 373).
Lindbergh did not publish another book until 1955. As
previously discussed, Gift From the Sea could, perhaps, be
classified as her most successful book in terms of its
longevity and general appeal (Cardman 699-700). The Unicorn
and Other Poems, 1935-1955, published 1956, was less en
thusiastically received, but that it can still be purchased
approximately thirty years later testifies to its enduring
quality (Saturday Review 54-57).
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's second work of fiction, Dearly
Beloved, appeared in 1962. In it, she takes an approach
quite different than in any of her other writings. The en
tire book covers an actual time span of only a few hours,
but the reader is taken across years of experience through
the thoughts of its primary characters. The story opens
amidst frantic, last-minute wedding preparations. As the 40
the reader ceremony begins and throughout its performance, various is made privy to the private mental wanderings of wedding guests. The contrast and variety of personalities
revealed says much about Lindbrgh's insight into human
nature and her ability to perceive from many perspectives.
Many critics gave glowing reviews of Dearly Beloved.
A review by William Hogan of the San Francisco Chronicle,
however, offers a very enlightening commentary, both candid
and kind:
Dearly Beloved is simply not my kind of book. But
a great many readers, predominately feminine, will
find it a rewarding experience, if not one of the
most thoughtful and thought-provoking books of
the season. . . . And though the upper middle
class niceties of it bore me to death, I am not
the reader Mrs. Lindbergh is addressing. For what
she sets out to do in this intimate, emotional
analysis, she does efficiently and sensitively
(41).
On December 21, 1968, Apollo 8 became the first manned
flight into the orbit of the moon. Anne and Charles Lind
bergh observed this launch from the close perspective of
Cape Kennedy (Earth Shine 4). The experience so moved Anne
Morrow Lindbergh that she felt compelled to write about it.
Life magazine first published her essay, but she later ex
panded her efforts into a book called Earth Shine (Earth 41
felt about wit jacket notes). Lindbergh describes how she nessing this display of the tremendous technological advan ces made in aviation since her early experiences:
I feel rather like Rip Van Winkle looking at this
exhibit, for my last touch with spacecraft pre
dates even these antiquities. . . . I never saw
a launching, but I remember an evening sitting on
a screened porch, while my husband . . . talked
of space exploration. Flying was then a new
adventure to me; I had just won my pilot's
license. . . . In half a lifetime, the age of
space has come, I realize . . . (Earth 5-6).
Such is the tone and theme of Earth Shine, the last book written by Lindbergh before the publication of her volumes of diaries and letters. A chronological list of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's publications ends with War Within
and Without (1980). With the conclusion of this final
volume of her diaries and letters, the events of Anne Mor
row Lindbergh's life become, once again, closed to the
public, as much as is possible for a woman so well-known.
Except for occasional news items or magazine articles which
remind people of the Lindbergh name, Anne Morrow Lindbergh
lives in relative privacy. At this writing, she resides
in Darien, Connecticut (letter to author). Charles Lind
bergh died in 1974 (Grierson 172). His wartime journals,
published four years before his death, include a statement 42
to which provides, perhaps, the most insightful conclusion this biographical discussion of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Anne always seems to me to stand on life and, at
the same time, touch something beyond it. Yet
her ability to touch beyond does not cause her to
relinquish life any more than her ability to live
restricts the unlimited travels of her spirit.
She uses life to strengthen spirit and spirit to
strengthen life (696). BIBLIOGRAPHY
Chapter II
Cardman, Francine. "Books: Critics' Christmas Choices."
Rev. of Gift From the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Commonweal 5 Dec. 1980: 699-700.
Ciardi, John. "A Closer Look at the Unicorn." Rev. of The
Unicorn and Other Poems, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Saturday Review 12 Jan. 1957: 54-57.
Grierson, John. I Remember Lindbergh. New York: Harcourt,
1977.
Hogan, William. Rev. of Dearly Beloved, by Anne Morrow Lind
bergh. San Francisco Chronicle 6 June 1962; 41.
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and
Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928. New York:
Harcourt, 1971.
Dearly Beloved: A Theme and Variations. New York:
Harcourt, 1962.
Earth Shine. New York: Harcourt, 1969.
"Flying Around hte North Atlantic." National Geo
graphic Magazine Sep. 1934: 261-338.
Gift From the Sea. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc.,
1955.
Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1929-1932. New York: Harcourt,
1973.
43 44
Letter to the author. 7 Nov. 1985.
Listen! the Wind. New York: Harcourt, 1938.
Locked Rooms and Open Doors: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1933-1935. New York: Harcourt,
1974.
North to the Orient. New York: Harcourt, 1935.
"Prayer for Peace." Readers Digest Jan. 1940: 1-8.
"Reaffirmation." Atlantic Monthly May 1941: 681-86.
The Flower and the Nettle: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1936-1939. New York: Harcourt, 1976.
"The Heron and the Astronaut." Life 28 Feb. 1969: 14
26.
The Steep Ascent. New York: Harcourt, 1944.
The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955. 1956. New York:
Vintage Books, 1972.
The Wave of the Future: A Confession of Faith. New
York: Harcourt, 1940.
War Within and Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944. 1980. New York: Berkley
Books, 1981.
Lindbergh, Charles A. The Wartime Journals of Charles A.
Lindbergh. New York: Harcourt, 1970.
Millar, Neil. Rev. of Bring Me a Unicorn, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. Christian Science Monitor 2 Mar. 1972: 10.
Rev. of The Wave of the Future, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Christian Science Monitor 23 Nov. 1940: 11. 45
Rev. of The Wave of the Future, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Current History and Forum 26 Nov. 1940: 32. CHAPTER III
ANALYSIS AND PRODUCTION CONCEPT
Using her pen name, Ann Leighton, Isadore Smith auth ored a book entitled While We Are Absent. After reading the
which book, Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote a letter to Smith included this statement:
I read the book in one gulp . . . and felt
joy not only at the artistry and lightness of
touch which at the same time probes so deeply but
also joy at finding what one conceitedly calls
"one's own kind of person" (War 327).
Obviously, Lindbergh felt it necessary to communicate to another, in this case, the book's author, the value of what she read in While We Are Absent. Lindbergh also com municated her perceptions through a review in Atlantic
Monthly (War 324). The words of Lindbergh, quoted above,
exemplify the kind of response that frequently motivates
the interpreter of literature. Unlike Lindbergh, whose
reaction was to communicate in writing, the interpreter seeks
to evaluate the literature orally, through performance.
Occasionally, an interpreter will find, upon reading
various works of a particular author, there is repeatedly
such an experience of initial captivation followed by a
46 47
listening audience. desire to share that captivation with a upon one of two In this case, the interpreter should decide the au general performance options in orally presenting selected for thor's work. A singular "favorite" may be Or, the inter adapting and performing in its entirety. of the author's preter may opt to take portions from several
works and develop a unified program (Lee and Gura 470).
Frames: A Biographical Portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is
latter of these two the product of a choice to emplement the
options. In the following pages, the process of compiling
this solo performance script will be analyzed using theo
retical principles gathered from selected sourcebooks of
interpretation theory.
Kleinau and McHughes describe compilation as a process
of mon of "juxtaposition." They compare it to the effect creation tage in the art of cinema and say that it is "the
of new meaning in the juncture between [literary] selections,
while retaining meaning within the component parts them
selves" (138). Juxtaposition occurs in two primary ways.
Again, using Kleinau and McHughes' terms, these are "assem
blage" and "collage" (139). Assemblage, simply described,
is the gathering of literary units which relate to a central
theme. Each of the units retains its own identity and is
connected to the others through the use of transitions.
Collage, on the other hand, is a combination of liter
ary selections, from a variety of sources, that form a
ff- FOE 9 W11 i 011- 1- 1 -- l- -1 1 11 .11 - - "1-,-- - 1,- - 48
unified script which is, itself, a new and unique artistic entity. As in the visual arts, the distinguishing feature of collage is "the use of pieces of original materials, put together so that, although the segments may be recognizable, they are more completely subservient to a new compositional arrangement" (Kleinau and McHughes 139). "Collage" is a suitable description for the process of compiling the wri tings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Long, Hudson, and Jeffrey pinpoint the need for a "pro duction concept" in preparing an interpretive performance
(19). They state that this concept "establishes a causal relationship between what you take a piece of literature to mean and how it is actualized." (19). Further, ". . . [It] embodies what you have found (your interpretation through
analysis) and what you intend to do (adaptation, rehearsal,
staging); it is the articulation of your intent" (19).
This relationship between the literature and its even
tual performance does, in part, explain the choice of
collage as the method for scripting the works of Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. Lindbergh's books are written almost entirely in
the first-person voice as she narrates her own experiences.
It is natural, therefore, to imagine a program of her works
in which the interpreter takes on the persona of Anne Lind
bergh. While it would be possible to unify or "assemble" a
program using cuttings from Lindbergh's books with out side
sources providing appropriate transitional information, one 49
device commonly employed by Lindbergh makes "collage" a more fitting method of scripting.
A rather consistent characteristic of Lindbergh's pub lications, particularly in her volumes of diaries and letters, is the use of a summarizing preface. In these pre faces, she provides a great deal of background information necessary to a more complete understanding of each book, often capsulizing the events of the previous volume(s) and explaining necessary contextual information not supplied within the pages of the text itself.
Because of the explanatory tone which, more often than not, voices Lindbergh's perspective from a vantage point of many years later, these prefaces suggest an attitude of omniscience. It is not necessary to look any further for appropriate transitional or narrative material in scripting
Lindbergh's works. By incorporating content from the pre faces, transitions between selections are made smoothly as the interpreter retains the Lindbergh persona throughout.
These bridges should actually seem a part of the whole, rather than noticeably "transitional." The effect of an omniscient narrator, providing explanation and linkage, is achieved subtly and in a manner which is potentially en hancing to the literature itself. Rather than have the audience repeatedly re-orient themselves to a different
"speaker," be it the persona of Lindbergh or the narrator/ interpreter, a consistent characterization provides
I t, 4 50
continuity which allows audience members to focus their energies more fully on the literature presented. Character maintenance, thus, is an aid to audience comprehension, and the use of the collage method of compilation in scripting
Lindbergh's works assists in character maintenance.
Another factor to consider in this process of "actual
izing" the literature of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is expressed
by Coger and White who write, "The finished script must pos
sess a wholeness; that is, it must have a beginning, a
middle, and an end" (39). Given the amount of material from
which to choose and Lindbergh's very eventful, life, .achiev
ing wholeness within a reasonable performance time frame
affords no small challenge to a compiler of her works.
Entire programs could be developed from nearly any signifi
cant aspect of her life and writings. For example, it is
conceivable that a presentation could center around Lind
bergh's experiences in the early days of aviation and her
impressions as a close observer and participant in this
fledgling field. Or, one could collect and arrange Lind
bergh's comments about various prominent people she met as
the wife of aviator and hero, Colonel Charles Lindbergh.
Such a program might offer an interesting view of history
through the eyes of one who met and mingled with those who
had a part in shaping history, from President Hoover to
General Goring to Henry Ford (Hour 66, Flower 85, War 125). 51
Another program option, and the one chosen in this the sis, is analogous to Lindbergh's own practice of journaling and letter-writing. Instead of centering solely on one particular facet of her life, a script might incorporate numerous life events, just as her journal entries and let ters are apt to include several events of one day rather than an isolated incident. This more biographical approach provides, in some ways, an even greater challenge in crea
ting a sense of "wholeness" and unity. Coger and White write that certain kinds of nonfiction literature "require
special handling if they are to be used successfully" (52).
Specifically, they add: "Diaries . . . should contain a
story line, reveal character progression or regression, or
unfold successive new perceptions" (53).
Sessions and Holland also suggest the need to handle
each kind of literature as its style dictates. They offer
instructions for scripting prose based on the category into
which it falls. Rather than classifying it strictly accord ing to whether it is fiction or nonfiction, Sessions and
Holland prefer to label prose as descriptive, expository,
or narrative (263). While these are not entirely suitable
groupings in all cases, they are more definitive than the
two broad categories of fiction and nonfiction.
Descriptive prose, according to Sessions and Holland,
is characterized primarily by its reliance on imagery (202).
A writer of descriptive prose appeals directly to the 52
reader's senses. Consider this passage from Lindbergh's
North to the Orient.
The twenty-seventh of July, 1931, was clear and
hot. The heat of a whole summer was condensed
dripping into that afternoon. . . . Picking up
our baggage, we hurried into the shade of the
factory office. A dark heavy heat hung over
everything. Men in shirt sleeves ran in and out.
