TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations …………………………………………………. 4 Foreword …………………………………………………………… 5 Introduction ……………………………………………………….... 6 PART I: VIGGO …………………………………………………... 9 Chapter 1: Childhood in Denmark ……………………………….... 11 Chapter 2: Love and the Army …………………………………….. 19 Chapter 3: The Wilderness ……………………………………….... 25 Chapter 4: England ………………………………………………… 35 Chapter 5: Paris ……………………………………………………. 40 Chapter 6: America ………………………………………………... 46 Chapter 7: Remarriage .……………………………………………. 54 PART II: PATT …………………………………………………… 63 Chapter 8: The Black Sheep ………………………………………. 65 Chapter 9: The Terrible Teens …………………………………….. 73 Chapter 10: Growing Up …………………………………………... 78 Chapter 11: Professionally Speaking ……………………………… 82 Chapter 12: Marriage ……………………………………………… 87 Chapter 13: Readjustment …………………………………………. 98 PART III: VIGGO & PATT ………………………………………. 105 Chapter 14: Love Again ………………………………………….... 107 Chapter 15: A New Life Begins ………………………………….... 111 Chapter 16: Elverhoy ……………………………………………… 123 Chapter 17: Goodbye, Viggo ……………………………………… 137 APPENDICES ……………………………………………………... 143 Appendix I: Letters during engagement …………………………... 145 Appendix II: Letters during final illness …………………………... 158 Appendix III: Patt's Jottings – On Art …………………………….. 167 Appendix IV: Patt's Jottings – Alone at Elverhoy ………………… 175 Afterword: The Latchstring, by David Brandt-Erichsen ………….. 179 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Viggo Brandt-Erichsen Self Portrait Woodcut (cover) …………….. 1 Viggo Brandt-Erichsen ………………………………………...... 9 Woodcut "The Creation of Eve" …………………………………… 10 Copper altarpiece, 1926 (color) ……………………………………. 45 Dorothy Caldwell Memorial (color) ……………………………….. 49 World War I Memorial "Buddies" (color) …………………………. 51 Mermaid fountain model …………………………………………… 57 Viggo, Joan, and baby Thor ………………………………………... 61 Martha Mott "Patt" Brandt-Erichsen ……………………………….. 63 Fawns and Nymph, by Martha Mott ……………………………….. 64 Grace Bigelow and Charles Henry Davis ………………………….. 66 The Ride of the Valkyries, by Martha Mott ………………………... 83 "Pan" from The Crock of Gold, by Martha Mott …………………... 85 "Star Dawn" by Martha Mott (color) ………………………………. 90 Elverhoy, 1953 ……………………………………………………... 105 Martha Mott paints son David ……………………………………... 106 Gravesite memorial for Joan Brandt-Erichsen ……………………... 107 World War II Memorial model …………………………………….. 115 Ferdinand (color) .………………………………………………….. 117 "Churchahilla" ……………………………………………………… 119 World War II Memorial, Jaffrey …………………………………… 122 Elverhoy front door with latchstring (color) ……………………….. 130 Ranchero sculpture …………………………………………………. 132 Terra cotta horse during Elverhoy construction ……………………. 133 Elverhoy living room ………………………………………………. 134 Elverhoy kitchen …………………………………………………… 134 Viggo at end of ride with the Rancheros Visitadores ……………… 135 Viggo rides with the Rancheros Visitadores ………………………. 136 Viggo and Mermaid ………………………………………………... 143 "Fire" by Martha Mott (color) ……………………………………… 144 Viggo Brandt-Erichsen (end piece) ………………………………… 181

FOREWORD

My grateful thanks to Catherine Marshall for her fine example of faith and courage in the face of death, which brought me the strength and determination to let my grief become a source of inspiration and spiritual experience, rather than an excuse for prolonged mourning. When a loved one dies we suffer such a tremendous feeling of agony and loss that we are apt to forget that, to those who have gone on, it may be only the beginning of an awakening into a far greater spiritual life than we know. My thanks to Marjorie Draper for sending me the book A Man Called Peter at such a time, and to Viggo and Cora Tarnow for reading my manuscript and encouraging me. Also, grateful acknowledgements are extended to the following friends for their help in furnishing additional material:

Mr. Aage Brandt-Erichsen, Denmark Mrs. Ella Kirby, England Mr. Alexander Magoun, Jaffrey, N. H. Mrs. Theresa Tiffany (Joan's sister) Miss Isabel Lerned (Thor's Godmother)

Martha Brandt-Erichsen 1962

5 INTRODUCTION

In starting the pages of this book, I hope to be able to convey to the reader a little of the charm, humor and gentle artistic nature of a man and artist, whose life held its fair share of adventure, love and sorrow. One of his most outstanding character traits was a keen sense of humor which frequently served to cover up his deeper feelings. He was kind and gentle to his fellow human beings, especially where women, or the sick or unfortunate were concerned. He had enormous energy, but he never hurried. He was able to do almost anything with his hands, except, by his own confession, play the piano. His observation was so keen that after watching a man do his work, no matter what it was or if he knew anything of that work or not, he could still do likewise. He used his hands tremendously skillfully, in spite of the fact that his fingers were extremely stiff and bent, due to severe burns. Up until the year of his death, his figure was lithe and strong and slim like a young man. He was intensely athletic and enjoyed sports, games and gymnastics. His hands were remarkably strong. Being a supreme optimist, he believed that nothing was impossible to attain. He was the life of any party, and had an unusual ability to entertain others, while enjoying it immensely himself. He could do hundreds of tricks and stunts, besides quantities of sleight-of-hand feats. He had merry, very blue eyes, deep dimples and an ever present smile. His speech was soft, drawling and hesitant in any language. Perhaps this was due to his lack of confidence in his ability to express himself, which in fact was more than adequate. In his last years, he wrote some articles for the newspaper which were very poetic and expressively written. He was very independent in thought and action, but at the same time he took great pleasure in his home and family and depended on the warmth, love and comfort he received from them. On the other hand, he was always the gallant gentleman to any lady, and the idolizer and protector of the female. He was, therefore, very

6

attractive to women, especially in America, where the "hail fellow well met" attitude is so common. He had a remarkable memory for facts and dates, high moral standards and a great love of animals. He was invariably the winner at games, and in all things he believed luck would be with him; and it so often was, that he was able to discount the times when it was not. Perhaps because of his own skills and talents, he expected a great deal from his family, but at the same time he seemed to consider them to be quite perfect. He actually seemed to be the happiest when he could be of service to others and never seemed to have resented the many years he had had to sacrifice his Art to nurse an invalid wife. His warm, glowing, outgoing personality came to its full flower when he moved to California. All his reserves seemed to vanish and the happy uninhibited human being glowed. Until his illness, I believe he was supremely happy, beloved of all who knew him. Because he was somebody unique and very lovable, and because the adventure of his life was unusual, I am telling his story. It is written with love and tender admiration for a beloved spirit, whose life has made the world with which he came in contact a better place to live in.

7

Part I

Viggo

9

Woodcut "The Creation of Eve" by Viggo Brandt-Erichsen.

10

CHAPTER 1 CHILDHOOD IN DENMARK

On April twenty-fifth, 1896, in Faxe, Southern Denmark, Viggo Axel Brandt-Erichsen was born. He joined an older brother, Aage, and a sister, Margretha (Gretha). In a few years, Viggo was followed by another sister, Else. The four children were very strictly brought up, for Mr. and Mrs. Brandt-Erichsen believed in something that is almost unheard of in America today, namely that children should be seen and not heard. This rule was particularly carried out at meal times and the good old fashioned method of spanking was the usual punishment for misbehaviors. It must have worked well, at least with Viggo, for he only remembered having been treated with justice and fairness at all times. When Viggo was two, his mother made a half-joking prediction of his future when she saw him sitting in the garden playing with a lump of clay. He was shaping saucepans, kettles, and even a small kitchen stove out of it. Some friends who had come in for tea were quite impressed, and his mother laughingly remarked that someday he might become a sculptor. In spite of showing such an early aptitude with his hands, Viggo was very slow in learning to talk. Gretha was much-disgusted with him when at six years old he was still using baby talk. She tried her best to make him do better. One day she dressed him in her most beautiful blue velvet dress and sent him outside to play with the neighboring boys, saying that he would have to wear the dress until he could talk properly. Gretha hoped that the boys would tease Viggo and that he would improve in order to take off the dress. She had not counted on Viggo's disposition. When the other boys teased him, he scarcely noticed, so they finally stopped and let Viggo play with them happily all day. On his return, the once lovely dress was completely ruined. When this effort failed Gretha tried tying him to the living room sofa, with little better success. Apparently spanking was not the only method of discipline used on the little Brandt-Erichsens, for one very cold night Viggo and Aage, who slept together, were having a pillow fight instead of going nicely to sleep. Their bedroom was somewhat warm, but 11 CHAPTER 1 outside on the landing it was freezing. Papa B-E came upstairs and grabbed both boys by their pajamas and stood them out on the landing until their teeth chattered. They were quite ready to go to sleep when they were finally permitted to go back to bed. One of Viggo's unlucky days was when he and Aage wandered to a nearby stone quarry. Viggo went too near the edge and lost his balance, falling some twenty feet and knocking himself unconscious with a nice cut on his head, while Aage went screaming home for help. From Viggo's way of looking at the incident, he was lucky because he had not been killed. I think he was right. Papa B-E ran a farm and the little ones were from babyhood used to the presence of animals. One day little Gretha was missing and a search was begun which led at last to the box stall of a wild stallion whom no one dared go in to. There on the straw right under the huge animal, happy and unharmed, sat little Gretha playing with her doll, completely unconscious of any danger. Softly, with bated breath and hearts in mouths, they worked to attract her attention without exciting the great beast who stood over her. When they finally succeeded, the little girl got right up and with absolutely no fear came out of the stall as if she was just getting out of bed. Viggo, who was a very normally naughty and mischievous little boy, knew very well that if he was caught in a misdemeanor, he could expect a spanking. This did not prevent him, however, from using his vivid imagination to think up ways of avoiding unpleasant consequences. One day, when he knew that he was about to get a licking, he hastily stuffed a strawberry jam sandwich is the seat of his pants (they happened to be his best white sailor pants). In the midst of the spanking, Papa B-E was startled to see what looked like blood oozing through the pants. The outcome was not quite what Viggo had anticipated, for Papa, thoroughly frightened, took down the pants in order to see what damage he had inflicted on his son and discovered the jam sandwich. The Brandt-Erichsens continued to live in Faxe until Viggo was six years old, at which time they moved to Sweden. This move was brought about by the fact that Sweden suddenly put a very high tariff on all imported flowers. Papa B-E, who was a horticulturist and landscape architect as well as a farmer, had been developing and raising a special blue violet, which he sold in quantities to Sweden. The income from the violets was a substantial amount, so with the

12 CHILDHOOD IN DENMARK new tariff going into effect, it seemed advisable to move to Sweden and start growing there. They bought a farm in southern Sweden, but they soon rented this farm in order to go and live on the estate of Count Casimir de la Gardi. The Count was first Chamberlain to the King and he wanted a park landscaped on his estate, "Kesater," near Vinaker. Papa B-E submitted designs for the park which were accepted by the Count. It was estimated that the designs would take eight years to carry out. In the meantime, Viggo's active imagination was at work with many things. His love of animals was growing and he showed signs of developing a sociable sympathetic nature. He was given new responsibilities. He kept and cared for seventy rabbits. He had to clean their cages every day. This was a big job. In order to save time, he made a canvas floor for all the rabbit cages which moved like a belt when a crank was turned. The dirty floor which had been in the cages was rolled underneath and hung upside down to dry and air while a perfectly clean floor was rolled into place. This was of course a great time saver. Viggo also kept a large number of mice. In his imagination he saw them as little horses. He built tiny box stalls for each one and made a small hayloft above them. He also made them harnesses out of old kid gloves. Their Sunday harnesses were of white kid. Out of spools and knitting needles he made a miniature threshing machine and he trained the mice to operate this little machine and thresh their own grain. When the gooseberries were ripe, the little Swedish Princesses were in the habit of coming to the Count's estate to pick some, for they were very fond of gooseberries. Once, after the Brandt-Erichsens had been in Sweden for over four years, two of the Princesses came for gooseberries, but Princess Astrid, who later became queen of Belgium, had stayed at home with influenza. Hearing that Astrid was sick in bed, Viggo gathered the berries for her and, making a little basket out of rhubarb leaves, he trudged to the castle which was six miles from Count de la Gardi's estate. He was permitted to deliver them to the Princess in person, though she was told that she could not eat them until she was better. Viggo stayed for a little visit with her and then trudged the six miles back, arriving home late and tired but elated.

13 CHAPTER 1

The family of one of Viggo's school friends had a farm nearby. Viggo used to go and visit his friend sometimes in the summer or on holidays. There was always much activity on the farm. One day he went to watch the men cut the hay in a large square-shaped field. They were using four cutting machines, two on each side, working from the outside edge towards the center of the field where there was a swamp. A young frightened deer had gotten himself trapped between the machines and the swamp. He kept running nearer and nearer to the edge of the swamp and finally had to run right into it. He got himself all tangled up in the bushes and bracken and tore his leg badly. Viggo could not let the deer lie there and die so he cut some pine boughs and wove them together into a sort of snow shoe or swamp shoe. Weaving some more boughs, he made a sled, and with this equipment he entered the swamp, lifted the deer onto the sled and dragged him out. The wound on its leg began to fester, so Viggo and the men dragged him to one of the barns, where they put him in one of the box stalls and dressed the wound. He stayed in the box stall for several weeks until he was well, and then they let him go. He ran immediately into the woods, but that night he returned to his stall and his supper. After that he gradually stayed away at night too, but every day he would come for a little visit just to see how things were going and to give his thanks in his own way to his rescuers. The Countess de la Gardi had been ill for some time. About this time she became suddenly worse and died. The Count was deeply affected by her death and was unable to bear the thought of continuing to live at Kesater without her. So he gave up the estate and with it the park project, which left Papa B-E without a job. At the same time the farm they bought when they first came to Sweden burned to the ground and they were unable to collect any insurance. After these disasters, Papa B-E decided it would be useless to start all over with the blue violets and that they should return to Denmark. With what little money they had left, they bought a small farm near Copenhagen. The next few years were tough. Viggo remembered that for at least one year the family lived almost entirely on onions and potatoes. They all had to work very hard. The two boys and Gretha helped their father with the farm while their mother and Else kept the house. There were seventeen cows to be milked and cared for,

14 CHILDHOOD IN DENMARK four hundred chickens, twelve pigs, and a number of horses. There was a convenient system in the Danish schools for farmer's children. They were able to go to school for a month at a time and return to the farm work for the alternating month. This system continued throughout the year, winter and summer. The whole family was plenty busy. Viggo and Aage got up every morning at four o'clock to milk the cows after a quick breakfast. Then they hitched up the milk cart and drove with their fresh load to the station six miles away, where the milk was shipped to the city. By eight o'clock they would arrive home for a second breakfast. Sometimes Papa had to go to the city on business. He usually took Aage with him on these trips. Viggo, who was by then thirteen years old, was left in charge of the farm. On one of these occasions, he was taking care of a mare who was about to foal. In order to give her plenty of room he led her from her box stall and, accompanied by one of the farm pups, tethered her in a nearby field. Whenever he went to look at the mare the pup came too and seemed to be much interested in everything. When the foal was born, the pup insisted on staying with it and licking it. As the mother had no objections, the foal and pup became inseparable companions, and as the foal grew they could be seen tearing across the fields together having a glorious time. This cute friendship came abruptly to an end one day when the foal, who was now quite big and strong, accidentally kicked the dog who has too close to his flying hoofs and whose feelings were so deeply injured that be never went near his friend again. Animals are always being born on farms. On another occasion, a sow who was a savage (one who will eat her offspring) and a cow were both about to produce. An inexperienced boy had been hired to give Viggo a hand with the work. When the cow's time came, Viggo told the boy to stay with the sow, saying that if she started to have her litter and tried to eat them he was to take them away from her. When Viggo came back he asked the boy how it went. "It was O.K." he said, "She had four babies and ate them all, but it did not matter because they came right out again." About this time Viggo received a gift of his first watch. It was a big old-fashioned watch that had to be wound with a key. He kept the watch under his pillow at night, but his father insisted on keeping the key and winding it himself so the mainspring would not

15 CHAPTER 1 get broken. When Viggo woke up one morning he felt the watch pressing on the back of his neck and the ticking was unusually loud. He lay in bed wondering why it should sound so loud. Suddenly he had an idea. He ran to his father crying "Father, I have discovered something. I have found out a way to make deaf people hear." He asked his father to plug his ears and then he pressed the watch against various bones of the skull and spine and his father could clearly hear it tick. This impressed Papa B-E very much, for the hearing aids we have today were not in common use at that time. So they decided to take the idea to an ear specialist. From him they learned that others had already worked on the same idea but that up until that time it had not proved too satisfactory. As the years went by Viggo was to make many such observations on very simple facts. For the boys, life was not altogether serious. There were amusements of many sorts for imaginative youngsters and leisure time too, though not too often. One of Viggo's and Aage's craziest inventions was a type of roller coaster. The fact that the farm house was on a hill made this possible. The boys attached a cable to the farmhouse chimney. Then they ran the cable down to the bottom of the hill, where it was anchored firmly to a post driven into the ground. They then made a contraption (a sort of seat) which was fastened by wires to a wheel which ran on the cable. The boys took turns climbing up to the chimney and taking a flying ride to the foot of the hill. A stop was finally put to this dangerous game. "In case you break the chimney," their father insisted. There is nothing so funny to boys as to see their own father in a ridiculous situation. One day when the boys were cleaning up the cow barn and had filled the wheelbarrow with cow dung and wetted the floor in preparation for washing it, they started fooling around as boys will, wasting time and making a great deal of noise. Papa B-E, hearing all the rumpus and wondering what was taking them so long, came out to the barn to investigate. He was angry when he discovered that the boys were just fooling about and started to chase them in order to give them a good licking. All at once he slipped on the wet dirty floor, falling head first into the wheelbarrow filled with cow dung. Poor Papa was a mess. The boys helped him out, secretly chortling all the while, and the licking was forgotten. Papa B-E was an extremely strong man. For an example, one day a drunken tramp was caught napping inside the hedge which

16 CHILDHOOD IN DENMARK surrounded the farm house. When words and cuffings failed to make the fellow get up and move away, Papa merely picked the man up and tossed him over the hedge. After two and a half years of this strenuous life, things had improved for the Brandt-Erichsens enough so that Papa was able to sell the farm and buy a house in Copenhagen, where he was able to return to landscaping and horticulture. Mr. and Mrs. Brandt- Erichsen lived here until their combined deaths in 1926. The Copenhagen house had a garden at the back with a gate that opened into one of the many public parks of that city. In the park were several ponds and many wild ducks. The Brandt- Erichsens had a key to the gate so they could enter the park after closing time. Once a foolish duck flew over the fence and made herself a nest in their garden. When her eggs were hatched, she found to her dismay that the little ones could not fly over the fence as she could, and so they would be unable to reach the pond. Poor mother duck was in a dilemma. However she tried to make up for her stupidity by marching up to the back door screaming "Rak! Rak! Rak!" Viggo opened the door to see what all the fuss was about. There was mother duck with eleven fluffy ducklings trailing behind her. Viggo thought they must be looking for water, so he went back into the house and returned carrying a full dish pan. Mother duck got right into the dish pan and started to splash around and urged her little ones to do the same. Viggo gently lifted the babies one at a time into the pan and pretty soon the whole family was splashing. Viggo understood now that the mother needed to get them back to one of the ponds, so he got a big basket and putt the little ones inside, and then picked up mother duck and set her down on top of them. He then unlocked the gate to the park and carried the basket to the edge of the pond, where he set all twelve of them down on the ground. They promptly splashed off into the water. "Rak! Rak!" sang mother duck happily. Viggo was now fourteen. He had finished his regular schooling and spent another year at a technical school. After that he got a job in a department store as errand boy. By now he knew what he really wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be an Artist. His father did not approve his desire and told him he should at least try something else for one year. That was when he took the job at the department store.