We could hear reporters telephoning. . . . I
mopped my face and counted my radio pads and pen
cils (16-17).
With concentration, a reader should be able, empa
thically, to feel the mugginess of the air, see the perspir
ation on the people in this scene, and hear the muffled
voices of reporters in the background, based on the descrip
tiveness of Lindbergh's prose. Because of the careful use
of words to supply imagery in descriptive prose, Sessions
and Holland caution scripters to use the general rule of
cutting down such literature, if need be, but not to cut
out. The most vivid elements of descriptive prose should be
retained (214).
Expository prose is described as "prose which concerns
itself directly, by way of explanation or persuasion, with
ideas or principles" (Sessions and Holland 217). It is also
considered the easiest of the three types of prose to "cut"
(Sessions and Holland 229). It is essential, however, to 53
read the entire selection in order to decide which are the central ideas of the work. Anne Morrow Lindbergh's The Wave of the Future and Gift From the Sea fall quite naturally into the expository realm of prose because of their focus on ideas and principles.
The third category of prose as described by Sessions
and Holland is narrative. Simply stated, "Narrative prose
tells a story" (241). This means, of course, that it has
characters, a setting, a climax or climaxes which are part
of a plot, and is characterized by action. Narration can
not exist without descriptive elements and, while its
general purpose is to entertain, it is often used informa
tively or persuasively as well (Sessions and Holland 242).
In this sense, narrative prose can be a combination of both
descriptive and expository prose as long as it contains the
elements of a story.
Most writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh fall easily into
the category of narrative prose and, more specifically, nar
rative prose which is highly descriptive and often exposi
tory. In general, her journal entries, letters, and
publications about specific journeys the Lindberghs made as
aviators are stories. She recounts the adventures of a day
in a diary entry or letter, and may provide a longer story,
covering several days or weeks, in a book like Listen! the
Wind. An excellent example of her narrative writing appears
in The Flower and the Nettle where there occurs a dramatic 54
story of an especially perilous flight the Lindberghs made during their years in Europe (114-19).
Sessions and Holland suggest several guidelines for cutting narrative prose. The first consideration is time.
It is desirable to find a selection that will come closest to the time requirements of the performance situation so that cutting will be minimal. Minor characters may be omit ted. If there appear to be large gaps in meaning because of a cutting, paraphrase appropriately and provide transitional material. If possible, delete material in large segments rather than in small bits. Dialogue tags such as, "he said," should be avoided. And finally, overriding all de cisions about cutting is the caution not to distort the author's purpose and style (244, 263).
As prose is the primary type of literature to be in cluded in the biographical script about Anne Morrow Lind bergh, these clarifications and suggestions regarding different types of prose and how they should be handled, are especially pertinent. Kleinau and McHughes offer equally relevant suggestions for developing a script from Lindbergh's writings in their discussion of steps to be followed in script compilation.
The first of these steps they call "finding the core"
(143). This is similar to Coger and White's concept of
"wholeness" and Lee and Gura's assertion: " . . . [Ylour program should have a unifying theme . . ." (39, 469). The 55
"core" is the primary idea around which a script is built
(Kleinau and McHughes 143). Given the earlier discussion about the approach to be taken here in scripting, a bio graphical portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh serves as an appropriate "core" or "unifying theme." This broad-based theme is acceptable in the initial stages of program devel opment, however, as the scripting progresses, a more definitive theme should emerge (Kleinau and McHughes 143).
The second necessary step in compiling a script is the gathering of literary materials which are in keeping with the selected theme (Kleinau and McHughes 144). In devel oping a biographical portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, intelligent decisions about literature for inclusion in the script can occur only after exposure to those of her writings which are autobiographical in nature. "Autobiographical" in this sense is a term used very generally to describe those works in which Lindbergh discusses personal life events and philosophies. Therefore, The Steep Ascent and
Dearly Beloved would be less essential reading for the scrip ter since they are fictional. These books are helpful, however, in developing a broader understanding of Anne Mor row Lindbergh's personality. The Unicorn and Other Poems may be classified as autobiographical because the poems reflect events of Lindbergh's life and her attitudes toward those events. 56
Kleinau and McHughes describe the third step in the process of script compilation as "the gestation period"
(144). This is a time of creative limbo, in a manner of speaking, in which one "live[s] with" the idea in process
(145). During this period, potentially workable methods of incorporating salient literary selections will occur to the scripter. Other methods will be recognized as inappropriate, and discarded. This reduction process continues on into the next step of "crystallization," described as "one of the most difficult steps" (145). At this time, the compiler reaches some conclusions as to which tentatively selected portions of literature will actually work within the script and which will not. Those which are chosen are arranged in various combinations in an attempt to find the most desir able form for presentation (145).
Virtually inseparable from the process of solidifying a script is that of the "search for form" (145). The form content relationship is a mutually dependent one. A compiler planning a script will adapt its content to fit the perfor mance form. For example, the solo presentational form calls for script content which can be appropriately delivered by a single performer. Likewise, in a performance by two or more interpreters, the scripter must always be aware of content manageability for each performer in this situation. Kleinau and McHughes explain:
The compiler has to be constantly aware of 57
consistency and change in the role of the individ
ual performer in the script. . . . The problem is
compounded in the collage by the original stylistic
differences between the segments that compose the
script. Although in a collage the segments are
usually blended into a single formal unit, the form
often contains shifting roles and scenes. When com
piling a collage, you need to look carefully at the
series of roles you've assigned . . . [the], perfor
mer, making sure each is playable and consistent
(146).
In the writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, a personal per
spective is maintained quite consistently, making solo perfor mance a natural vehicle for communicating the script. Fre
quently, however, in recounting a conversation, Lindbergh al
lows the conversants to speak for themselves, recording the
responses verbatim. It is important, in these cases, that the
scripter carefully choose the literature in terms of manage
ability and clarity. It may be necessary to adapt certain
selections to make them more understandable to a listening
audience. For example, in Bring Me a Unicorn, Lindbergh writes
of her reactions to the news of her first telephone call from
Charles Lindbergh. The actual account written by Lindbergh is:
I arrive on the midnight. Jo says, "Guess who
called up yesterday?"
A.: 58
J.: "Charles Augustus L. He is going to call up
at ten today." (It was then 9:30. Something in
side me turns over. But I can't realize it -- too
vague. Thought he had gone like "a dutiful
bream.")
"Buzzzz . . . "
Jo (shuts the door with firm, quiet, and kind of
"Now you've got to face it" voice): "There he is
-- for Miss Anne Morrow."
A.(Hysterically): "Jo, I can't -- I simply can't
-- I can't speak to him."
J.: "You've got to Anne. Go ahead -- it won't be
long" (175).
This interaction provides, for a contemporary audience, an amusing picture of a young, girlish Anne, who does not know, as they do, of the eventual marriage of Charles Lind bergh and Anne Morrow. To speak every word and notation in oral performance as it is recorded here, however, is less ef fective communicatively than if the passage were modified slightly. Combined with appropriate nonverbal actions, the following altered version of the same basic conversation is more comprehensible aurally.
I arrive home to discover one Charles Augustus
Lindbergh had called for me the day before.
(Jo): "He's calling again at ten today."
(Anne, looking at watch): "It is 9:30!" Something
-- - WWWRIWON"NO ------59
inside me turns over. (Hearing phone ring)
"There he is!" (Pause)
(Jo): "Miss Anne Morrow!"
(Anne): "Jo, I can't -- I simply can't -- I can't
speak to him!"
This last line could be followed by the performer's sus tained look at "Jo," then an expression of resignation on
"Anne's" face which indicates 'Jols" insistance that Anne take the call. "Jo's" actual words do not need to be spoken.
The content remains essentially the same and yet is more aural and more manageable in form for a single performer.
Other alterations in this dialogue are also worth no ting. Notice how "Anne" introduces the subject of the phone call as a narrator, rather than letting "Jo" initiate it.
The listener is better prepared for the interaction in this way and is not likely to be confused when the performer delivers the message of the forthcoming ten o'clock call as
"Jo." All parenthetical asides are either spoken aloud or incorporated nonverbally. It would be a bit ludicrous, of course, to attempt imitation of a telephone ring and unneces sary to arrange a sound effect. All that is needed is a dis play of listening behavior, followed by the summons of "Miss
Anne Morrow." These are examples of ways in which a scripter may alter the original wording of a passage to allow it to fit the presentation form. As Bowen, Aggertt, and Rickert assert:
ill IPMAW Wimiliammoll, 11alm lwl N59 0 wauw 2" 60
The oral and aural mechanisms make demands not
made by the pen and the eye. The speech mechanism,
for example, falls easy victim to undue compli
cations of sound. . . . Furthermore, the ear can
not relisten as the eye can reread. When the mind
of a silent reader does not comprehend ideas, the
eye can backtrack, reconsider relationships, and
even consult a dictionary or encyclopedia in the
pursuit of understanding. The ear, however, must
perceive meaning the first time it hears -- per
haps not the whole meaning but certainly enough to
make the effort satisfying (57-58).
Besides the consideration of form for manageability and clarity, Kleinau and McHughes also stress the importance of organization for dramatic or emotional effect. They speak or crisis points at which "the audience is moved, contacted on an emotional and sensory level" (146). In the life of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh there are numerous events which have the potential to move an audience. The one which comes to the minds of most people first is, of course, the kidnapping and murder of.Charles Lindbergh, Jr. Indeed, much of the material Lindbergh wrote during and after the tragedy inher ently reveals a crisis situation and one with which most people can, at least, sympathize, if not empathize.
There are other less obviously dramatic aspects of Lind bergh's life which would, with proper placement and 61
audience presentation, spark emotional involvement within members. For example, many people do not realize the vital role Anne Morrow Lindbergh played in early air exploration.
Some of her most "dramatic" writings vividly describe the perils she and her husband faced on these survey flights in their primitive aircrafts. The feelings of insecurity Lind bergh expresses at meeting and interacting with prominent persons such as King Edward VIII of England would be easily understood by many people who, not necessarily having met the King, could at least identify with her feelings of un certainty in such a situation. Lindbergh also spent a great deal of time writing about World War II. Her reactions to the tumult surrounding this period in history are not, pre sumably, unlike the feelings of many others who lived then.
Even if one reads these writings of Lindbergh's without having experienced World War II, her discussions are so thoughtful as to arouse intellectual interest if not emo tional involvement. Lee and Gura clearly emphasize the im portant part both intellectual and emotional involvement play in the art of interpretive performance (3). Lind bergh's writings about war, as well as many other events of her life are, setting aside their emotional impact, his
torically significant enough to maintain interest on an
intellectual level.
In Theatres for Literature, Kleinau and McHughes refer
to the "balancing act" which is naturally a part of the 62
process of script development. Lee and Gura's description
of the art of interpretation names well the elements which
every presentation must strive to balance. Besides the
above-mentioned intellectual and emotional aspects, inter
pretive performance must necessarily exhibit an "aesthetic
entirity" as well (Lee and Gura 5). Aesthetic quality is not
an isolated variable within literature or its performance.
Just as form and content are interdependent, so intellectual
and emotional realms cannot be strictly separated from the
aesthetic realm. This passage from Lindbergh's War Within
and Without serves as an example of the relationships be
tween the intellectual, emotional, and aesthetic dimensions.
Tuesday, August 27th, 1940
London bombed. Apparently not much damage done.
How one accepts it -- now.
Sunny and warmer; pick flowers and do one bowl of
autumn colors, but the garden is thinning and I cut
carefully. I never take a zinnia with a bud next
to it, they look too much like mother and child.
And I feel so badly when sometimes I cut two flow
ers by accident instead of one. I wonder vaguely
if Death sometimes takes an extra person -- by ac
cident -- because the scissors are too large?"
(126).
One cannot help but recognize the ironic juxtapositions
in this journal entry. First, information about an event is 63
given to the reader. Even as it is given, one senses the emotional impact of the message. This emotional element, although slightly redirected, is imbedded in the rest of the expressed thought. Aesthetically, a reader is attracted by the image of a warm and sunny day and a stroll through flow ers. Lindbergh uses this same imagery to bring the reader back to emotional realization of the serious nature of the news initially delivered, the progressing war in Europe.
This is but one of many selections from Lindbergh's writings which could be cited t6 illustrate the integrative nature of intellectual, emotional, and aesthetic aspects of literature for interpretive performance.