17 CHAPTER 1

While working there, the man who was in charge of the window decorating did not show up one morning. The manager could not locate him anywhere and he was mighty upset about it. When Viggo heard about what had happened, he offered to do the job. Not having much choice, the manager decided to let him have a go at it. When Viggo was finished, he had done so much better than the regular decorator that the manager had him do all the windows and fired the former man. Viggo got the job and a subsequent raise in salary. He was now earning thirty dollars a week and the manager also sent him to night school to learn decorating. At the end of that year he was offered a salary first of three thousand and when Viggo refused this the manager went up to four and finally five thousand, all to no avail. This was a lot of money for a young man to begin on, but Viggo would not accept it. He was so determined that he wanted to be an Artist that no amount of money could deter him.

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CHAPTER 2 LOVE AND THE ARMY

It was now 1912 and Viggo was sixteen years old. He had definitely made up his mind to become an Artist and he thought he would especially like painting. "If that is what you want," said his father, "I will not stop you but we will not help you." So Viggo started out as his own teacher. If he was going to be on his own, he would have to live in the most economical way. He made himself a tent, and with equipment for hunting, fishing and cooking he set out on an extended camping trip, which was eventually to take him through most of Scandinavia and even into Russia. For close to ten years, he became a wanderer, returning at various intervals to civilization for different reasons. To many people he seemed to be a sort of wild man. However, his purpose remained steadfast. It was his ambition at first to make enough money by selling his pictures to pay for a year at the Gustave Vermehren Art School in Copenhagen. His first summer living in his tent was spent in Denmark. One day as he sat near a country road close by a farm house, he was drawing a frisky pair of kids when an elderly gentleman passed by and stopped to look at his work. "That is very good work," he said. "What do you plan to do with it?" Viggo replied "I plan to go to school and study with Gustav Vermehren if I can make enough money." The man seemed to be very much interested and after talking a while longer he said "Get down to Copenhagen in the fall and go to the school; you will find a scholarship waiting for you there." So in the fall when the school opened, Viggo presented himself for registration. With eager anticipation he was ushered into Gustav Vermehren's studio. An elderly gentleman was standing looking out of the window with his back to Viggo. As the door closed behind, the great Vermehren turned slowly around. There he was, the kind gentleman of last summer. And so Viggo stayed with Vermehren every winter for three years, and in the summers he went back to his tent. In 1915 the 19 CHAPTER 2 school was converted into a military hospital for the duration of World War I. When the school re-opened again, Viggo went back there to teach. He was 19 when he met Karen. Karen was a student at Vermehren's school and was in love with a young architect who was also studying there. Apparently her feeling for the young man was not returned by him. Karen, who was quite spoiled and used to having her own way, developed a strange illness out of her feelings of frustration. The illness appeared a little like epilepsy. She would on occasion go into a sort of trance, stop everything she was doing, and stare into space without apparently seeing anything. Viggo and the young architect became quite interested in her curious behavior, and therefore began to see quite a lot of her out of curiosity. Karen's summer home was in Norway. When summer came, Karen returned there with her mother and sister. After a week or two, Viggo recieved a letter from Karen's mother. She asked him it he would care to spend the summer with them at their estate in Norway. Thinking that there would be lots of opportunity for painting, and not being averse to painting with Karen, he accepted and took his tent along, pitching it somewhere on the estate. As he had anticipated, they were able to spend most of the summer painting together. When fall drew near again, Karen's younger sister had to return to the Conservatory in Copenhagen, where she was a music student. The Conservatory opened a week earlier than the Art School. Karen's mother said to Viggo, "Why don't you and Karen stay here for the remaining week? It would be a shame for you to leave earlier when you are both having such a good time." Viggo saw no reason to disagree with this arrangement, so they both stayed. On their return to Copenhagen, Karen called Viggo very frequently to come to her home for lunch or dinner or to go to the theatre. In fact she eventually called him every day. Viggo began to realize that he had gotten himself into deep water. He did not really love Karen and he did not know just how he was going to withdraw without starting another spell of trances, which seemed to have completely disappeared during the summer.

20 LOVE AND THE ARMY

One night, after leaving the theatre with a group of young people, Karen complained of a headache and said she preferred to walk home rather than ride with the others. Viggo escorted her through the park and then Karen suggested they row on the lake, so Viggo took a boat and they rowed around for a while. Finally Karen said to him "How is it that you have never told me how you feel about me?" Viggo was so upset and afraid of hurting her and making her ill that he told her that he had not been sure of how he did feel and that was why he had said nothing. Of course Karen took this to be a confession of his love for her, and concluded that they were engaged to be married. What to do about it? Viggo could not think, but at least he begged her to say nothing about it yet. When he could get away from her perhaps he would be able to better work out a plan. Viggo kept getting sucked into this situation deeper and deeper. On his next visit to Karen's home, the whole family congratulated the happy engaged couple, a large party having been arranged for the formal announcement of the great event. Viggo felt trapped. He made up his mind that be would have to marry the girl now. But the more he saw of Karen the more he realized that he could never do it. At last he knew that he would have to break it off no matter what happened. The next day he had dinner at Karen's home. He started cautiously to say that he now realized that he and Karen would never be happy together, and that in any case it would be years before he would be in a position to support her in the way she had been used to living. This made absolutely no impression on either mother or daughter. Karen had enough money for both. Besides, Karen's mother would love to present them with a villa in Norway as a wedding present. Now there seemed nothing left to do except to make it bluntly clear that he was going to withdraw from the engagement. The result of this, as Viggo had feared, produced a violent fit of hysterics on the part of both mother and daughter. The mother was even worse than the daughter for she threw herself flat on the floor. Viggo was so agitated and upset that he seized a glass of wine and dashed it in her face. This brought her to her senses but Viggo left the house and was careful never to go back or to see Karen again.

21 CHAPTER 2

______

One year later Viggo had to serve his eighteen months in the Danish army, which is the duty of every young man in Denmark. He had a small studio of his own now in Paleale, or the Avenue of the Willows. He lived there with his faithful collie, Scott. Scott was a remarkably beautiful and intelligent animal, and a great pal. Viggo used to prepare dinner for him before he left the studio, setting it out on the floor. Scott would not touch the food until Viggo returned and told him he could have it, no matter how late he was. He guarded the studio and would not let anyone in while Viggo was away. He was gentle and obedient, and never bothered anyone when Viggo was home. One of the Royal Copenhagen China Artists used Scott as a model, and when Scott died he presented Viggo with one of his replicas. Many, many years later I discovered Scott in a gift shop in Solvang, California. Viggo's term of service in the army turned out to be quite a jolly affair. He made the best out of something he could not enjoy for itself, by the use of humor and practical joking. Aage, who was serving at the same time, seemed to manage in the same way. One day the commanding officer sent for Viggo. He looked at him for a minute, and then said, "Aren't you the painter from Paleale?" Viggo admitted that he was. "Please sit down," said the officer. "We have to make a present from our company to the Battalion Commander. He is very fond of a certain view near here. Do you think that you could paint it?" Viggo replied that he thought he could. "How long do you think it will take you?" asked the officer. Viggo thought a minute and then said, "I think it will take about one month, because I have to have a certain number of days of just the same weather to work in." "Very well," said the officer, "You may be free from all your duties except target practice for one month and for that length of time you will have rooms in barracks that are nearer your work." So Viggo was relieved of all duties except target practice and free to paint again. On days when the weather was not right, Viggo painted other pictures and he generally made a nuisance of himself, coming in for meals at all sorts of odd hours. Finally a complaint was made. Viggo's reply to it was, "But I have to paint when the light is right even if I cannot get back for meals on time." The result

22 LOVE AND THE ARMY was that he got promoted to Officer's Mess, where he could eat when he pleased, have better food, and the company of the officers. At the end of the month he had the painting finished, but not one day ahead of time. When it was presented to the Battalion Commander, he was very pleased with it. Viggo was soon sent for again. The Commanding Officer said, "We need some paintings in our mess hall to make it more attractive and we would like to have you make them." And so this kind of thing continued throughout Viggo's service. In the meantime Viggo's brother, Aage, was having his own kind of fun. He was on guard duty one night when the Colonel entered in civilian clothes. As no one recognized him out of uniform, the guard was not called out to salute him. Because the Colonel was not a popular man, he imagined that the men were insulting him. He became angry and reprimanded Aage, who tried to explain to him that the men had not recognized him in his civilian clothes. "Do they not have a description of me?" demanded the Colonel. "Oh yes," replied Aage, "They have been told that you are of middle height, with grey hair and grey moustache." "What!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Can you see one single grey hair?" "Well, no Sir," Aage saluted politely, "I can't say I do, Sir, they all seem to be white." On another occasion the company was being reviewed, and a Lieutenant was making the rounds. He stopped in front of Viggo and said "Button up that button." Viggo handed his rifle to his companion and, stepping out of line, proceeded to button up one of the Lieutenant's guilty buttons. The Lieutenant had a sense of humor too, for without a smile, but with a twinkle in his eye, he said, "And now do the same to your own." One night Viggo came close to losing his privilege of obtaining any further leave for the duration of his service. He and other members of his company had been to Copenhagen and were returning to headquarters via a midnight train. It so happened that there was no station at the point where they had to get off. The tram was supposed to stop just long enough to let the soldiers out. Viggo was tired and had taken a compartment by himself. When the train reached his stop he was sound asleep. When he finally awoke it was long past midnight and long past his stop. It was a serious offence to be late, and he had no idea what he should do. When he started to

23 CHAPTER 2 open the door of the compartment he found it was sticky with wet paint. This gave him an idea. He rattled the door and shouted. Finally a guard came and between the two of them they managed to open the door. "This is a fine thing," said Viggo. "I have missed my stop because I could not open the door, and so I will never be able to get another leave." The guard was sympathetic, "The only thing we can do," he said, "is to let you off at the next station and I will tell the stationmaster what happened, and we will see if he can do anything for you." The stationmaster was concerned, and arranged for Viggo to spend the night at a hotel at the expense of the railroad company. The following day he was presented with a return ticket and a letter of apology to his commanding officer. Viggo may have considered this luck. It might be interesting to note, however, that Viggo was always looking for four-leafed clovers. He was also finding a great many of them. His books and his wallet contained many of his pressed finds. He claimed that his mother said he was "born with an orange in his turban," which is a Danish saying referring to a person who is exceptionally lucky. Viggo often said that he possessed Aladdin's Lamp. It certainly seems that an element of luck might have been present when the train guard was so easily convinced by the story of the sticky door, and the stationmaster so ready to write explanations and apologies. At the close of his army service, Viggo returned to his tent and further travels. Although it is almost impossible to put these events in their proper order, the next chapter will try to follow his travels through Denmark, Sweden, Norway and Finland.

24

CHAPTER 3 THE WILDERNESS

In the following years after his army service, Viggo came to know the wilderness as a primitive man would know it. He tells of how he developed senses of smell, hearing, direction and distance, which he later lost when he returned permanently to the civilized world. Viggo, who already had a natural love of animals, soon became familiar with the ways and habits of wild creatures. He had no fear of them, but his friends, who sometimes came to visit in his tent, did not stay long when packs of wolves encircled the tent at night. He came to know the sights, sounds and smells of the wilderness. He learned that as long as he was standing on his feet, a wolf would not dare to attack him, for a wolf is a coward. But if he were to trip over a fallen log, the wolf would be upon him like lightning. He therefore carried with him a certain device for protecting himself in case he was followed by a pack. This was a flask of kerosene and some camping matches. If a wolf pack approached he would wait until they were within twenty feet of him, then he filled his mouth with kerosene and, lighting a match, blew the kerosene directly through the flame onto the nearest wolf. The flame was about ten feet long, and reaching the first wolf, it turned it into a burning inferno of fur and flame, which would then turn back into the pack, igniting and dispersing the others. All his experiences with wolves, however, were not un- friendly. A wolf that had been injured and abandoned by the pack came to his tent and hung around. When Viggo realized that the animal had been injured and was in pain, he approached and the wolf made no objection. Viggo gave him first aid and fed him and in time his wound healed, but he did not leave Viggo. In fact, for two years he stayed near the tent or followed Viggo like a dog wherever he went. Only when he went into the villages for supplies the wolf would not follow, but remained at some distance in the protection of the woods until his master returned. On one such occasion the wolf was not waiting as usual on the outskirts of the village, and though Viggo waited and called, the 25 CHAPTER 3 wolf did not appear. Finally Viggo concluded he must have gone home, but on reaching his tent he was not there either. Viggo never saw him again and he never knew if he had been shot by some villager or if he bad finally returned to his pack. All this time Viggo was drawing or painting wherever he was. He pitched his tent wherever there was a picture to paint so long as it was not too far from food and water. Besides hunting and fishing, he learned to know the edible wilderness plants and he made a little money from time to time selling pictures. This helped him to replenish his supply of food, mostly tea and oatmeal. His pack, when made up, weighed eighty pounds. His equipment included ten pounds of lead and gunpowder. With this and twelve brass cartridges, he made his own ammunition. As he could not afford to waste any of this supply, he became such an excellent shot that he seldom missed. Needless to say, the life he was leading was toughening him both physically and mentally. He said he thought the loneliness of his life at this period was what made him later a rather silent man, unused to chattering the way so many of us do. His knowledge of the wilderness folk made it possible for Viggo to do many things that others were unable to do. For example, it is very difficult to get near enough to a woodcock in order to photograph or draw him. The woodcock has a very beautiful song and Viggo learned that as long as his song is not disturbed, the bird would not fly away, but if he were interrupted, he would stop instantly and disappear. Having learned the silent wilderness way of moving, Viggo followed the song of the woodcock and was able to get near enough to faithfully draw him. ______

In Vaernamo, a little town in Southern Sweden, there were living two old men of seventy years with their mother who was ninety. The old lady kept the home for her two old sons, who were potters. Viggo, having set up his tent near Vaernamo, became much interested in the old boys and their work and spent a great deal of time watching them. Whenever a batch of pottery was ready for the fire, the whole town would gather at the site for an evening of dancing, singing and general festivity in order to keep the boys awake

26 THE WILDERNESS through the firing, which usually lasted all through the night. The old mother spent the night preparing coffee and cakes for their many guests and, after a short sleep, prepared more coffee and cakes for breakfast. Viggo learned a large part of all he later knew about the firing and glazing of pottery from these two old craftsmen. As he was the first artist to visit this little town, the people took a considerable interest in him, and persuaded him to take part in and help them with their annual Children's Day celebration, the proceeds from which went for the benefit of poor children and orphans. Viggo, who loved this kind of thing, entered into the festivity with gusto. He managed to dig up a huge old vacuum cleaner hose and rigged it up to look like a horrible snaky dragon, which was able to open it's mouth and swallow pennies that were dropped into it for the children. One stingy old man was just opening his purse in order to search for the smallest penny, when the dragon swooped down and seized and swallowed the whole purse, to the great enjoyment of everyone except the old man. For another event, Viggo planted a garden of paper flowers. Numbers were tied to each flower and people paid a quarter to pick a flower. The lucky number won a prize. The garden was so popular that it had to be replanted three times during the day. The climax of the celebration was when Viggo appeared dressed in a long blue cape announcing that he was a Fire Eater. He took out his camping matches and proceeded to blow kerosene through the flame. It created a sensation and the Fire Eater was immediately a huge success. Afterwards an auction was held with Viggo as auctioneer. As he was going up the steps to the platform, his blue cloak caught on a nail and a small piece was torte out. At the close of the auction a young girl ran up on the platform. "Just a minute," she cried, "the best part of the auction is just about to begin. Here is a piece of the cloak of the Fire Eater, how much am I bid for it?" There was a terrific scramble among the girls and the bidding went up and up until finally the scrap of blue cape sold for eleven dollars. Afterwards the girls cut it into even smaller pieces and divided it a- mong themselves. Later in the summer the townspeople asked Viggo to hold an exhibition of his paintings. One of the paintings he displayed was a portrait of the old mother of the two potters.

27 CHAPTER 3

A stranger seeing this painting was much impressed by it and asked to buy it. He told Viggo that he unfortunately did not have the money with him but that he would gladly send it when he got home. Viggo was not going to let one of his best paintings go unpaid for to a complete stranger, so he inquired from the man where he lived. The stranger gave him a name and address in Halmstad. "I will bring it to you there," said Viggo. So a few days later he set out for Halmstad with the painting and just enough money for his ticket. He also took along several other paintings, hoping to sell them too and perhaps get a few commissions before returning to Vaernamo. On arrival at the station in Halmstad, he checked his paintings into storage and inquired of the station master the whereabouts of the address the stranger had given him. The station master said that he had never heard of the street and that he better go to the police station for information. At the police station he had no better luck. Apparently there was no such street in Halmstad and investigation turned up no record of the man's name. Viggo had been counting on receiving some money for his picture, but now he was stranded in a strange town with only a few paintings and not knowing a soul. Never at too great a loss as to what to do, he went to the most fashionable hotel in Halmstad, the Hotel Mortenson. There he engaged a room and sent a boy to the station for his pictures, asking him to put them in his room. Then he went to the dining room and ordered a big dinner, charging it to his room number, and taking his time so he would not be back when the boy got there with his pictures. When he returned to his room the pictures were already there and he sat down to consider what he should do next. He picked up the telephone directory and started looking at names. He ran across one name which seemed to belong to a wealthy ship owner. He rang the number and was lucky enough to get the man. Viggo told him that he was an artist from Denmark, that he had some paintings with him and as he would soon be returning he would be willing to sell some in order to be able to travel lighter. The man was interested and said he would come to the hotel to see the pictures. When he saw them he said he liked them very much and offered Viggo five hundred dollars for one of them, only

28 THE WILDERNESS he said he would like to have his wife approve first. Viggo did not want to have to delay the sale, so he suggested to the ship owner that they have coffee down stairs and send for his wife to come to the hotel. This worked out and the wife liked the pictures too so the man made out a check on the spot and wet off with the picture much pleased. Now Viggo had enough money to stay at the Hotel Mortenson for several days. He sold several more pictures while he was there and managed to get a few portrait commissions, which kept him in Halmstad for several weeks, before returning to Vaernamo. At the station in Vaernamo, Viggo was pleasantly surprised to run into an old friend of his from Denmark, a young dentist, who told him that he had just received an appointment in Trondjem and was on his way there. In fact he was just waiting for his train. So Viggo stayed with him until the train left, promising to come soon to Trondjem and see him. It should not be thought that all his time Viggo neither saw nor heard from his family in Denmark, for he did return periodically to visit them and to go to Vemehren's school.

______

Just before the First World War broke out, Viggo met a German professor who had a cabin in the mountains near where he had pitched his tent for the long cold Norwegian winter. The professor took many photographs. In fact he was always taking pictures. He claimed that he was studying the Northern Lights. Just at this time the Kaiser visited Norway and came to see the professor. The Kaiser had with him a young officer who was court martialed but who had been given the choice of the disgrace of court martial or saving his honor by committing suicide. The young man chose suicide, and was then ordered to jump to his death from a bridge that crossed a ravine in the locality where the professor liked to take his pictures. After the young man's death, the professor hired some men to build a monument to his memory on the spot where he had died. The monument was never completed beyond the cement foundations.