Lindbergh is quite skillful in her use of metaphor to create imagery. She thereby increases the aesthetic value of her work. A scripter of her writings may rely quite freely on Lindbergh's own words to achieve an overall sense of ar tistry in program development. Certain techniques may be used, however, to enhance the aesthetic quality of perfor mance. One method is the use of Lindbergh's poetry to sup plement explanation(s) of her life events. The Unicorn and
Other Poems contains many poems which correspond with her published journals and letters. "No Harvest Ripening," a poem dated Autumn 1939, clearly parallels Lindbergh's diaries during this time period in which she agonizes over the bur geoning military conflict in Europe (40-41). An effective way to mollify her discussion of war in performance, 64
therefore, might be the incorporation of this poem which so poignantly explores the incongruity of this "season of ripening fruit and seeds" in America with the actual circum stance of destruction and death in Europe.
An earlier discussion concluded that a biographical por trait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is to be the overall theme of the compiled script of Lindbergh's writings. Also recognized is the eventual need for greater specificity and focus of theme. Kleinau and McHughes write: "If you're making a col lage, you'll find that the individual excerpts and fragments you're interweaving will create a logic of their own and tell you how they want to come together" (146). Such is the case in the compilation of Frames: A Biographical Portrait of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
As one develops a familiarity with the writings of a particular author, certain recurring themes or images become apparent. In accurately presenting that author's works in performance, it is the responsibility of the interpreter and/ or scripter to acquaint the audience, to one degree or ano ther, with these more prominent themes. Lindbergh regularly refers to such things as the sea and flowers throughout her writings, whether relating them to specific activities such as a walk along the beach and "arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning," or using oceanic and floral imagery (Gift
55). Sometimes, a repeated image is an ideal source for the title of the compiled script. Although not as frequently 65
mentioned as the sea, or flowers, an attentive reader of
Lindbergh's writings will notice her reference to "frames."
In Gift From the Sea she writes: "It is only framed in space that beauty blooms" (112). And, in a poem entitled "Space" are the words "Significance is born within the frame" (Uni corn 61). In another passage, describing a trek outdoors,
Lindbergh writes:
Then I went down lower and sat on a ledge in some
ferns and heather where I was just at the height to
see under the tops of the pines, out between the
reddish brown trunks, over covered walls and fields
to the rocks and the sea, everything seen through
and framed by the trunks of the pines. . . . And
I thought about frames and how important they were.
They were direction and emphasis and a lens
(Flower 94).
This subtle yet graphic metaphor, with its visual con cept of "framing," seems especially appropriate as a title for a script of Lindbergh's writings. Not only is it char acteristic of her use of imagery, but is also suggests a unifying concept or theme which is reflected both in the con tent and structure of the script. To explain more fully, the script may be compiled so as to emphasize Lindbergh's use of the word "frames" by use of passages such as those mentioned above. "Frames" may also imply the format of the presen tation itself. In the art of cinema, a "frame" is one of 66
many pictures or exposures which compose the film or com pleted art form. Similarly, a script of the selected writ ings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is composed of individual ex posures or "frames" of her life and works to create a new artistic entity. The canopy principle of "framing" helps to achieve a synthesis described very articulately by Kleinau and McHughes:
For the collage, the compiler has the task of
creating and intensifying texture, blending the
various parts of the script together into a co
hesive whole that seems to be of one fabric. The
method for doing this resembles that of orches
tration, except that it involves synthesizing,
rather than breaking apart. You're cementing to
gether the scattered excerpts and fragments to
achieve a feeling of unity rather than a feeling of
isolated bits in a sequence (159).
As mentioned earlier, Long, Hudson, and Jeffrey's term
"production concept" serves to describe the discussion thus
far which centers on script development as an activity of
"actualizing" literature (19). A production concept is also
described as the articulation of how one intends to embody
literature in performance. It seems appropriate, therefore,
to consider certain visual aspects of the solo presentation
of Frames: A Biographical Portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
I 67
Given that the performer maintains the persona of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh throughout the presentation, suggestive costuming serves to reinforce this characterization. Since no specific time frame is offered to the audience, and since
Lindbergh presents experiences from various periods of her life, it is preferable to choose clothing which is not per iod-specific. The published volumes of diaries and letters contain photographs which are of assistance in developing a sense of Lindbergh's personal taste in clothing. It is most common to see her in attire which is practical, simply styled, and neat in appearance. Self-descriptions through out her writings confirm this impression.
A solo presentation places great demands upon the im aginations of audience members if for no other reason than that the performer is the only channel through which meaning
is communicated, be the style narrative or dialogue. In
light of this fact, staging should be carefully planned so
as to enhance the ability of the performer to promote
audience participation in the creative experience of the
performance. It is not necessary to develop a detailed set.
Pieces chosen for staging should serve to define space,
provide motivation for physical movement, and suggest the
location of the action.
The opening lines of the presentation reveal to the
audience that Lindbergh is taking a private vacation quite
removed from her usually busy lifestyle. Her isolated 68
location is on an island she describes as: "linked by no bridges, no cables, no telephones. . . . An island from the world and the world's life"(Gift 40). This sketchy des cription of locale does not bring to mind a particularly luxurious picture of the kind of setting in which Lindbergh finds herself. Set pieces should be selected in keeping with this impression.
At one point during the presentation, Lindbergh pours herself tea. In the opening moments, she arranges some flo wers. Such specific actions recommend the need for the ac companying properties. Other activities presented in the program such as the flight to Rotterdam or walks along the beach cannot, of course, be realistically displayed. Sug gestive movements and postures are sufficient to prompt audience members to create their own mental images.
The larger set pieces help to define the area in which the presentation occurs. There is need for a table upon which to set a vase of flowers. Another piece is necessary to hold a tea pot and tea cup and saucer. A free-standing shelf or tea cart is appropriate for this purpose and may also serve as a place to set the book to which Lindbergh re fers in an early portion of the program. The only other furnishing needed is a chair in which the performer may sit during certain "scenes" of the presentation. Although special lighting, make-up, and other more detailed visual elements could be successfully incorporated into the 69
production, the presentational form does not demand these additions.
It is helpful, especially to audience members who are unfamiliar with Anne Morrow Lindbergh and her writings, to distribute a printed program which contains background in formation about Lindbergh, acknowledges her works, and pro vides specific notes about the program.
The following chapter, Frames: A Biographical Portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, will reveal the manner in which this writer implemented the various theoretical principles of script compilation for interpretive performance. BIBLIOGRAPHY
Chapter III
Bowen, Elbert R., Otis J. Aggertt, and William E. Rickert.
Communicative Reading. 4th ed. New York: Macmillan,
1978.
Coger, Leslie Irene and Melvin R. White. Readers Theatre
Handbook. 3rd ed. Glenview: Scott, 1982.
Kleinau, Marion L. and Janet Larsen McHughes. Theatres for
Literature. Sherman Oaks: Alfred Pub. Co., Inc.,
1980.
Lee, Charlotte I. and Timothy Gura. Oral Interpretation.
6th ed. Boston: Houghton, 1982.
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and Let
ters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928. New York:
Harcourt, 1971.
Gift From the Sea. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc.,
1955.
Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1929-1932. New York: Harcourt, 1973.
Listen! the Wind. New York: Harcourt, 1938.
North to the Orient. New York: Harcourt, 1935.
The Flower and the Nettle: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1936-1939. New York: Harcourt, 1976.
70
plamm"Olow INammill ow"'MINKIM" 71
The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955. 1956. New
York: Vintage Books, 1972.
--- War Within and Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944. 1980. New York: Berkley
Books, 1981.
Long, Beverly Whitaker, Lee Hudson, and Phillis Rienstra
Jeffrey. Group Performance of Literature. Englewood
Cliffs: Prentice, 1977.
Sessions, Virgil D. and Jack B. Holland. Your Role in Oral
Interpretation. Boston: Holbrook Press, Inc., 1975. CHAPTER IV
"FRAMES: A BIOGRAPHICAL PORTRAIT
OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH"
THE SCRIPT
(The performer enters carrying white flowers to
which she refers in her open lines. She begins
arranging them in a vase as she speaks. Through
out the presentation, the performer speaks in the
persona of Anne Morrow Lindbergh.)
The whiteness of their blossoms is too pure
To be unfurled
In a world spoiled by the feet of men;
And they are open -- too open,
In their flat uplifted acceptance
Of the sky.
Besides,
They lie.
They say -
(And I do not believe!)
They say -
(Oh, they deceive -- they deceive!)
They say --
72
'Row A-Am" - "9x*AAl% 73
"Look, it is here, the answer,
It is here,
If you would only see,
If you would only listen,
If you would only open your heart."
They say -
"Look,it is here!" (Unicorn 38-39)
They are rather convincing, aren't they? Arranging a vase of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in
a crowded day -- like writing a poem, or saying a prayer
(Gift 55).
For a full day and two nights I have been alone. I lay
on the beach under the stars at night alone. I made my
breakfast alone. Alone I watched the gulls at the end of
the pier dip and wheel for the scraps I threw them. A morn
ing's work at my desk, and then a late picnic lunch alone
on the beach (Gift 42-43).
How wonderful are islands! Islands in space, like this
one I have come to, ringed about by miles of water, linked
by no bridges, no cables, no telephones. An island from the
world and the world's life. Islands in time, like this
short vacation of mine (Gift 40).
Here on this island I have had space. It is only
framed in space that beauty blooms. Only in space are
5am' "AF g "N - "I "Mallm - 11 - - MPWWAWUWA4OUQA- - -13A AjkwAjjw; --- 74
events and objects and people unique and significant -- and therefore beautiful (Gift 113, 112).
For beauty, for significance, it's space
We need; and since we have no space today
In which to frame the act, the word, the face
Of beauty, it's no longer beautiful.
A tree's significant when it's alone,
Standing against the sky's wide open face;
A sail, spark-white upon the space of sea,
Can pin a whole horizon into place.
Encompassed by the dark, a candle flowers,
Creating space around it as it towers,
Giving the room a shape, a form, a name;
Significance is born within the frame. (Unicorn 61)
Perhaps this is why I write, for it is a sort of frame.
I must write, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living (Locked
229).
It is the striving after perfection that makes one an artist. It is the sense that one is imperfect, unfulfilled, unfinished. One attempts by a superhuman effort to fill the gap, to leap over it. . . . And one creates a third and
-11prop-oil a 75
adventure rarely reaches separate thing. It is said that never reached China -- but its predetermined end. Columbus he discovered America (War 26). lie a To write or to speak is almost inevitably to to little. It is an attempt to clothe an intangible form;
And in the act of compress an immeasurable into a mold. torn! The writer is compression, how Truth is mangled and his the eternal Procrustes who must fit his unhappy guests, it is ideas, to his set bed of words. And in the process,
inevitable that the ideas have their legs chopped off, or
mean that one pulled out of joint . . . which does not One should cease from trying to express the impossible. but one should labor at that distant ideal unremittingly,
should offer the results with some humility (Wave 6-7).
This brings to mind the publicaton of my first book.
How vividly I recall that experience!
(Takes the book from its place on a shelf and
holds it as she verbalizes her remembrance of
the experience.)
Down to Harcourt, Brace with North to the Orient. Be
fore going I do a stupid thing -- count the number of words. too short; Forty-two thousand something. Panic! It is much
but I am already committed to talk to them.
The receptionist . .
"Yes, I have an appointment . . . with Mr. Sloan."
"Who is it?"
0-MWWWA%-%MlW ONOWWWWWO-0--m I 1 01 1 Iffill I WAWMMMIMWAWMWWMW 76
"Mrs. Lindbergh. "
"What Mrs. Lindbergh?"
"Mrs. Charles Lindbergh."
He comes out -- a nice face. In past all those desks, those people. Mr. Harcourt at the end.
"So, you have a book under your coat! Well, well.
Sit down."
I tell them it is much too short.
"How long is a piece of string?"
And that it is too old -- three years or so.
"You mean it isn't news -- I wouldn't take a book that wouldn't have just as much value in five years time."
I feel very humble, but say that . . .
"It is an interesting story in itself -- the trip - and one or two chapters are good and I'd like your advice.
I come to you because I feel you publish more on value than on ballyhoo. I'd like you to be honest."
"I'm just as anxious as you to avoid the criticism:
'He took that book just because Anne Lindbergh wrote it'."
They won't let me know until Monday.
Two o'clock. Now he has read it. They're not excited about it or they'd call up. Why did I say so much about it?
(Puts down book and begins pacing.)