29 CHAPTER 3

At the outbreak of the War, the professor had to return to Germany. Many other such cement foundations were discovered throughout Norway during the course of the War and all were in important gun positions. ______

Viggo was in Helsinki, Finland, when the Russian Revolution broke out. He had been working on several portrait commissions and while there he had been invited to a birthday party given in honor of a fine young violinist, Jean Sibelius. The great composer had not yet written Finlandia and was known chiefly for his virtuosity on the violin. Viggo was forced to escape from Finland north into Sweden. He traveled at night so he would not be caught and questioned. His means of travel was reindeer sledge. He rested by day in the friendly huts of Laplanders who seldom spoke but were kind and helpful. He told of how the floors of the Laplander's tents were woven out of twigs into intricate patterns. One pattern was the dining room floor, another represented the sleeping quarters, and so on. Luck was with him, and he crossed the Swedish border with- out undue mishap. No one had stopped him or questioned him. At five o'clock one bitterly cold morning, he reached the northernmost little town in Sweden, a godforsaken dreary little village where every one was still sound asleep. Exhausted and weary as he was from his arduous journey, he still did not want to rouse anyone so early, so he waited a couple of hours in the cold until he saw some sign of life and found food and shelter. ______

In the winter of 1919, Viggo built himself a shelter six teen miles from Trondjem in the Norwegian mountains. He was now twenty three years old. His hut was not too far from the city, but far enough to be completely isolated. Every so often, when he ran out of provisions, he would ski into Trondjem for supplies and a visit to his dentist friend, and then ski the sixteen miles uphill back to camp. One bitterly cold night, the temperature being sixty degrees below zero, Viggo placed the root of an old tree on his fire, hoping that it would continue to burn through the night and keep his hut warm until morning. This turned out to be an unfortunate

30 THE WILDERNESS precaution, for during the night the root rolled out of the fireplace and set his sleeping bag on fire. His feet were towards the fire and they were so badly burned before he woke sufficiently to put out the blaze that he was unable to walk the following day. The weather continued cold, and in the due course of time, provisions ran low again and his feet were not healed and still very painful. Finally all his food was gone and walking was still difficult for him. During the daytime he kept the door of his hut open so that he could see the snow-covered lake, where hinters sometimes pass- ed. He hoped that he would be able to attract the attention of an all- too-rare passerby, and get some help. But no one passed. He kept alive for nine days by eating frozen snow. At last he decided be would have to get to Trondjem. So he carefully and painfully pulled on his ski boots over the still raw burns and slowly set off on the sixteen mile run. In the condition he was in it seemed incredible that he could make it. But he did. He had been in wonderful condition before his long starvation, and he had a great capacity to endure pain. Also, the trip was all downhill so it was not quite as difficult as it might have been. After a good hot meal in Trondjem, he looked up his friend the dentist, hoping to stay for a while with him. He was much disappointed to find him away on vacation. Unbelievable as it may seem he decided to return to his camp, so he loaded up with provisions and started the long return trip uphill. His feet hurt him more and more and he was forced to go very slowly. Altogether it took him six hours to reach camp. As he neared the camp, he had to make a short run downhill with a sharp turn around a tree trunk. He knew the spot well and had taken it many times before with ease. He knew that he had to take the turn just right in order to avoid hitting the tree. This time, in his painfully exhausted condition, he was unable to exert his usual skill. He hit the tree and fell. He felt acute pain in both wrists and one arm. Nevertheless he was able to limp the rest of the way to his hut. His arm and wrists were so painful by the time he reached it, that he was unable to prepare himself any of the food that he had gone to such great effort and pain to secure. He ate some uncooked oatmeal and lived on that unpalatable diet for the next few days. At last a lone hunter appeared on the lake. Viggo whistled and yelled and finally he attracted the man's

31 CHAPTER 3 attention. The hunter turned and came towards the hut. He took in the situation at a glance, and without saying a word he set about building a fire and making some hot tea. He then treated and bandaged Viggo's wounded feet, and attended to his severely sprained wrists and badly bruised right arm. The hunter quietly prepared to make himself at home in the but and stay with Viggo until he was well enough to take care of himself. By coincidence the hunter was also a Dane, and a strange silent fellow. He sometimes started to talk about his life, and then he would suddenly stop in the middle of a story. Nothing could induce him to continue until he was ready, which might not be until a couple of days later. One time he went for two whole days without saying a word. After a couple of weeks Viggo was well enough to make the trip to Trondjem. The two men set out together. Near to the city they crossed a bridge on which two men were walking in the opposite direction. "Just a minute," the hunter said to Viggo. "Wait here for me. I have some business to settle." He crossed to the other side of the bridge and spoke to the men. All of a sudden, to Viggo's amazement, the hunter picked one man up bodily and threw him into the river. "Do you want to rescue your friend?" he shouted to the other man, "Or shall I throw you in too?" The other man did not wait to reply, but rushed away to help his companion, while Viggo stood astonished and mystified by this extraordinary behavior. "I was once in business," the hunter explained when he returned to where Viggo stood. "These men were working for me. They did not think that I treated them fairly. When I closed the bus- iness they went away swearing that if they ever saw me again they would kill me. This is the first time that I have seen them since then, and I thought it was best if I made the first move." ______

Soon after this, Viggo returned to Denmark again. Life in the wilderness had been full of adventure and narrow escapes, but in the long run he knew that he would not want to continue living this way all his life. In Denmark there is a law that a person cannot shoot or carry a gun or build a hut or shelter in a State Forest.

32 THE WILDERNESS

Near a small town not far from Copenhagen there was a State Forest. On the edge of the forest Viggo came across a mound which looked to him like an ideal place to build a shelter. He figured on digging into the mound and making himself a cave. It appeared that the mound must be on the property of a neighboring farmer, so Viggo inquired of the farmer if he could have permission to build or dig his cave there. The farmer said that he thought it would be all right as the exact line of the State Forest had never yet been determined by the State Forester. A certain line of trees, which he pointed out to Viggo, had usually been considered to be the boundary of the forest, which would make the mound on the farmer's property. Having secured his permission, Viggo dug out a nice little room in the mound and lined it with willow boughs. The door and window were concealed by bushes. Viggo arranged stout strings around these bushes which could close or part them as he so desired and which could be operated from the inside of his house. It was a very secret dwelling which looked just like any ordinary mound and was known only to Viggo and the farmer as a dwelling place. As soon as he was settled in, Viggo started to work on some woodcuts which he was making from sketches done in Norway. One day a royal hunt passed by and a shot was fired so close that Viggo, who was hard at work, dropped his tools and rushed outside to see what it was. "Excuse me," said Viggo, "but you seem to be shooting from the roof of my house." The man was completely taken aback and asked if he could see the house. Viggo invited him inside with several other members of the party who were nearby. They were all astonished and impressed with what they saw. The cozy little room was filled with paintings and drawings and the most beautiful woodcuts. Viggo had an especially fine and individual technique in this field which he had developed himself. When they returned to Copenhagen, the hunters talked a great deal about the Caveman Artist in the woods. Eventually the story got into the newspapers and Viggo began to receive fan mail addressed to the Hermit in the Cave. Some came from as far away as Germany. All this publicity brought the hut to the attention of the State Forester, who decided to look into it. He went immediately to see Viggo and told him that he was living in the State Forest and would

33 CHAPTER 3 not be able to stay there without a permit. Viggo did not say anything to the Forester, but he went at once to Copenhagen and asked to see the Minister of Agriculture. He was admitted, and the Minister laughed heartily when he heard Viggo's story. "Dictate a letter to my secretary," he told him, "asking for permission to stay in your hut, and a permit will be sent to you. Accordingly Viggo received his permit, but the Forester was not satisfied. One day he came to see him again. Viggo was cleaning his gun. It had been established that one side of the room was in the forest and the other on the farmer's property. The side with the door stood on state property. This made it rather difficult for Viggo to leave his house without carrying his gun onto state grounds, which was against the law. When the Forester came in Viggo was luckily sitting with his gun in hand on the farm side of the room. He realized that the Forester was going to try to make trouble for him if he could. Nothing would have pleased him better than to be able to confiscate Viggo's gun, which was so important to his livelihood. In anticipation of this Viggo had made a little trap door in the back of the house on the farm side. It was just big enough to poke the gun through. When the Forester saw Viggo cleaning his gun, he began by asking how the hunting was. "Very good," Viggo said, "I shot a deer and took part of it to the farmer as I cannot eat it all myself before it spoils." "Well," said the Forester, "I guess you will have to stop shooting deer, as you cannot carry your gun out of your front door without carrying it onto state property." "I do not need to do so," Viggo replied. "I am going hunting now and I will show you how I do it." So saying, he opened the trap door, poked his gun through, and saying good bye to the Forester, he walked out, leaving the man in annoyed astonishment.

34

CHAPTER 4 ENGLAND

In the summer of 1922, Viggo was in Jutland. At this time he was twenty six years old. He was swimming alone off the northern coast, when he lost consciousness and three weeks later he walked off a boat in England without any knowledge of how he came to be there, and having lost all sense of his own identity. No one stopped him as he walked ashore and up the main street of a small seacoast town. There was no money in his pockets, but he was carrying a gun. He kept walking and came to a town called Colchester. Here he tried to sell his gun, for he was hungry and needed money to buy a meal. He sold the gun in a shop where he happened to see a print on the wall with the word Greenwich printed underneath it. This word seemed to him to mean something, so he wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He did not understand the language that was spoken in the store and could not ask to have the word explained to him. He started walking again. He was on a main route to London. A truck driver stopped and gave him a lift. He got out of the truck when it arrived in London. As he was very hungry, he went into the first restaurant he could find. A policeman watching him noticed that he was acting rather strangely and stepped up to speak to him. He then discovered that Viggo was unable to speak or understand English. At first the policeman thought that Viggo might be Dutch, so he asked him to come to a nearby store where the proprietor was a Dutchman. He proved as unsuccessful as the policeman in understanding Viggo. He did suspect, however that Viggo was a Scandinavian of some sort, so they took him to a Jewess, whose father had lived for some time in Denmark. The Jewess could not speak Danish herself and when she finally located her father, it turned out that he had forgotten what little Danish he once knew. It being a Saturday afternoon, the Danish Consulate was closed, so they took Viggo to a Danish sailor's home, where he stayed until Monday morning when the Consulate opened again. The Consul questioned Viggo as to who he was and how he came to be there. Viggo could not tell him anything more than how 35 CHAPTER 4 he got from the sea coast to London. He had no papers or identif- ication of any kind, and he said his clothes were completely unfamiliar to him. There was one piece of paper in his pocket with the word Greenwich on it. Viggo handed this to the Consul, saying that he copied it down when he had seen it in a store because it had sounded vaguely familiar. Did the Consul know what it meant? The Consul told Viggo about the town of Greenwich and explained to him about Greenwich Time, all of which did not mean anything to Viggo. Suddenly the Consul remembered that there was a Danish lady who lived in Greenwich where she had been married to an Englishman named Kirby. He told Viggo that there was a Danish lady living in Greenwich named Ella Kirby. Had he ever heard of her? "Yes" said Viggo with great relief. She is my cousin." So he was taken to Mrs. Kirby's home and she identified him. Mrs. Kirby notified Viggo's family in Denmark of his arrival in England and the Consul asked Scottland Yard to try and trace what had happened to him in the missing three weeks of his life. They were, however, unable to turn up any clues to unravel the mystery. The best they were able to do was to conclude that he must have hit his head on some hard floating object and been seen and picked up by a smuggler's boat and finally let go in England when the smugglers realized that his loss of memory would render him harmless to them. Mrs. Kirby asked Viggo if he would like to stay with her and her husband in England for a while as long as he was already there. Viggo agreed that it was a nice idea and accepted. There remained a little matter of obtaining a visa. At that time, on account of the war, this was quite difficult to get. The Danish Consul assisted by arranging with the British Consul to permit Viggo to stay provided he return to Denmark to get his passport, which had been lost during the three week blackout. Mrs. Kirby lent him the money for his round trip, and having reached Denmark and booked his return passage for the same day, he went straight to the passport office. When the passport office heard that he was returning so soon, he was told that it would be absolutely impossible. "You cannot leave on that boat," they said. "You have first to get permission from the British Authorities, and that will take at least a week." Viggo chuckled. "Is that all that is worrying you?" he said. "Maybe this will help you then," and he

36 ENGLAND pulled from his pocket his permit from the British Consul. His passport was drawn up immediately, and he returned to England as planned. ______

Every Christmas, Mrs. Kirby made Danish marzipan, and she sent some to Queen Alexandra, who was also Danish and there- fore very fond of it. During the war it was impossible to obtain from Denmark so she got it from Mrs. Kirby, who was famous for her Marzipan. Mrs. Kirby also bore a striking resemblance to the Queen, which likeness more than once led to very funny circum- stances. After Viggo had been with the Kirbys for about three months, they all went to the sea side for a vacation. One day a mag- nificent yacht anchored in the harbor, the owner of which was the Director of the Savoy Theatre in London, who had suddenly been taken violently ill while cruising around with the current leading lady of his theatre. He sent word ashore that he would like to have a room at the Inn where the Kirbys and Viggo were staying. It was the only Inn in the small town, and as it was the Christmas season, it was full up. Viggo happened to be in the lobby when the request was made. He was able to understand enough of what was said to realize that a sick man needed a room where there was none. He made signs to the effect that he would let the Director have his room. When the sick man got the message, he immediately offered Viggo his own room on the yacht. So the exchange was made, and Viggo boarded the yacht with pleasant anticipation until he discovered the leading lady aboard, which so embarrassed him that he left at once, returning to the Inn where a young Englishman offered to share his room with him. The young men retired silently that night, neither one being able to understand or speak the other one's language. But the following morning the Englishman started up a lively conversation as if he expected Viggo to have no trouble in knowing what he said. Viggo explained politely in Danish that he could not speak English. "Well," exclaimed the Englishman, "if you can speak it in your sleep, you can speak it when you are awake. You kept me awake last night with all your chatter, and all of it was in English."

37 CHAPTER 4

If the Englishman's statement was true, which it apparently was, there was no excuse for Viggo to continue not to understand or be understood in England, so he began to try out the new language, which he did not find so difficult after all, and which eventually became the language he was to use for so many years that it was more familiar to him even than Danish. After the Kirbys returned to Greenwich, and the Director re- covered his health, he wrote to Viggo, thanking him for his kindness in giving up his room, and asking him and the Kirbys to accept a box at the Savoy Theatre for whatever night that they would care to come. They accepted the offer with pleasure and having selected an evening, they were met at the theatre by the Director himself, looking fit as a fiddle and in a very merry mood. He kept them talking for a long time in the lobby, and only showed them to their box just before the curtain rose and the house lights were already out. After the first act was over and the lights came on again, they observed the audience looking in the direction of their box, smiling and bobbing their heads. They looked around expecting to see the Director behind them, or some other person of note, but they were the only occupants of the box. Finally the Director's little joke dawned on them. Having noticed and remembered Mrs. Kirby's remarkable likeness to the Queen he had given them the Queen's own box, and the audience never knew that it was not the Queen herself. Viggo stayed in England with the Kirbys for two years. His creative mind was always busy. When he was not painting or doing copper work, which he learned to do while he was there, he was inventing some gadget or another, some of which turned cut to be both successful and profitable. He invented a no glare headlight for cars, which proved to be impractical to manufacture without too much expense. A more successful gadget was a hook capable of adhering to any surface without the use of screws. When several hooks were fastened to a pole, they made an excellent rack for displaying hats in store windows. With the proceeds from the sale of paintings and quite a lot of copper work, as well as some of his gadgets, he was able to repay Mrs. Kirby for his passage to Denmark and back and for his board and still have some left over. Mrs. Kirby was instrumental in helping him to sell much of his copper work among her husband's friends and relations. She,

38 ENGLAND however, withheld much of the money when she saw how easily it slipped through Viggo's fingers. Later, when he went to Paris, she sent it to him in monthly installments until it was all gone. Viggo was anxious to go to Paris for further study and was in need of additional money for the trip. He invented a type of water ski and he had the daring idea that if he crossed the channel on these skis, that he would receive enough money from the publicity of this stunt to pay for some time in Paris. Fortunately, perhaps, he never carried out this plan, because just then royalties from the sales of his hook started to pour in. So Viggo said good bye to the kind Kirbys and made his way to Paris by a more normal method. In the spring of 1924 two of his woodcuts were accepted in the Spring Salon.

39

CHAPTER 5 PARIS

During his stay in Paris, Viggo came under new influences. He had already become interested in metal craft while he was in England. In Paris he became interested in sculpture and received his first training in this field under the great French sculptor Emile Bourdelle. He continued to paint and also to make woodcuts, but his metal craft became another phase of his interest in sculpture, turning to copper reliefs and such, sometimes on a large scale. Gradually, sculpture absorbed his deepest interest and remained primary during the rest of his life. As he became better acquainted in Paris, he joined one of the many groups of artists who gather in the Bohemian quarters of that city. This particular group called themselves "Les Amis de Montparnasse." The most influential painter of our times was also a member, namely Pablo Picasso. An example of Picasso's great influence on the young artists of Paris is revealed in the following incident. "Les Amis" met one evening at a restaurant on Montparnaase. Picasso was seated in a chair by a window. It was one of those long summer evenings. He was gazing outside, studying the beauty of a magnificent tree. Presently he remarked to the group "How wonderful is a tree! What beauty! What grace! What charm there is in a tree! What a delightful subject it is for the painter!" He continued to eulogize on the artistic merits and possibilities of trees, while the young unarrived artists and students hung on his words. In the next Spring Salon, almost every painting was of trees. About a year later, they were together again in the same restaurant. Picasso was again seated by the same window looking at the same tree. This time he remarked "That tree out there, how clumsy and awkward its shape is! How dull its color! How inartistic the pattern of its branches! There is nothing more boring to me than to paint trees!" In the next Spring Salon there was not a tree to be seen. Picasso knew how great his name and influence were on these young minds, and he probably enjoyed a little humor in exercising his power in this maybe not so harmless way. This tongue-in-cheek 40 PARIS attitude of his, however, has contributed to one of the most absurd phases of art all over the world. Viggo was sometimes a visitor in Picasso's studio. One time he and another young Danish artist, who was also a member of "Les Amis," were at the studio while Picasso was as usual doing all the talking and explaining in great detail his latest theories on painting. "It is all very interesting," Viggo remarked. "The only trouble is that it is much too easy." "Very well," Picasso replied. "If you think so, let's the three of us follow these theories and paint a picture and see what the individual results will be." The young men agreed that this would be a great idea and lots of fun. So choosing the subject "Home" they started then and there on a friendly competition. Everything including the kitchen sink vent into Viggo's painting, and he thoroughly enjoyed the fun of it. When the pictures were all completed, Picasso and the other young Dane agreed that Viggo had done the best job. ______

Paris has always been a city of romance, and for Viggo this was no exception. The many art schools there were called "ateliers" or studios. Viggo worked and studied in many of these studios, gathering a great variety of training and information. There were many students from all parts of the world, for Paris was considered at that time to be the Art center of the world. In one of these studios, Viggo met Edith, a wealthy young American art student. Edith and her sister, Dorothy, were both studying in Paris, but as Dorothy was not studying art, Viggo had not met her. One day Dorothy came to the studio with a message for her sister, who was working at an easel next to Viggo's. Viggo had just put his palette down on a stool, when Dorothy came in wearing an expensive camel hair coat. She went directly to where her sister was working, and with out looking at what she was doing, sat right down on Viggo's palette. Poor camel hair coat! Viggo tried to help her to clean it up as best he could. She was not mad and took it all with a sense of humor and there was great merriment over the whole thing. In this undignified way he was introduced to his future wife. They were attracted to each other immediately, and after a whirlwind courtship they became man and wife. Dorothy's parents

41 CHAPTER 5 were wealthy, and Dorothy had a generous income of her own. Un- like the previous situation with Karen, Viggo made no objection this time on the grounds of his inability to support a wife in the way that she was used to living. Viggo had lived on pretty slim rations in Paris. The money he received from Mrs, Kirby had long since been used up, and any money he made from various commissions was quite inadequate for the support of two. In fact Viggo had been in the habit of living at frequent intervals on nothing but spaghetti. Now all this was changed. Dorothy's money was ample allowance for two. They could even travel on it, so they went to Monte Carlo for their honeymoon. Viggo, who always had extraordinary luck in games, and his winnings at the Casino were enough for him to buy a car and rent a villa for six months. From Monte Carlo they vent to Rome, and spent some time there enjoying the great works of art and the wonderful flavor of that charming city. Before long, Dorothy thought that she might be pregnant, so they drove back to Paris and went to a doctor there. Now that they were going to have a baby their happiness was complete. Viggo had been in Paris for three years before he married Dorothy. In that time he had accomplished a great deal artistically speaking. He had been commissioned to decorate a big Hunting Lodge outside of Paris with a series of copper reliefs representing the History of the Hunt. Unfortunately the work was all lost when the Lodge caught fire and was burned to the ground. Now he was inspired by his personal life to create things for the home. He began by making a remarkable four poster bed. On all four sides of the bed there were chased copper reliefs of the Four Seasons. More reliefs decorated the head and foot boards while the four posts were carved in spirals. A canopy which covered it all was to be painted on the under side with a scene which could be looked at and enjoyed while lying in bed. He also planned to put the bed in a special exhibition of furniture. Unfortunately just at this time he got bitten by a fly on the right hand. His hand and arm began to swell badly and he finally had to stop work and went to see a doctor, only to learn that he had lockjaw and might lose his right arm. As luck would have it, he recovered fully with his arm intact. But by the time he was well enough to work again, the exhibition of furniture was over.