I know what it is really like -- two or three good chapters, several poor ones, the rest mediocre. I acted as though I had a book, as though I could write. Why not just 77
admit it's interesting as the story of an interesting trip
-- no more?
Perhaps I could throw myself into children, or a home.
That is really most important anyway. Jon is most impor tant, and if I could have another child . . . why worry about the things that are not fundamental? Don't break your heart over it.
I will more or less let their comments decide. That is, if they say it needs rewriting, I will perhaps get this one out for Charles, but never write another. I will not go on pretending any longer that I have hidden talents and dreaming foolishly.
Six o'clock. Still no word. It will be Monday then.
I'm not disappointed, exactly. Just tired. It is what I expected.
Quarter of seven, I walk in the garden.
"Telephone! Mr. Harcourt, publishing house."
I rush in, breathless.
"Mrs. Lindbergh, Mr. Sloan brought in your manuscript this morning and I've just finished it. I couldn't put it down. It's splendid! I would take it if it were written by Jane Smith. It's a good story, it's moving, it's well constructed, and parts of it border on poetry."
I go back out in the garden, counting up other moments like this -- moments of personal triumph. Not happiness exactly, something fiercer, and probably not a very 78
praiseworthy emotion. Yet is isn't pure ambition. Other things enter into it -- other moments of joy . . . my first kiss, Charles asking me to marry him . . . my first child, and my second. Soloing a plane . . . and that moment off
Africa when I reached Long Island by radio -- three thou sand miles away -- a record! Harold Nicholson, after rea ding the National Geographic article, telling me I should write.
These are moments of power and fitness. There is a place for me. There is some reason for my living. I can hold my head up. It is that feeling.
Charles comes home and says I look as if I had swal lowed the canary. He beams with pride at my news. He is terribly, childishly proud.
We call back Mr. Harcourt and tell him I can come in, but Charles not, perhaps. There is a decided droop in his voice and doubt assails me. He wants to see Charles and not me. He didn't really say it was well written. He's just a good businessman and knows the psychological value of . . . and on and on. Very hard to sleep.
(Sits)
I think publishers are a lot like obstetricians. There is the same fuss of making you feel what a wonderful little woman you are, and then getting down to the facts about head size, pelvic bones . . . They have a decided bedside manner. After all, though, they are right. You must get 79
over the feeling that you are accomplishing God's mission.
In the words of Ogden Nash, "doing something beautiful merely by being fruitful."
However, I feel embarrassed talking of clothing my
book, as though the doctors were talking about an unborn
child . . . "You don't really mean to say it's going to
walk around on two feet like other children?" (Locked 157
58, 268-71).
(Picks up book again and refers to it visually
and verbally at appropriate moments throughout
the following discourse.)
North to the Orient . . . this collection of chapters.
Why did I write it? There is, of course, always the per
sonal satisfaction of writing down one's own experiences so
they may be saved. And there is another personal satis
faction: that of the people who like to recount their
adventures -- the diary-keepers, the story-tellers, the
letter-writers -- a strange race of people who feel half
cheated of an experience unless it is retold. As though
a little doubting or dull, they cannot see it until it is
repeated. One says excitedly to an audience, "Do you see
-- I can't tell you how strange it was -- we all of us felt
." although actually, at the time of the incident, one
was not conscious of such a feeling, and only became so in
the retelling. It is as inexplicable as looking all after
noon at a gray stone on the beach, and not realizing until 8qnv one tries to put it on canvas that it is in reality bright blue (North viii).
(Leafs through pages of North to the Orient, then
reads aloud.)
July 27, 1931. It is clear and hot. A small crowd of people press against the gates to the ramp at College Point ,
Long Island. Friends come up to say good-by.
"'We hope you're going to get through it all right," with voices and expressions that say, "But we don't think you've got much chance."
(Stands, putting book aside.)
We pick up our baggage and hurry into the shade of the
factory office. A dark heavy heat hangs over everything.
Men in shirt sleeves run in ar d out. We can hear reporters
telephoning .*..
"Just arrived in brown auto -- now packing up the plane."
I turn around. Little boys look in the window at me and giggle. I mop my face and count my radio pads and pen cils. A reporter pokes his head in the door.
"'Can't you even say you think this is an especially dangerous trip, Mrs. Lindbergh?"
"I'm sorry, I really haven't anything to say."
After all, we want to go. What good does it do to
talk about the danger? 81
"But Mrs. Lindbergh, we would like to get some impres sions from you. What is it you dread most? What -- ?"
A kind friend repeats that I do not wish to talk. It is too hot to talk anyway. It is too hot to sit down.
As I walk out of the building, two women run up to me.
"Oh, Mrs. Lindbergh, the women of America are so anx ious to know about your clothes."
"And I would like to write a little article about your housekeeping in the ship. Where do you put the lunch boxes?"
I feel depressed, as I generally do when women report ers ask me conventionally feminine questions. I feel as they must feel when they are given those questions to ask.
I feel slightly insulted. Over there, my husband is being asked vital masculine questions, clean-cut steely tech nicalities or broad abstractions. But I am asked about clothes and lunch boxes. Still, if I were asked about steely technicalities or broad abstractions, I would not be able to answer, so perhaps I do not deserve anything better.
"I'm sorry. I really haven't anything to say."
"But you must not disappoint all the people who are so anxious to hear about you. You know, the American Public
will be disappointed if they don't know where I keep the lunch boxes? You aren't going to ask me to believe that.
"I'm sorry, I'm very sorry." 82
I turn to look at the plane. It seems so small and dainty perched on top of those large pontoons. They are rol ling it down the pier. I think of all the emergency equip ment for North and South, land and water, all parts of the world, packed into that little space. And I think about the two of us, ready to go in it anywhere, and I have a sense of our self-contained insularity. Islands feel like this, I am sure, and walled cities, and sometimes men.
It is ready now; we can get in.
"No, thank you, I don't need a ladder to climb up."
I have a moment to wait and watch the crowd. A radio announcer is speaking into his microphone.
"Mrs. Lindbergh is wearing . . . a leather flying hel met, leather coat, and high leather flying boots."
"Why, what nonsense! It is much too hot to wear lea ther."
The sun beats down on my bare head and sticky cotton blouse; the planks of the pier burn through my thin rubber sneakers.
"Whatever made him say that? Oh, of course, it isn't the conventional flying costume. They have to say that
I'm wearing leather.
"I see. You needn't bother to tell me again, 'The
Great Radio Public must not be disappointed!'" (North 16
19). 83
(Picks book up from off the chair, puts it back
in its place on the shelf, sits.)
I went on these survey flights proudly, taking my place as "crew member." The beauty and mystery of flying never palled, and I was deeply involved in my job of oper ating radio. Even more enriching to me was the experience of talking to the people we met in the outposts of the
North, on our flight to the Orient across Canada, Alaska and Siberia. I was enchanted by our visit to Japan, and awed by our brief view of China (Hour 10).
In the summer of 1933 we set out on an exploratory flight around the Atlantic. The decision to make this flight was a natural one for my husband. Since his flight to Paris in 1927, he had been interested in the development of transoceanic air routes. Who was better fitted than he to study such routes, weather conditions and terrain? For me, the trip was the nearest approximation to "a life of our own" that could then be found. It meant more freedom, more privacy with my husband, and greater contact with people in their natural surroundings.
The rigorous daily routine, I can now see, was enor mously taxing physically and nervously. The demands made on me of long hours, hard work, concentrated attention - and often, under emergency conditions, fear in the back cockpit -- these would have been a challenge to most men.
This was an extraordinarily difficult survey mission which 84
of all was, in fact, one of the best prepared and executed
exploratory flights.
The feminist in me longed passionately to prove that I
could hold my own and take the place of a man. And, in the
operation of the radio, I succeeded to a large degree. My
work was indispensible to the success of the flight. I was
amused but also inordinately proud to hear about the comment
of a Pan American radio operator who, after sending me a
one-hundred and fifty word message in code through heavy
static, made the astonished remark, "My God, she got it!"
(Locked xvii-xviii).
(Reliving a memory)
Amsterdam -- toward Geneva and back to Rotterdam.
Leave Amsterdam in fairly good weather, local storms. Fly
into fog and storms after leaving Holland. Charles tries
to go around. We plow around for about two hours, some
times wheeling close to the ground under low fog, other
times flying between two layers (Locked 139).
I am really frightful about fog. I hate it beyond
words and am in a panic the whole time. Every time we go
through a day like this I think I cannot go on with this
kind of life. Of course, when we get down, Charles says
we never were in a bad position. I do trust him perfectly
and know that he is very careful and does not take chances,
but it is a kind of uncontrollable physical terror, exag
gerated by imagination (Locked 148). 85
This is one of those times when life is not worth it.
"If I get out of this alive, I will never fly again!"
Speculating on whether we could land on that canal - or a lake. He looks back at it. Why doesn't he land? I keep looking out on the good side, hanging on to a road, or a line of trees. We're awfully near those coal-pit hills.
There is clear weather ahead -- there must be, they said so.
We must come out sometime.
We could land on the ground, wipe the floats off - that would be a relief! We might get banged up a little. I don't mind the thought of that so much, but the hell of fear
I would go through before we landed. It would have to be absolutely impossible before Charles would do that. And I couldn't stand it. How illogical.
I poke Charles for a smile -- for something. He only looks annoyed. I can't have him feel that way. No . . . he smiles now. That is better. I feel better. I will shut my eyes and have faith in him. When I open my eyes it is al ways worse -- much worse -- as though fate took advantage of my napping. I try to say poems to keep my mind off things, for I am shaking. This is silly. If I were in a transport plane, I would have to control myself. All kinds of poetry come to mind:
"Fear no more the heat o' the sun . . . as chimney sweepers, come to dust . . . I will be sorry for their childishness. . 86
Where are we? The compass keeps swinging. Now it is north. We are going back. Thank God!
Better and worse, better and worse, till I get sick of following it. He says we are landing. He circles a lake
. . we will land -- good! He circles and circles and cir cles -- and goes on. We hit the sea and a town -- with a harbor and lake! Here we can land. How wise of him. It is a big town, too. (Appears to look at a map) . . . Os tend. A nice reservoir to land in. We circle, weather is worse, we can just get in. He circles -- and goes on, up the coast. He wants to stop at a smaller town. How wise of him. Here is one -- a big canal. He looks at it -- and goes on. We must be going back to Holland, to land on Dutch soil.
Oh, Antwerp, of course! How wise of him. A good big
Belgian town. He circles and circles and circles -- and goes on.
I am simply disgusted by this time. Are we going to try to go back to Geneva? Why doesn't he tell me something?
I wouldn't mind the thought of going on if I only knew how long it would be. I would settle down to it. I am cold, but as he said we were "landing" an hour ago I did not put on the flying suit. Now I will put it on, stop looking out, and simply try to go to sleep. I sit scrunched up.
Charles wiggles the ship . . . points at something .
fortifications?! I go back to sleep . . . (momentarily 87
closes eyes, "wakes up") . . . Still over Antwerp??!! I think wildly about going home, the train to Paris. I have a five--pound note. I could get more in Paris. But the newspapers.
"Are you getting a divorce, Mrs. Lindbergh?"
Damn the newspapers.
Charles pokes the stick.
"Back to Amsterdam."
All right, good. Weather is better now, and no customs trouble. Very wise of him.
We land at Rotterdam harbor. It is 4:30 and darkening.
Up to the clubhouse. I am cold and tired, but happy. Hot
soup. Other pilots caught in fog behind us. Ostend:
"Fog right down to the ground!"
Ostend! That was one of our brighter spots (Locked
139-41) .
(Moves to get some tea)
When we lived in England, before the War, Charles and I
were invited to London to meet the King at a "tea." All
very amusing. Especially my ten-year-old black silk suit
that I had to take up the night before.
We set out, I in clean white gloves that shed white all
over my newly-brushed bag and coat -- an old one of Elisa
beth's that I borrowed. We arrive. No tea. I knew I
should have had some at the hotel. Everyone calls everyone
else "Darling." They all shakes hands, to my surprise. Oh, 88
they're all Americans then. We talk about English central heating and the difficulty of finding a house and, vaguely,
"His Majesty." At least I don't, but they do. Oh, and how odd it is to go to the theatre in broad daylight and how to get real hot dogs in Soho, and Mrs. So and So who is afraid to take another hors d'oeuvres for fear the King might come in the middle of it.
I feel very expressionless with the women, as that purely conventional social type always makes me feel. I feel like standing quite still and staring at them quietly until they are all ravelled out. It must ravel out some where -- except that it's rather pathetic when it does. I want to shake them and find something real, something "them" inside. I feel I've failed unless I strike it a little in everyone I meet. That's why the women annoy me. I feel frustrated.
Those two especially .
"I've just read your book, Mrs. Lindbergh."
Then, to the Beauty beside her, "She's written a book!"
"Has she written a book?"
Incredulous, as though to say, "She has a pet chimpan zee," or "She hangs by her teeth in the circus!" I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Somehow this demands an expla nation:
"It's just a book about our trip, you see."
"Oh, a sort of diary, I suppose." 89
"Well, not exactly -- I wrote it two or three years later."
Vague confusion on the part of the ladies. Then, ah!, the explanation.
"Did you write it yourself or did someone help you with it?"
"No, oh no, I wrote it myself."
"Well, well, all yourself."
Complete mystification, and I feeling: But it's child's play, these people, absolute child's play. It's too ridiculous. They have nothing to talk about. They have nothing to say except the same thing over and over. And feeling years older than they and more secure in spite of my social shyness (Flower 53-54).
Everyone here is "socially correct." Even I am cor rectly dressed (except for the pink blouse). This is a help. Yes, I look well. Yes, I am properly dressed. Yes,
I am well-disguised -- no one knows what's inside -- that this is all a fake -- that I'm in a ten-year-old suit that was my sister's and that I never have my nails manicured except yesterday. No one knows until I talk -- then I can't bear to put on the clothes of conventional talk. It's so dull. What's the point of being all dressed up and meeting people if you can't meet them, mentally, somewhere on some thing real? 90
Then the King. Mrs. Simpson and the King. Everyone stands -- a hush, a flurry. He is small and quick and wiry.
He comes in quickly, bending almost from modesty, as though he'd be less conspicuous that way.
Everyone curtsies. I try and do a half one. The King talks with Charles and the men. The lull . . . he is com ing over to me -- oh God! Yes, he is crossing the room, being polite, going the rounds. don't look -- yes, it is inevitable . . .
"Are you enjoying the country?"
"I don't know where that is, exactly. . . . I know
Harold Nicholson. Yes-yes . . . "
Abrupt, polite questions shot out and then hardly wait ing for my answers which he can't hear because I get shy and low-voiced because I am embarrassed. Does one or does one not say, "Your Majesty?" I can't say it. It will slow up the conversation too much. Does one or does one not say
"You?" Does one start a sentence or must one only answer?
These doubts act as a brake on me: I speak lower and lower.
He bends toward me looking away from me, then answers his own questions for me.
"Have you done any flying yourself?"
"No, not lately, no. I can't call myself much of a
flyer."
"Can't say I like it so very much -- but it is so con
venient getting around." 91
"But that's the best way to look at flying -- to make it useful."
"It's not the best way of seeing a country. A car is better."
I agree but say Charles doesn't and why -- my long, elaborate explanation of what cows look like to Charles from great height. The King bends his ear and looks even further away, thinks it is supposed to be funny -- is smiling very kindly.
Then finally it eases off and he breaks away.
He sits and talks with Charles about aviation, planes, gliding. Charles is real anyway, and they both seem at ease.
But Mrs. Simpson is fingering the ribbon of her coat.
He rises bolt upright. We stiffen, we bow.
"Thank you!" Wrong again -- I can't remember the "Sir."
The aftertalk. Mrs. Scanlon:
"After all, I do think aside from being a King, he is so charming as a person. Don't you think so?"
Such a conventional question that I feel, as usual, I have no answer for it and only smile. Besides, I don't feel like discussing the King just after he's left the room
(Flower 42-46).
(Puts down teacup and sits)
In my life, I have become sickened with images. Fame always creates images around its victims or heroes. "Fame,"
Al, 92
as Rilke once said, "is the sum of the misunderstanding that gathers around a new name."
It is not only those in the limelight who are trapped
to by images. Even in daily life we enclose those nearest us in images we find convenient. Husbands compress wives into the desired pattern: "It isn't like you to do this."
Wives pin down husbands: "That's a husband's job." We dress our children in images almost as soon as they are born, and we all know those tragic images that are focused onto entire nations or races. The Nazis threw false images on
the Jews, the East Africans on the Hindus. And many members
of the white race, both inside and outside of America, still
see the black race through distorted images.
There are also images made of whole periods of history,
especially times of conflict when deep emotions are aroused
and idealistic hopes or fears distort the realities and
paint an over-simplified picture for posterity. The prewar
years in Europe fall into such a period (Flower xii-xiii).
(Reliving)
Friday, September 1, 1939. I wake up thinking: Now we
know. What did Hitler say? War, I think. From the radio
downstairs I find that the German army has already started
through Poland. Hitler, putting on his great army coat,
says he will not take it off until they have won, even if it
takes ten years. 93
I spend the morning walking down on the beach, trying
to grasp it, trying to accept it. . . . I try to face this
war -- all of it at its worst -- what it means. I don't
believe it will be a short war. I dismiss the hope that
after Poland is conquered in a few weeks, Germany will bid
for peace.
Neither do I have any hope of its being a "humane" war.
I place no faith in the objectivity of the British at this
point, or in the promises of the Germans. Wars start out
humanely -- rules about noncombatants, not sinking nonmili
tary ships, not bombing nonmilitary objectives.
But one is led little by little into the full horror of
it. By little shocks, by little horrors, by small doses,
one is led at last into the final draught of poison. And I
suppose it is the kindest way. And yet I want to face it
all now -- like seeing my little Charles, his head bashed in,
dead, laid out before me, in that first flash of realization
that he was gone; or seeing Elisabeth lifeless, at the first
word of pneumonia.
Yes, but the mind won't take it; it takes it, then
rejects it again. One is weaned little by little away from
the truth. The truth is hard to stay faithful to; hopes
creep in, dreams creep. Little by little one is lured on
into a false world, onto a false ledge, and when that is
knocked from under you, you go on to another. I want to
steel myself against these hopes, these dreams (War 38, 41).
, 'aha*.- 94
Come quickly, winter, for the heart belies
The truth of these warm days. These August skies
Are all too fair to suit the times -- so kind
That almost they persuade the treacherous mind
It still is summer and the world the same.
These gaudy colors on the hills in flame
Are out of keeping with the nun's attire
We wear within -- of ashes, not of fire.
Season of ripening fruit and seeds, depart;
There is no harvest ripening in the heart. (Unicorn 40)
Poland will be conquered. Hitler will, superciliously, pompously, and stupidly, offer peace to England and France.
They will refuse unconditionally at once. Paris and London will be bombed mercilessly. The English and the French air forces will be wiped out completely. The English fleet will survive doggedly, but helpless. It will go on and on; all the people we love will be separated, bombed, gassed.
America will be shocked out of its senses and will, in a wave of emotion, after a terrible fight internally in which Charles will be in the forefront and be extremely un popular, go in at last, not wanting, emotionally, to see
England and France go down; which I will feel too.
But not only in the "big," in the little" I see war - women gassed, babies with legs blown off, men with their brains blown to bits. One cannot conceive of the horror of 95
it, only I feel that I must. I have always felt it. If
there is such horror in the world and other human beings have suffered it, then it might be mine, too. It must be mine.
I felt it as a child reading of Christ crucified, Joan
of Arc burned at the stake, Catharine crushed on a wheel.
Mother might try to gloss over it by saying that those were
things that happened only to a few rare people -- saints and
martyrs. But I felt, in terror: If such horror exists in
the world, it is as if it were mine. And it does no good to
look the other way. You must face it.
Charles comes up and asks me how I feel and then, "But
Anne, what is it? What's the matter?", not understanding.
"The war, just the war."
And then I cry and cry at last and he is very sweet -
not stern, as he should be, calling me back to life. And he
understands and is very gentle and says only, "You see it
all too clearly, Anne."
We hear Roosevelt talk. Evidently he feels that most
of America wants to stay out of this war.
"Let no man or woman thoughtlessly or falsely talk of
America sending its armies to European fields. . . . This
nation will remain a neutral nation, but I cannot ask that
every American remain neutral in thought as well. . . . I
hope the United States will keep out of this war. I believe
that it will. And I give you assurances that every effort
I,- 96
of your government will be directed toward that end," (War
41-44).
I look at the newspapers piled up on our table, fruit less words, fruitless telegrams, letters, meetings, words of pleading, hope of prayers. All useless. It makes me think of when we lived in Hopewell and our little Charles -- that tremendous machine set going: state troopers, handwriting experts, detectives, friends, reporters. . . . For what use, for what purpose?
The child is dead.
The Child is dead in Europe (War 39).
(Exits)
END OF PART ONE PART TWO
(Enters)
Tuesday, August 27, 1940.
London bombed. Apparently not much damage done. How one accepts it -- now.
Sunny and warmer; pick flowers and do one bowl of au tumn colors, but the garden is thinning and I cut carefully.
I never take a zinnia with a bud next to it. They look too much like mother and child. And I feel so badly when some times I cut two flowers by accident instead of one. I won der vaguely if Death sometimes takes an extra person -- by accident -- because the scissors are too large (War 126).
(Sits)
Except in the minds of historians, World War II stands like an isolated peak in history; its approaches and de scents remain practically unnoticed. Wartime emotions clouded contemporary accounts -- my own diary is frankly biased. It could hardly be otherwise. It gives a subjective view of the temper of the times and the personality of one of the chief protagonists in the so-called "Great Debate" -- should we, or should we not enter World War II? The general con clusion today is that we waged a just war against evil forces and won. Who were the non-interventionists, or iso
lationists, as they were called by their opponents? It is
97 98
a rare individual who remembers anyone but Charles Lind bergh. The widespread impression remains that only a small minority of reactionaries and bigots opposed U.S. entry into the war. Actually, the majority of Americans were against entry into the war up until Pearl Harbor.
The "Great Debate" went on and on, with arguments on both sides becoming more and more vehement, the language increasingly bitter. My diaries are full of passionate and indignant denials of the accusations hurled against my hus band. Although I disagreed with the emphasis he made in his speeches, I believed completely in his integrity. I was naively unprepared for the smear campaign which attacked him. Repeatedly, words were torn out of context, main points omitted, and public opinion misled in order to make a dis torted cartoon that suited the cause of the opposition.
Rereading the diaries years later, I am appalled at my
innocence of politics and the violence of my indignation.
Over the years I have gained some objectivity. I can see
and admit my own mistakes and those of my husband. With hindsight, I can also see where his vision was clear and his prophecies correct (War xi-xiv).
(Remembering)
On the front page of the Tribune there is an account of
a meeting in Chicago at which Wilkie and Carl Sandburg at
tack Charles. Wilkie's attack is angry and indignant but
perfectly fair and decent -- on issues. But Carl Sandburg 99
says Charles is proud and that he has ice instead of blood in his veins.
I am shocked beyond words. Carl Sandburg, whom we met and talked to a year ago, whom we greeted and who greeted us with affection, warmth, who seemed to me to be so sound, so rooted, so American. As American as Charles. Carl Sand burg, who knew Charles' father, knew what he went through during the last war. A poet, a philosopher, a historian, a man who studied Lincoln's life, who praised Lincoln for re maining true to his conscience, even if every friend left him. Who saw the bitter and unfair criticism of another era.
A man of breadth and learning and life, of compassion, un derstanding of people.
It is, of course, my own illusion -- that the man who
can recognize and write beauty and truth and wisdom must of
necessity be beautiful and true and wise himself, when, of
course, this is absurd. Why should I be so intolerant of
other people's imperfections? As Charles so gently says of
this whole subject, "Why isn't it more wonderful that per
fection can come out of imperfection? Why isn't it one of
the most wonderful things in life? A deformed woman can
bear a perfect child" (War 173).
Charles and I walk to the beach. We sit on the rocks
until it is almost dark, I staring out to sea with my
thoughts and Charles with his. It strikes me, as often, how
terribly alone Charles is. That first symbolic flight of
toki. 1. 100
his is still true. He was always, is now, and will always be alone out there over the ocean, alone seeing his desti nation, alone having faith that he can reach it, with people on the sidelines shouting, "Flying fool!". And a few hold
ing him blindly in their hearts . . . like me (War 104).
(Back in the present)
When Charles flew the Atlantic, I was buried in the
Smith College library writing a paper on Erasmus, in whom I
saw a resemblance to my father, a moderate and a peacemaker.