42 PARIS

Meanwhile, Dorothy neared the time of her delivery. She did not feel well. There were some complications and she was sent to the hospital. It was an anxious time for the young husband. Dorothy must have had some premonition that she was going to die, for she asked to make her will, in which she left everything to Viggo. She told him that if she died she wished to be buried in America in the little town of Jaffrey, New Hampshire, where she used to spend so many happy summer months. Neither the young mother nor her infant daughter survived the birth. One short year of happiness was over. Everything that they had dreamed about and planned together for the future came to an abrupt end. To assuage his grief, Viggo threw himself into the creation of a monumental Altarpiece, which he intended to send to Copen- hagen for the Church Art Exhibition. The design was in the shape of a Gothic window, divided into six panels, a seventh being the pointed section at the top where God the Creator resided. Biblical scenes were in each of the other panels, and all was done in chased copper. To his knowledge this was the only piece of its type made since the Middle Ages. He had to anneal the copper while he worked, in order to make the surface soft and pliable. He used melted pitch for this purpose. First the pitch had to be melted and all the lumps stirred smooth. It was stirred in a big iron pot with a stout stick over a fire. One time while he was stirring, the stick became embedded in a thick lump of pitch. Viggo grabbed the stick with both hands and pressed down hard in order to dissolve the lump. Suddenly the solid mass broke, pitching him forward as the pressure was released, so that both his hands were immersed in the now boiling pitch. They were so badly burned that he could not continue the work for a month. When he was able to resume work, he had only thirty days in which to complete the piece for the exhibition, and his hands were still quite badly crippled from the severity of the burns. They re- mained stiff for the rest of his life and he was never able to completely straighten the fingers again. This accident did not in anyway impair his later skill, however. He now worked with feverish speed, night and day for thirty days, until he had the Altar finished just in time to get it to Copenhagen for the exhibition. Afterwards he collapsed from

43 CHAPTER 5 exhaustion due to the overwork and the injuries following so soon after the death of his wife. It was perhaps fortunate that Dorothy had asked him to take her ashes to America for burial, for as he began to recover, he turned his thoughts to the task of carrying out his young wife's wishes. He packed up all of his belongings, including many of his paintings and sculptures, and leaving them in storage in Paris, he went to Copenhagen for a brief visit with his parents before sailing to the United States. That was the last time he ever saw his father and mother for they both died soon after he arrived in Jaffrey. He eventually lost the address where he had left his things in Paris, and as be never been back there, he never recovered any of his effects. The Altarpiece was later shipped to America by his parents, and is now in the United Church of Jaffrey at 54 Main Street. A photo is on the next page.

Opposite page: Copper altarpiece by Viggo Brandt-Erichsen, 1926. Photo by Scott Brandt-Erichsen.

44 PARIS

45

CHAPTER 6 AMERICA

In 1926, when Viggo was just thirty years old, he arrived in the small New England town of Jaffrey, New Hampshire, bearing the ashes of his dead wife and daughter. His intention was to stay just long enough to make a suitable memorial for them in the Jaffrey cemetery. He found a wonderful Inn called the Ark. It was away from the town by some five miles on high ground, surrounded by forest and magnificent mountain views. Here it was that Viggo met many of the people who were to become his firm friends in the New World. This attractive young Dane, arriving in Jaffrey on such a mission, was soon the object of much curiosity and sympathy to say nothing of romantic interest. Wealthy, handsome and bereaved, he was the chief topic of conversation among the female population of Jaffrey. To make matters even more exciting, he received a letter from Paris addressed to Count Viggo Brandt-Erichsen. In a small town like Jaffrey, it did not take much time for the word to get around and increase the glamour of the young stranger in the eyes of the already smitten young ladies. The sender of the letter was an old lady, a friend of Dorothy's, who had advised Viggo to revive an old family title when he went to the States. She told him that it would be very useful to him and open up many interesting opportunities. Viggo had not cared to bother to follow the old lady's suggestion and had not thought about it again. Apparently Mrs. Knickerbocker, for that was her name, decided to remedy the sit- uation by writing him a letter addressed to the Count, trusting to the small town gossip to keep it that way. She had not misjudged the case, for try as he would, Viggo was never able to convince anyone that he was not a Count. From then on he was referred to by everyone except his intimate friends as "THE COUNT." Shortly after his arrival in Jaffrey, he was stricken with an acute appendicitis and was rushed to the neighboring town of Peterborough where the nearest hospital was located. While they were taking down his history, they found that he had no relatives in 46 AMERICA the States who could be notified in case of his death. They asked him his religion, so they would be able to call in a priest or minister if it became necessary. Viggo, who was a Lutheran, and suspecting there would not be much likelihood of a Lutheran Church being in this vicinity, replied mischievously that his religion was Norse Mythology. The nurse, who was taking down the information, had not the foggiest idea of what he was talking about and told him that she did not think that there was a church of that denomination anywhere near. Viggo did not die, however, and was soon up and around, plaguing the nurses and doctors with other mischief. Dorothy had a second sister who was a divorcee living in the States. Viggo wrote to her and told her that he was in Jaffrey making a memorial for Dorothy and the baby. He did this work in an open shack in a granite quarry. His appendectomy and a long cold winter slowed the work considerably. Dorothy's sister came to Jaffrey to see him. She drove there in her own car and took Viggo riding around the countryside, helping him to get acquainted with America and its ways and customs. One day they were driving through the town of Keene, which was the nearest large shopping center to Jaffrey, when Viggo's eye was attracted by a flashy red plaid suit in a store window. He thought to himself, how nice that the Americans like to wear such bright colors. So while his sister-in-law was doing some shopping of her own, he went in and purchased the suit. He had the suit that he was wearing packed in a box and walked out of the store sporting, innocently, a New England lumberman's outfit. Viggo's cigarettes were still in his old suit pocket, so he stopped in a tobacco store for some more. He noticed there, that many of the customers helped themselves to handfuls of very large matches which they stuffed into their pockets. So Viggo stuffed a few handfuls into his own pocket. People stared at him a little, but he was used to that and paid no attention. When he got back to the car, he found that it was filled with bundles as a result of his sister- in-law's shopping spree. When she arrived, loaded with even more packages, she gave one look at Viggo and burst out laughing. "'What is the matter?" he inquired, while she could hardly speak for laughter. Finally she managed to blurt out "Where in the world did you get that suit? Do you know what kind of a suit it is?" "No," said

47 CHAPTER 6

Viggo, "but I thought it was a very handsome colorful suit and so I bought it." "Well," said she. "It is the kind of outfit worn only by the lumbermen in the wintertime." When they got into the car with all their bundles and packages, there was barely room left for the two of them, and as Viggo's sister-in-law was quite fat, it was a tight squeeze. When she tried to arrange herself she bumped up against Viggo so that the friction of the encounter ignited the bundle of matches in his pocket. It almost burned the car and all its newly purchased contents, but they managed to put out the flames after they had burned a large hole in the seat of the car, the seat of Viggo's new pants, and a portion of his own seat. At this point he decided that he needed a car of his own. So he went to Peterborough and bought a Model T Ford. He got the salesman to show him how to drive it, and with that much instruction, he started back to Jaffrey to get his license. It was quite a ride. He kept both pedals down and the throttle wide open until he came to a corner where he lifted up both feet and shot around the corner at breakneck speed. Traffic not being what it is today, he somehow made it the eight miles to Jaffrey without mishap, learning the mechanics of the car on the way. When he saw the examiner, he told him to get in if he dared. Maybe the man did not dare, but anyway he gave Viggo his license saying "Hell! If you drove that thing all the way from Peterborough here, you can drive." Viggo's sister-in-law was a rather neurotic woman who had been under the treatment of a psychiatrist. She had four children, whom she never bothered to take care of. She would farm them out among relatives and friends and would even forget where she had left them. Eventually she married her psychiatrist, who made her take all the children with them on their honeymoon. With all the delays of winter weather, illness and adjustments, it took Viggo much longer than he expected to complete Dorothy's memorial (see photo on next page). He also met a young Finn, who wanted him to make one for his wife too. Finally the town of Jaffrey requested him to make a World War Memorial to Jaffrey's dead heroes. He had to get his six months visa extended in order to work winter and summer on this large granite monument, called "Buddies."

48 AMERICA

Gravesite memorial to Dorothy Caldwell (1889-1926), wife of Viggo Brandt-Erichsen, and infant daughter, Jaffrey, New Hampshire. Photo by Scott Brandt-Erichsen.

The work on the "Buddies" memorial took three years to complete. There were several weeks of hauling just to move the fifty six ton boulder into place from the quarry nine miles away. He built a shed around it, where he kept pretty busy for three years. The work and the young sculptor inspired a visitor to Jaffrey to write a descriptive poem about the sculptor and his work. The monument was unveiled on Armistice Day, November 11, 1930 and dedicated by General Edwards. The poem and a photo of the monument are on the next two pages.

49 CHAPTER 6

He matched his strength against the flint-like rock; For two whole years he chained himself to that huge boulder Which he found, after long search afar for stone to suit his purpose, Lying by the roadside, near the town, where centuries ago It had been rolled from Mount Monadnock down And left by a relentless glacier's steady progresss to the sea.