When I came up from the stacks, I asked who was this
Lindbergh everyone was talking about. I was told but did
not grasp the far-reaching consequences of the flight until
I met him the next Christmas in Mexico City. After his
record breaking flight to Paris in 1927, my father, then
U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, invited Charles to fly to Mexico
City to aid relations between the two nations (War viii).
My first impressions . . .
(Remembering)
Colonel Lindbergh . . . a very nice boy, very nice, but
my sisters and I hardly took it in, or at least were a lit
tle annoyed -- all this public hero stuff breaking into our
family party. What did I expect? A regular newspaper hero,
the baseball-player type. A nice man, perhaps, but not at
all "intellectual," and not of my world at all, so I wouldn't
be interested. I certainly was not going to worship "Lindy"
-- that odious name, anyway! 101
(Reliving)
Mother hurries up: "Colonel Lindbergh, this is my eld est daughter, Elisabeth."
I see standing against the great stone pillar a tall, slim boy in evening dress. So much slimmer, so much taller, so much more poised than I expected. A very refined face, not at all like those grinning "Lindy" pictures! A firm mouth . . . clear, straight blue eyes . . . fair hair, nice color . . . he does not smile, just bows and shakes hands.
He is very, very young and terribly shy. Suddenly, the picture of that mad crowd, that whole nation surging around his plane in Paris, comes to mind. And it was this boy, this shy, cool boy! And he describes that tremendous, mad scene in a few, dry, matter-of-fact words.
Daddy says it is getting late and that some of us had better be off to bed -- meaning us girls. Abruptly, the
Colonel announces, "Well, as the Ambassador's orders are such, I will say good night." And he shakes hands quickly, without looking at us, and wheels out of the room . . . leav ing a perfectly amazed stillness inside me (Bring 81-83).
(Momentarily addressing audience)
Months later, after becoming convinced that Charles and my sister Elisabeth were destined to be a match, I arrived home to discover that one Charles Augustus Lindbergh had called for me the day before. . . 102
(Reliving)
"He's calling again at ten today."
(Looks at watch)
"It is 9:30!"
Something inside me turns over.
(Hears phone ring)
"There he is!"
(Pause)
"Miss Anne Morrow!"
"Jo, I can't -- I simply can't -- I can't speak to him!"
(Pause)
I sit in front of telephone, looking at it, paralyzed, gulping, like standing in front of a glass of castor oil, wondering whether one can bridge the gulf and take it.
. . . "Hello-o?"
From far away, a low gray voice, abrupt and rather shy
"Hello. This is . . . Lindbergh himself."
"How -- how do you do."
A very audible grin on the other end, a shy laugh.
Then, bolting out the words -- shot out, all prepared, a
definite statement he had to make, going straight to the
point:
"When I was south last winter, I promised to take you
up sometime here in the East. I called up to tell you I'd
be very glad to arrange a flight, if you'd care to go. . . 103
"I-I'd love to . . ."
"Any time you say, at all."
"But -- you -- you're very busy, aren't you?"
"What's that?"
"You're very busy -- aren't you?"
How dumb that sounded, louder!
"Not particularly."
" . . . Well, I'm afraid Ihave to be away for about
five days . . . beginning today."
"Well, say sometime after Saturday?"
"Is . . . is that five days after today?"
I am vaguely sure it is Wednesday.
Much audible grinning.
"Just a minute. Would you mind if I went and found out
I'm not sure when I'll be back."
"Certainly."
(Pause)
"They say I won't be out till in a week . . . so I'm terribly afraid that will be too late for you. You were very kind to ask, and I'd love to go, but I'm afraid -- "
"No, I'm going to be around for some time now. Any time at all you say, next week -- any time you say."
"I wonder . . . would it be too much bother if you cal led up in a week? I think I'll be all right then."
I certainly sound like a lunatic or a jailbird -- "when they'll let me out," "I think I'll be all right then . .. "I 104
"Certainly -- ten o'clock next Wednesday?"
Typical! To the dot!
"That would be fine . . .i"
I must get in something about the family. He is cal ling for their sakes, not mine.
"My father . . . will be very pleased that I've spoken to you -- I'll tell him."
Much audible grinning, a little embarrassed, trying to think of something to say. Then, finally, grasping on rock fact again -
"Well, ten o'clock next Wednesday, then."
"Thank you very much, Colonel Lindbergh. "
Then, the next Wednesday . . .
"I called up to see if you wanted to go on that flight
Suddenly I find that he is "coming out" to "talk over a few points" about it. It is so frightfully sudden, and just like him. It is so disconcerting for me to have someone against me who is so precise.
"Well, about what time could I come?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow -- what time."
"Tomorrow . . . well . . .1
I hate being beaten to the wall like this -
"Any time. I'll be here all day. It really doesn't
matter. Tomorrow afternoon . . .t 105
Audible grins.
"Well, what time tomorrow afternoon? Any time you say."
Cornered and beaten, but still fighting!
"Well, any time after three?"
"Well, tomorrow at four, shall we say?"
"That will be fine."
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
There certainly isn't any question as to what day, any
way! No self-respecting doubt or question could raise its
head after such a bombardment (Bring 175-80).
(Pause)
Isn't it funny -- why does one marry, anyway? I didn't
expect or want anything like this. I think probably that
was the trouble. It must be fatal to decide on the kind of
person you don't want to marry and the kind of life you don't
want to lead. You determinedly turn your back on it, set
out in the opposite direction, and come bang up against it,
in true Alice-in-the-Looking-Glass fashion. And there he is,
darn it all, the great Western strong-man-open-spaces type
and a life of relentless action! But after all, there he
was, and I had to go (Bring 228).
Almost every young person is a Romantic Idealist. Cer
tainly I was, and am still, in a sense. There has always
been a "dream figure" in my life -- not always a person, of
course. But some people learn to accept life and that it is 106
better than "the dream." At least I married and had chil
dren.
I didn't marry my "dream." Charles wasn't my "dream."
I never idealized him before I met him. It wasn't the hero
I loved in him. It was the man -- the man who never disap
pointed me. I had my "dreams" too, very different from
Charles. That was what all the struggle was about, giving
up my "dreams" for this flesh-and-blood man -- whom I loved.
God knew.
I sometimes feel this is the one thing I deserve credit
for, the only thing I am intensely proud of -- that I had
the courage and the wisdom to give up my "dream" for real
life, to realize that "life" is better than "dreams" and
that Charles was life (War 228).
Romance was not the deciding factor. The haze of gla
mour that surrounded our courtship only blurred my feelings.
I distrusted it. Romance was what the world saw and ap
plauded in our engagement. Unlike most brides-to-be, it was
I who was congratulated, not he. Hadn't I found and cap
tured the hero of the hour? As a member of the Embassy sang:
"She was only an ambassador's daughter, but he was the Prince
of the air."
It is difficult to believe or even to remember how lit
tle privacy we had; how hard we struggled to be alone to
gether. In Mexico City, reporters waited for us at the
Embassy gates, their cars and cameras set to follow us. In 107
the weekend house of my parents, enterprising photographers climbed up onto nearby roofs and miradors to photograph us in our garden. We sneaked out of back doors, disguised, went to friends houses, changed cars, and fled into the wild country of Mexico which was then considered dangerous be cause of bandits. We went flying. Here, at least, we were not followed (Hour 3-5).
Life in the air was beautiful, limitless, free -- if often hazardous -- but life on the ground, married to a pub lic hero, was a full cry race between hunter and hunted. We continued to be unable to lead our private lives without being hounded on most occasions by reporters, photographers, and celebrity seekers.
The climax came when our baby was taken from us. In our bitterness, we felt that the spotlight of publicity focused upon us was largely responsible for the tragedy (War vii-ix,
Hour 211).
This account hardly needs any explanation. The bare facts are that on the evening of March 1, 1932, our eighteen months-old child, Charles Lindbergh, Jr., was taken from his crib in our home near Hopewell, New Jersey. A note was left on the window sill from the kidnapper demanding a ransom for his safe return. After ten weeks of negotiation and contact with the kidnapper and the handing over of the demanded ran som . . . the baby's body was found in the woods near the road from Hopewell to Princeton. It was identified by the 108
homemade shirt Betty and I put on it. Also by the teeth and hair. The child was evidently killed by a blow on the head
-- killed instantly undoubtedly, and, from the state of the body and from its being so near here, a long time ago -- per haps in panic during the first blast of publicity.
The hardest thing to bear is my mother's saying, "The baby is with Daddy."
I feel strangely a sense of peace -- not peace, but an end to restlessness, a finality, as though I were sleeping in a grave.
It is a relief to know definitely that he did not live beyond that night. I keep him intact, somehow, by that. He was with me the last weekend and left loving me better than anyone, I know that. But all that is merely selfish and small (Hour 248-49).
I am glad that I spoiled him that last weekend when he was sick and I took him on my lap and rocked him and sang to him. I am glad that he wanted me those last days. . . . Im possibLe to talk without crying (Hour 250).
I thought I would lead him and teach him and now he has gone first into the biggest experience in life. He is ahead of me. Perhaps when I have to go through it I will think of him -- my gay and arrogant child going into it -- and it will not seem so terrifying, so awesome, a little door.
They talk and talk, conferences, discussions. But I am so tired of the talking. What difference does it make now? 109
"Why Tuesday night?"
"What happened to the diapers?"
To reconstruct his murder, to try to understand. I will never climb out of this hell that way. And yet perhaps it is better, more unreal here. But I want the image of my boy, a spiritual thing. I don't want to get any nearer to his murderers, to see their faces, the weapon they killed him with, the place where he was killed. It must be dis covered, but not by me, not every night.
I cannot see his face. The meaningless newspaper dis tortions are in the way. But I can hear his laugh and see his lips puckered into imitation of the wind: "0-o-o-h -- "
Long periods of chill stupor; no realization at all
(Hour 254-55).
I used to think that having sorrow would make one feel more secure, as though you could say, "Now I have borne suf fering, I am strong, I will not be afraid again." But it does not effect me that way. I feel all foundations shaking under me. I feel next to Death. A year ago I had Daddy and the baby. Next year who will be gone, who will be here, will I still be here? I don't know and I dread it. I have no weapon against it (Hour 284).
Charles and I talk about the feeling of insecurity in life. Never, never will I dare say of him, "You are mine" or, "I have you" now. While we speak, things change, slip from us (Hour 257). 110
My feeling all the time: "I must remember this -- I must remember that -- I must make this an eternal moment, before it's taken away from me" (Hour 278).
"f.0.0.0I resent, in a clipping, "Father of the dead child." Dead child -- a waxen child stretched out. No - the child who died.
I resent, "They lost a child too" -- as though it were the same. It is never the same. It is not what happened to
Ceasar and Dante and Milton and Mary Queen of Scots, to the soldiers in all the wars, to the sick in the plagues, to pub lic men yesterday. It never happened before -- what happened today to you. It has only happened to your little boy.
(Locked 12).
Suffering, no matter how multiplied, is always indi vidual (Hour 213).
(Pauses)
But, at the same time, it is a universal experience.
There are even certain familiar stages in suffering, and familiar, if not identical, steps in coming to terms with it
-- as in the healing of an illness. To see these steps in another's life can be illuminating, perhaps even helpful. I could riot bear to expose this story if I did not believe that one is helped by learning how other people come thru their trials.
Contrary to the general assumption, the first days of grief are not the worst. The immediate reaction is usually 111
shock and numbing disbelief. One has undergone an ampu tation (Hour 214).
Perhaps the numbness is partly physical protection.
Perhaps Emily Dickenson's:
After great pain a formal feeling comes -
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff heart questions -- was it He that bore?
And yesterday -- or centuries before?
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived
As freezing persons recollect
The snow -
First the chill,
Then stupor,
Then the letting go. (Hour 292-93)
Months later, I wrote in my diary: Terrible night. "Do you think about it so much, Anne?" All the time -- it never stops --- I never meet it. It happens every night . . . every night of my life. It did not happen and It happened. For I go over the possibilities of its not happening, so close, so narrow they are. So hard do I think about it that I almost make it unhappen. That terrible feeling, that pushing against a stone wall, that insisting "No, it didn't happen, 112
it didn't happen." Then always, like a bell tolling, like a clock striking, inevitable: "It happened." Then, at last, back to the only comfort . . . Death: We will all have it.
In a century this distance between him and me will be noth ing.
And then: He did not suffer, he did not know . . . a blow on the head. But I want to know -- to know just what he suffered. I want to see it, to feel it even (Locked 12
13).
(Moves thoughtfully over to vase and pulls
out a flower which she holds while speaking
the next several lines.)
The inexorably difficult thing in life, and particu larly in sorrow is to face the truth. As Laurens Van der
Post wrote:
"One of the most pathetic things about us human beings is our touching belief that there are times when the truth is not good enough for us; that it can and must be improved upon. We have to be utterly broken before we can realize that it is impossible to better the truth. It is the truth that we deny which so tenderly and forgivingly picks up the fragments and puts them together again."
Truth that is locked up in the heart -- or in a diary
- is sterile. It must be given back to life so that "the hour of lead" of others may be transmuted. 113
Last evening I sat on top of a big rock and looked out over the sea -- so soft and still and warm in the sun. But the view itself did not bring anything to me or suggest any thing. I felt it should somehow, that there was something in it for me.
Then I went down lower and sat on a ledge in some ferns and heather where I was just at the height to see under the tops of the pines, out between the reddish brown trunks, over covered walls and fields to the rocks and the sea, everything seen through and framed by the trunks of the pines. I won dered why it was so much more beautiful than the view on top, and decided it was that wonderful combination of "the near and the far" -- sun on the pine needles and also sun on the sea far beyond. And I thought about frames and how important they are. They are direction, and emphasis, and a lens
(Flower 93-94).
Already I have shed the leaves of youth,
Stripped by the wind of time down to the truth
Of winter branches. Linear and alone
I stand, a lens for lives beyond my own,
A frame through which another's fire may glow,
A harp on which another's passion, blow.
Now that my vulnerable leaves are cast aside,
There's nothing left to shield, nothing to hide.
11211-41-z:1NA.- 114
Blow through me, Life, pared down at last to bone,
So fragile and so fearless have I grown! (Unicorn 86)
(Returns flower to vase)
Of all the goodbyes I have heard, "Sayonara" is the most beautiful. Literally translated, it means "Since it must be so." It says neither too much or too little. It is
really the unspoken goodby, the pressure of a hand . . . Sa yonara (North 134-35).
(Exits)
THE END BIBLIOGRAPHY
Chapter IV
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and
Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928. New York:
Harcourt, 1971.
Gift From the Sea. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc.,
1955.
Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1929-1932. New York: Harcourt,
1973.
Locked Rooms and Open Doors: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1932-1935. New York: Harcourt,
1974.
North to the Orient. New York: Harcourt, 1935.
The Flower and the Nettle: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1936-1939. New York: Harcourt, 1976.
The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955. 1956. New
York: Vintage Books, 1972.
The Wave of the Future: A Confession of Faith. New
York: Harcourt, 1940.
War Within and Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944. 1980. New York: Berkley
Books, 1981.
115 CHAPTER V
PERFORMANCE AND EVALUATION
Interpretation scholars frequently find their efforts falling into one of two categories, described by Mary S.
Strine as the "act of performing literature" and the "fact of literary performance" (1). Strine further explains the distinction between the "act" and the "fact" of performance in this way:
For those involved in the act of performing lit
erature the assumption holds that embedded liter
ary meanings are most fully realized through oral
expression, that values inherent in literary ex
perience are activated or brought to realization
performatively, and that the humanizing goals at
the heart of the literary enterprise are thereby
achieved. Those concerned principally with the
fact of literary performance, on the other hand,
assume that . . . the goal of interpretation
scholarship is to elaborate upon the multiple
affiliations that hold the performance text in
place as a significant (and signifying) form of
cultural expression (1-2).
116 117
On May 2, 1986, the "act" of performing Frames: A Bio graphical Portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh took place. It
is now appropriate to discuss the "fact" of that performance.
As stated earlier, the conclusions drawn here are primarily those of the performer, supplemented by the tabulated results of the audience response survey.
Many hours of private rehearsal preceded the public per
formance of Frames. Vocal expression and character attitudes
and movements were carefully integrated into the presentation.
As the performance date drew nearer, the performer gave one
presentation for an observer who was familiar with the script
so that potential detractions from the total performance
effect could be recognized and eliminated. This objective
insight was very valuable in refining the presentation.
A second preparatory activity assisted in the final
phase of the project. Two days prior to the official date of
presentation, a small audience of approximately twenty mem
bers attended the "dress rehearsal" of Frames. The perfor
mer presented the "biographical portrait of Anne Morrow Lind
bergh" just as if it were the final performance. In this
way, she was able to experience the added element of audience
in a performance situation before the final production.
The extensive preparation for the presentation of
Frames served to prevent any major mishaps frequently caused
by the anxiety of a performance situation such as forgotten
lines, inappropriate pace, etc. Throughout the final 118
presentation, audience involvement was evident. Humorous lines in the script received the fitting responses of smiles and laughter. Likewise, the more serious portions were met with attentive silence. The intimate performance setting and the frequent direct communication with the audience per mitted the performer to observe nonverbal audience respon ses. At no time did the performer sense flagging audience
interest. This is due, in large part, to the script itself.
The script's content and arrangement served the oral perfor mance situation well.
As established earlier, the underlying framework for
selection of script content consisted of the three criteria of simplicity, imagery, and dramatic structure. These cri teria are described as the "preferences of the ear" which
enable literature to successfully translate into an aural
experience and thus, allow a listening audience to partici pate in the creative activity of the performance (Bowen,
Aggertt, and Rickert 58). The apparent involvement of the
audience during the presentation served to confirm the
scripter's evaluative choices of script structuring to meet
these standards or orality. The additional insight acquired
by the performer in the process of scripting the presen
tation allowed her to more effectively communicate the
script, thereby furthering audience involvement and atten
tiveness. Potential restlessness was averted by a brief
intermission mid-way through the eighty-minute performance. 119
Besides the avoidance of any major mishaps, the perfor mer is able to evaluate the performance positively in that the planned subtleties of presentation were also carried out. The desired tempo was maintained, verbal fluency with phrasing for emphasis was achieved as planned, and nonverbal elements were integrated naturally and spontaneously. This subjective evaluation of an aspect as visual as nonverbal performance behavior is based upon the performer's felt con trol within the performance situation and her ability to act freely without inordinate attention to self. Such excessive self-monitoring on the part of the performer generally leads to mechanized or stylized movements, gestures, and expres sions. Concentration on performance content is far more effective in counteracting artificiality (Cohen 279).
According to Beverly Whitaker Long, "Self, peer, in structor, or audience responses (descriptions, opinions, and judgements) are inevitably a part of the dynamics of exploring a literary text" (267). Thus far, the performer's self-evaluation is expressed. Just as Long acknowledges the value of audience evaluation, so Judy Yordon in Roles in In terpretation designates several audience roles, among which
is the role of evaluating (293-99). Following Long and Yor don's suggestions, the subsequent discussion reports audience responses to the presentation of Frames.
Immediately after the performance, audience members participated in the evaluation process by completing surveys
,..v - "W, -, 120
which had been distributed along with the printed programs.
A copy of the survey is included in Appendix B. Seventeen
questions relating to various aspects of the performance
and script probed audience members to evaluate the general
categories of aesthetic, emotional, and intellectual perfor mance effects (Lee and Gura 3). Some items pertained
specifically to one of the three aspects, but most items
could, conceivably, relate to more than one of the perfor mance dimensions. For example, the item which states "My
knowledge of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is greatly increased as a
result of having seen the presentation" clearly asks the re
spondent to agree or disagree with the statement based on
the intellectual effect of the performance. Another item
stating "Coming to this performance was a worthwhile exper
ience" asks the audience member to respond generally to the
total performance experience. This, necessarily, includes
both intellectual and emotional, as well as aesthetic realms
of performance.
The survey contains both positively and negatively
worded statements which are in no particular sequence. The
randomness of the items circumvented respondents from auto
matically circling a response, for example, all "l"s or all
"7"s. Any number between and including one and seven are
appropriate responses to the positively or negatively worded
statements. Response number "1" indicates strong agreement,
number "2," agreement, number "3," mild agreement, and 121
number "4," a neutral response of "neither agree nor disagree."
Mild disagreement, disagreement, and strong disagreement cor
respond with numbers "5," "6," and "7" respectively. Respon
dents were also asked to provide demographic information
which was not used statistically, but only to inform the
performer generally as to the background and characteristics
of her audience.
Eighty audience members completed the survey. One sur
vey form was eliminated due to the obviously rote nature of
the responses (all "7"s were circled). Two participants
failed to answer one item of the seventeen item survey.
Cumulative averaging of these items was altered accordingly,
mathematically dividing by seventy-eight rather than seven
ty-nine as in the other items.
Corresponding with the performer's evaluation of the
performance, audience members positively evaluated the pre
sentation on each of the seventeen items. Positive eval
uation is determined by either agreement with positively
worded statements or disagreement with negatively worded
statements. The highest average score for an item is 6.658
out of a possible 7.0, indicating strong disagreement with
the statement "The performer did not present the script
well." The lowest average score, although still a positive
response, is 2.487 with a score of 1.0 being most favorable.
This is in response to the statement "I would like to know
more about Anne Morrow Lindbergh as a result of having seen 122 the performance." A complete listing of the items and their corresponding average scores is shown in Table I below.
These are presented from highest to lowest average scores.
Two sets of identical scores are noted.
TABLE I
AUDIENCE RESPONSE SURVEY RESULTS
Desired Average Statement Response Response
(6) The performer did not present 7 6.658 the script well.
(3) The material presented was well 1.594 organized.
(5) The artistic merit of this pre 1 1.645 sentation is very evident.
(2,14) I had difficulty understan 7 6.316 ding the script.
The visual effect of the per 7 6.316 formance was distracting.
(10,15) The presentation was intel 7 1.721 lectually stimulating.
The spoken descriptions were 1 1.721 very vivid. 1 (17) Coming to this performance was 1.734 a worthwhile experience.
(8) I found it easy to visualize 1 1.746 much of the script's content.
(11) The performance lacked emotional 7 6.205 appeal.
(4) I was bored by the performance. 7 6.189
(12) I would recommend this presen 1 1.835 tation to others. 123
TABLE I--Continued
Desired Average Desired Average Statement Response Response
(7) My knowledge of Anne Morrow 1 1.886 Lindbergh is greatly increased as a result of having seen the presentation.
(16) The performance was moving. 1 1.949
(13) The presentation did not succeed 7 6.037 in captivating my interest.
(9) The script lacked continuity. 7 5.911
(1) I would like to know more about 1 2.487 Anne Morrow Lindbergh as a re sult of having seen the perfor mance.
Based upon the performer's own critical evaluation of the performance experience, supplemented by tabulated au dience responses, this researcher affirmatively answers the thesis question "Can a script compiled from the selected writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh be presented effectually as oral performance?". The process of answering this question addresses several related issues such as the sig nificance of Anne Morrow Lindbergh historically and as an author, the effectiveness of solo interpretive performance, the process of script compilation, and the value of perfor mance as criticism. Each of these areas could potentially be expanded in other research efforts.
Dale Spender addresses the need for contemporary schol ars to keep the works of significant female writers from 124
disappearing from public view (204). Her view is supported by Foss and Foss who write:
. . . [R]oom exists for studies of the discourse
and impact of these women heretofore neglected in
our journals. Perhaps of greater value, though,
are studies that link specific women, their work,
lives, and discourse to philosophical trends,
communication styles, social contexts, and his
torical periods (200).
Frames: A Script and Solo Performance of Selected Wri tings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is one such study. In answering the thesis question affirmatively, this research indicates that oral performance is an effective way to act upon the suggestions of Foss and Foss. The presentation of the compiled script of Lindbergh's works revealed that her writings remain worthy of study, performance, and, simply, reading. BIBLIOGRAPHY
Chapter V
Bowen, Elbert R., Otis J. Aggertt, and William E. Rickert.
Communicative Reading. 4th ed. New York: Macmillan,
1978.
Foss, Karen A. and Sonja K. Foss. "The Status of Research
on Women and Communication." Communication Quarterly
31 (1983): 195-204.
Lee, Charlotte I. and Timothy Gura. Oral Interpretation.
6th ed. Boston: Houghton, 1982.
Long, Beverly Whitaker. "Evaluating Performed Literature."
Vol. II of Studies in Interpretation. Eds. Esther M.
Doyle and Virginia Hastings Floyd. Amsterdam: Rodopi,
1977. 267-81.
Spender, Dale. Man Made Language. London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1980.
Strine, Mary S. "Between Meaning and Representation: Dia
logic Aspects of Interpretation Scholarship." Paper
presented at the Interpretation Division Conference on
the Future of Interpretation. Salado, Texas, 3 June
1986.
Yordon, Judy E. Roles in Interpretation. Dubuque: Wm. C.
Brown Co. Pub., 1982.
125
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APPENDIX A
COPY OF LETTER GRANTING PERMISSION TO COMPILE
AND PERFORM THE WORKS OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH TELLINA 21 TOKENEKE TRAIL DARIEN, CONNECTICUT 06820
November 7, 1985
Ms. Angela Latham-Jones 1309 E. Rosemon Avenue Carrollton, TX 75006
Dear Ms. Latham-Jones:
Thank you for writing me directly about your sug gested project for permission to use my writings in a script as part of a Master's Thesis and to bemused later in an oral performance.
I appreciate your letter and find your point of view very sympathetic. I see no reason why you might not use my writings in a script as part of a thesis. However, I am in a difficult position in giving you permission to use this script later in public performances because some time ago, after much consideration, I decided to-restrict my books to the original literary field. Since that time I have refused many requests to have my books used for drama tic ima commercial purposes, and it is not possible for me to break this long-established precedent. I regret that I cannot give you dramatic rights for any commercial pur poses or if fees are charged, although you may use my works in your Master's Thesis.
Again thank you for writing me, and best wishes for the success of your project.
Sincerely yours,
Anne M. Lindbergh 128
APPENDIX B
AUDIENCE RESPONSE SURVEY FOR THE
PRESENTATION OF FRAMES AUDIENCE RESPONSE TO FRAMES A BIOGRAPHICAL PORTRAIT OF ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH Please provide the following information. Male Female
Age: __ under 20 21-30 _ 31-40 41-50 51-60 61-70 71 and over Occupation (optional):
Highest academic degree earned:
If a student, what is your present classification?
What was your primary motivation for attending the performance? .
Were you knowledgeable about Anne Morrow Lindbergh before attending the presentation? Yes Please indicate No the degree to which you agree or disagree with the following Please answer honestly. statements.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Strongly Agree Mildly Neither Mildly Agree Disagree Strongly Ame Agree nor Disagree Disagree Disagree (1) 1 would like to know more about Anne Morrow Lindbergh as a result of having seen performance. the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (2) 1 had difficulty understanding the script. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (3) The material presented was well-organized. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (4) 1 was bored by the performance. :1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (5) The artistic merit of this presentation is very evident. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (6) The performer did not present the script well. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (7) My knowledge of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is greatly increased as a result of having presentation. seen the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Please turn the page over and continue the survey. SIDE TWO
12 3 45 Strongly Agree Mildly Neither 7 Agree Mildly Di 6 Agree Agree nor sagree Strongly Disagree Disagree Disagree (8) 1 found it easy to visualize much of the script's content. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (9) The script lacked continuity. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (10) The presentation was intellectually stimulating. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (01) The performance lacked emotional appeal. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (12) 1 would recommend this presentation to others. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (13) The presentationdid not succeed in captivating my interest. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (14) The visual effect of the performance was distracting. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (15) The spoken descriptions were very vivid. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (16) The performance was moving. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (17) Coming to this performance was a worthwhile experience. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
If you have additional comments, please respond in the space provided below.
Thank you very much for your participation. The attendants at the exits will take this completed response form.
I -- -- N OPINION I V 131
APPENDIX C
INVITATION TO THE PRESENTATION OF FRAMES 132
You are cordially invited to attend the presentation of Frames A Biographical Portrait of Anne Morrow findberqh performed by Angela fatham-Jones Friday, May second nineteen hundred and eighty-six at seven-thirty in the evening Speech and Drama Building Forum 188 North Texas State University QID 133
APPENDIX D
PROGRAM FOR PRESENTATION OF FRAMES 134
A BIOGRAPHICAL PORTRAIT OF
COMPILED AND PW WD BY
MAY 2. 1986 7130 PM NORTH TEXAS STATE UNVERS ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH
Anne Spencer Morrow was born on June 22, 1906. Her mother, Elizbeth Cutter Morrow, was a teacher. Dwight W. Morrow, Anne's father, had several careers. After years in a legal firm, he went into bank ing and international finance. Eventually, he became the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico and was later elected New Jersey Senator. This position he held until his death in 1931. Dwight Morrow's various careen provided opportunities for Anne and her two sisters and brother to travel exten sively and meet many well-known people.
While Ambassador, Dwight Morrow invited Colonel Charles A Lindbergh, the new hero of the times, to fly to Mexico City to aid Mexi can-American relations. Only a few months prior to this visit, the Colonel had made his historic transatlantic flight from New York to Paris in the Spirit of St. Lois.
On his visit to Mexico, Charles 1indbergh met Anne Morrow who was home on Christmas break from Smith College. A few months later the two began seeing each other. They married on May 27, 1929. Together, the Lindberghs continued to develop the then new field of avia tion by establishing important commercial air routes throughout the world.
The Lindberghs had six chikden. Their eldest, Chares A. Lindbergh, Jr., was kidnapped and murdered in 1932. There was immediste and over whelming publicity. Always very private people, the indwerghs eventu ally left the United States for what they hoped would be a more isolated life in Europe. After a twoand-a-half year stay, they returned to the U.S. at the start of the European war in 1939. Anne Lindbergh's published diaries end prior to U.S. entry into World War II. She has published 13 books in all Charles Lindbegh died in 1974. Mrs. Lindbergh now resides in Darien, Connecticut. 134
"Anne always seems to to to stand on life and at the .se'mlme, touch something beyond it. Yet her ability to touch beyond does not cause her to relinquish life any more than her ability to lu restricts the unlim ited travls of her spirit. She uses life to strengthen spirit and spivt to strengthen life." 6. Her mother, Borrow, Anne's -Charles A. Undbergh ie went into bank' From his Wartime Journals e U.S. Ambassador 6his position he i careers provided THE "FRAMES" -to travel exten First Book mel Charles A. Flight > City to aid Mexi-' To the King's for "tea" is visit, the Colonel rk to Paris in the "1' war ... just the war"
-Ten minute intermission- nne Morrow who ew months later r 27, 1929. The Great Debate n new field of avia Charles the world. -* Hour of Lead arles A. Lindbergh, Sayonara mmediste and over' ndberghs eventu be a more isolated mtured to the U.S. Special Thaks: trgh's published Dr. Ted Colson Rhonda Reitz has pWabished 13 Suan Tilden Rosewell Micha Bolen dbergh now resides Dr. Richard Holcomb Carol Carn Barbara Robets Janet Smith Judy Bragdon Sharon Croft This production is in partialfulfijment of the requirementsfor the degree of Master of Sience, the DIptsion of Comw wnication and Public Addre. 135
APPENDIX E
PHOTOGRAPH OF THE PERFORMER, STAGING,
AND COSTUMING OF FRAMES 136 BIBLIOGRAPHY
Books
Bacon, Wallace A. The Art of Interpretation. 3rd ed. New
York: Holt, 1978.
Bowen, Elbert R., Otis J. Aggertt, and William E. Rickert.
Communicative Reading. 4th ed. New York: Macmillan,
1978.
Brooks, Keith, ed. The Communicative Arts and Sciences of
Speech. Columbus: Charles E. Merrill Books, Inc.,
1967.
Coger, Leslie Irene and Melvin R. White. Readers Theatre
Handbook. 3rd ed. Glenview: Scott, 1982.
Cohen, Edwin. Oral Interpretation: The Communication of
Literature. Chicago: Science Research Assoc., 1977.
Grierson, John. I Remember Lindbergh. New York: Harcourt,
1977.
Kleinau, Marion.L. and Janet Larson McHughes. Theatres for
Literature. Sherman Oaks: Alfred Pub. Co., Inc., 1980.
Lee, Charlotte I. and Timothy Gura. Oral Interpretation.
6th ed. Boston: Houghton, 1982.
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and
Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928. New York:
Harcourt, 1971.
137
QWWRAWOM I .-- - mmwjwk 138
Dearly Beloved: A Theme and Variations. New York:
Harcourt, 1962.
Earth Shine. New York: Harcourt, 1969.
Gift From the Sea. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc.,
1955.
Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1929-1932. New York: Harcourt,
1973.
Listen! the Wind. New York: Harcourt, 1938.
Locked Rooms and Open Doors: Diaries and Letters of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1933-1935. New York: Harcourt,
1974.
North to the Orient. New York: Harcourt, 1935.
The Flower and the Nettle: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1936-1939. New York: Harcourt, 1976.
The Steep Ascent. New York: Harcourt, 1944.
The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955. 1956. New
York: Vintage Books, 1972.
The Wave of the Future: A Confession of Faith. New
York: Harcourt, 1940.
War Within and Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne
Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944. 1980. New York: Berkley
Books, 1981.
Lindbergh, Charles A. The Wartime Journals of Charles A.
Lindbergh. New York: Harcourt, 1970. 139
Long, Beverly Whitaker. "Evaluating Performed Literature."
Vol. II of Studies in Interpretation. Eds. Esther M.
Doyle and Virginia Hastings Floyd. Amsterdam: Rodopi,
1977. 267-81.
Sessions, Virgil D. and Jack B. Holland. Your Role in In
terpretation. Boston: Holbrook Press, Inc., 1975.
Spender, Dale. Man Made Language. London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1980.
Williams, David A. "From Academic to Psycho-Social Uses of
Literature." Performance of Literature in Historical
Perspectives. Ed. David W. Thompson. Lanham: Univer
sity Press of America, 1983. 419-35.
Yordon, Judy E. Roles in Interpretation. Dubuque: Wm. C.
Brown Co. Pub., 1982.
Articles
Cardman, Francine. "Books: Critics' Christmas Choices."
Rev. of Gift From the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Commonweal 5 Dec. 1980: 699-700.
Ciardi, John. "A Closer Look at the Unicorn." Rev. of The
Unicorn and Other Poems, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Saturday Review 12 Jan. 1957: 54-57.
"The Reviewer's Duty to Damn." Saturday Review 16 Feb.
1957: 24-25, 54-55.
Cousins, Norman. "John Ciardi and the Readers." Saturday
Review 16 Feb. 1957: 22-23. 140
Espinola, Judith. "Oral Interpretation Performance: An Act
of Publication." Western Journal of Speech 41.2 (1977):
90-97.
Eubank, Nancy. Rev. of War Within and Without, by Anne Mor
row Lindbergh. Minnesota History Fall 1980: 115-16.
Foss, Karen A. and Sonja A. Foss. "The Status of Research
on Women and Communication." Communication Quarterly
31 (1983): 195-204.
Hogan, William. Rev. of Dearly Beloved, by Anne Morrow Lind
bergh. San Francisco Chronicle 6 June 1962: 41.
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. "Flying Around the North Atlantic."
National Geographic Magazine Sep. 1934: 261-338.
"Prayer for Peace." Readers Digest Jan. 1940: 1-8.
"Reaffirmation." Atlantic Monthly May 1941: 681-86.
"The Heron and the Astronaut." Life 28 Feb. 1969: 14
26.
Loxley, Robert B. "Roles of the Audience: Aesthetic and
Social Dimensions of the Performance Event." Literature
in Performance 3.2 (1983): 40-44.
Millar, Neil. Rev. of Bring Me a Unicorn, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. Christian Science Monitor 2 Mar. 1972: 10.
Niles, Blair. Rev. of North to the Orient, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. New York Herald Tribune Books 18 Aug. 1935:
1.
Owens, Eloise Suzanne. "The Phoenix and the Unicorn: A
Study of the Published Private Writings of May Sarton 141
and Anne Morrow Lindbergh." DAI 43 (1982): 1547A. The
Ohio State University.
Rev. of The Unicorn and Other Poems, 1935-1955, by Anne Mor
row Lindbergh. Time 17 Sep. 1956: 106.
Rev., of The Wave of the Future, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Christian Science Monitor 23 Nov. 1940: 11.
Rev, of The Wave of the Future, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
Current History and Forum 26 Nov. 1940: 32.
Richardson, M. L. Rev. of North to the Orient, by Anne Mor
row Lindbergh. New Statesman and Nation 12 Oct. 1935:
526.
Soskin, William. Rev. of Listen! the Wind, by Anne Morrow
Lindbergh. New York Herald Tribune Books 16 Oct. 1938:
1.
Unpublished Materials
Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. Letter to the author. 7 Nov. 1985.
Strine, Mary S. "Between Meaning and Representation: Dia
logic Aspects of Interpretation Scholarship." Paper
presented at the Interpretation Division Conference on
the Future of Interpretation. Salado, Texas, 3 June
1986.