Today you see the finished monument Called Buddies. A soldier bearing in his arms a wounded boy: But I slip back in memory to that late afternoon when I first saw it, To that first summer when the work was but nine months along: The crazy shack upon the common, and, when we stepped inside, The boulder towering to the roof, the piles of dust and chips, The mystery of the half hewn figures looming in the dusk, And, as he climbed around the scaffold showing me his tools and work, The graceful easy movement of the sculptor, his face — alight with eager boyish pride.

Today you see a noble monument, To loyalty, camaraderie, to men who died in war; But I still see it as it was on that hot noonday the second summer When I last stepped within the half demolished shack; The lithe young figure on the scaffold, braced against the cruel vibration of the drill, The tired sag of shoulders when he stopped his work to speak, The perspiration pouring from his toiled thinned face, his anxious eyes When he bespoke the fear he could not finish it in time — Might cost the town he loved some benefit of celebration.

But it was finished. That Armistice Day he turned it over to the town. So you, a stranger, see a monument upon a village green; But I, a stranger too, must always see against the rock A strong young man, a sculptor, drilling — chiseling and drilling — Hour upon hour, day after day, winter and summer, in bitter cold, and languid heat, His sacrifice of self and time unheeded in the deeper love that underlay the gift.

50 AMERICA

Thor Brandt-Erichsen sits by the World War I Memorial, “Buddies,” made by his father. Photo by Fil Pierce.

51 CHAPTER 6

By now Viggo felt that he wanted to remain permanently in the States. His mother and father had both died within a week of each other soon after his arrival in Jaffrey. His brother and sisters were married with families of their own, so there was little to go back for. He liked it in America and he had made many friends. He had bought an unbroken mare that he proceeded to gentle and called her Juno. He succeeded in breaking her in but Juno would never let anyone ride her but him unless it was a child. Viggo spent many hours with Juno, riding around the lakes and on the beautiful mountain trails. The Ark was full of characters that returned season after season and usually had the same rooms year after year. It was somewhat primitive as to plumbing and other modern facilities. The guests were always after the management to install inside toilets and running hot and cold water in the rooms. Finally some improvements were put in: a single small toilet on each floor, barely big enough to turn around in for an average person. Guests often had to stand in line and wait their turn. Mrs. Faucet, a portly dignified woman, had to back into one, as she was too large to turn around once she was in. A timid young man from Boston had seated himself on the toilet one day, when Mrs. Faucet came along. As there was no one waiting in line, she just opened the door, backed in, and flipping up her skirts, she sat right down in the young man's lap. When it dawned on her what was under her, she leaped up with a yell and went screaming town the hall to the management, saying that she would never return to the Ark until they installed larger toilets. One night Viggo was very tired after a long day's ride on Juno, and he retired earlier than usual. The partitions between the rooms were thin, so he could hear a couple of old ladies talking who had the room next to him. Finally he fell asleep and began to snore loudly. Presently there was a tapping on the wall next to his bed. Viggo woke up, and realizing that he had been disturbing the two old people, he turned on his side, and was soon asleep and snoring again. The old ladies knocked once more. Viggo turned over again. The old ladies knocked again and this kept up for some time until Viggo decided in desperation that he would have to do something about it if he was to get any sleep. The next time he was awakened

52 AMERICA by the, knocking, he yelled out, "I hear you! I hear you! But hell I ain't coming!" After that the knocking stopped. Many of the visitors to the Ark were wealthy, influential socialites from Boston who took a good deal of interest in "THE COUNT." Once he was invited to a fashionable dinner party in Boston. Though it was during prohibition, the host had a large wine cellar, and in the course of the meal many toasts were given, but none to the ladies. Viggo, who was used to toasting the ladies first in Europe, gallantly raised his glass and, searching for a good American toast that he had heard, he ventured "To the Ladies, bottoms up!" There followed a dead silence. Viggo was not invited again.

53

CHAPTER 7 REMARRIAGE

After the War Memorial was completed, Viggo thought that he would like to visit Bermuda for a vacation and a change of climate. He rented a cottage on the beach, and being charming, sociable, male, and unattached, he was soon in great demand at all sorts of social functions, where he met many prominent and wealthy people including, among others, Eugene O'Neill. Viggo used to invite his friends to his cottage and serve them "Plukfisk," a simple Danish dish, which he made very popular. Arriving a little early one day at one of the many parties he attended, he came upon his host and hostess trying to comfort a very attractive young lady who seemed to be in a seriously hysterical condition. The party had been called off, but Viggo had not received word as he had left his cottage so early. The young lady had been bicycling to the party in company with her mother. They were on a narrow road, on one side of which was a stone wall and on the other buildings. They were on the side by the stone wall, when they were approached by a team of horses pulling a large wagon and coming at a good clip. There was no time to dismount and the road was too narrow to pass, so the two ladies tried to get as close to the wall as possible, while the driver tried to bring his team to a halt. The road was rough and the mother could not control her bicycle and was thrown violently against the jagged stones, hitting her head so hard that she was instantly killed. The daughter, who easily became hysterical, was taken to the nearest house, which happened to be that of the host and hostess. It was at this point when Viggo came in and immediately offered his assistance. With his kindness and his gentle, slow speaking, sympathetic manner, he was able to calm and soothe the girl. When she was able to be coherent, she told him she was in Bermuda alone with her mother, but that she had both a brother and a sister in the States. Viggo contacted both of them and stayed near the young lady until their arrival in Bermuda. Joan Miriam Crowley was the youngest child of brilliant parents of Irish descent, both of whom were lawyers. Her older sister had been a student of drama and was now married and raising 54 REMARRIAGE two children of her own. Her brother, an engineer, was to become quite famous for crossing the Atlantic with his young Spanish wife and another young man, in a thirty-foot sailing vessel. Joan was pretty, vivacious, bright and a chatterbox. She loved both dancing and music and was quite a good acrobatic dancer. She enjoyed riding too, and she and Viggo began to ride together. Another romance was developing. On his return to Jaffrey, Viggo wrote to Joan, telling her how much he missed her. He told her that if she felt about him as he did about her, would she please meet him on the steps of Trinity Church in Boston on October 12 at 10 P.M. Joan went there at the appointed time, though she was not too sure that Viggo would be there too. He was there before her. Soon afterwards they were married, and Viggo rented one of the cottages at the Ark where they started life together. One night, when they had been married just three months, a fire started in the cottage from an overheated kerosene stove that had not been properly insulated. It was a cold winter night and snow was on the ground. They were awakened by the smoke filling their bedroom, which was upstairs. Viggo looked into the hall and saw that it would be impossible to go down by the stairs. The only other alternative was the window. He told Joan to stay where she was while he got out the window and returned for her with a ladder. Always easy to panic, Joan lost her head as soon as she was left alone, and when Viggo returned with the ladder he found her lying perfectly still on the snow under the window from which she had jumped. The weather had been bad and the snow was deep. It would be difficult to get a doctor. Viggo believed that Joan's back had been broken and that she should only be moved by a doctor. Everyone was busy putting out the fire, while Viggo stayed with Joan until Dr. Sweeney, a wonderful old time country doctor, arrived on snow shoes. Between them they made a stretcher for Joan and carried her eight miles to the Peterborough Hospital. They arrived there cut and bleeding from the staggering undertaking, only to find that Joan's spinal chord had been partially severed and she was paralyzed from the waist down. From that time on, for the thirteen years until her death in 1944, Viggo devoted his life to the tender care of his ailing and crippled wife. To them every event was referred to as before the fire or after the fire. Because he had known how hysterical Joan could

55 CHAPTER 7 be, Viggo blamed himself for leaving her and thus being indirectly responsible for her injury. The fire had not been so bad, but Joan had panicked. Though Viggo was well off, he was not so well off that he could meet the staggering medical bills that followed the accident. The normal insurance that was carried by the Ark was of very little help. Viggo was advised to sue on the grounds of inadequate insulation around the stove. In the meantime, while Joan was still hospitalized, the manager of the Ark died and his wife succeeded him. She was by no means as considerate of her husband, or perhaps she was merely frightened by her new responsibilities. Anyway she decided to fight the case and a long and dramatic court proceeding followed. Viggo eventually won the case and received some additional benefits. By the time Joan was able to leave the hospital, the tension between the Brandt-Erichsens and the Ark management was painful to say the least, in spite of the fact that Viggo offered to rebuild the cottage and did so himself. They continued to stay at the Ark while Joan was convalescing, but things remained tense. There was only one chair in the Ark in which Joan could feel comfortable. When Viggo asked if he could move that chair into the cottage, his request was reluct- antly granted. When the usual guests for room 103 arrived one day, they missed their favorite chair, and complained of this. While Viggo and Joan were out one day, the chair was returned to 103. When Viggo found on his return that the chair had disappeared, he was furious. He made such a fuss that the occupants of 103 overheard and hastened to return the chair when they learned of the circumstances. During the years of invalidism that followed, Viggo was constantly thinking of ways and means to make life more bearable for his crippled wife. She cried easily and would not let anyone else take care of her. His love and tenderness to her were her greatest comfort now. He made a brace for her leg out of silver, which was attractive and not as clumsy as the ordinary braces were. Hospitals and doctors adopted this brace in many cases, for they appreciated its psychological value.

56 REMARRIAGE

Joan turned her mind more and more to music, a field in which she was not so handicapped by her paralysis. Slowly she got a little stronger, although she was always extremely dependent on Viggo. If Viggo were going to remain permanently in the United States, he would have to return to Denmark and re-enter the U.S.A. before he could apply for citizenship. So in 1934 they made a trip to Denmark. As chance would have it, while they were there I also stopped in Copenhagen with my first husband, but Viggo and I did not meet. Viggo and Joan rented a nice cottage near Copenhagen, and were able to get the services of a good maid who did all the housework very efficiently. So for the first time "since the fire," Viggo was able to consider his life as an artist again. He began studying the Danish techniques in ceramics and he hired models and made several important pieces of sculpture while Joan worked on her music. At this time he modeled a design for a fountain, a beautiful mermaid kneeling in a shell boat, driving a team of three prancing sea horses (see photo below). He also made some smaller ceramics, which included two female figures, "Reflection" and "She."

The mermaid fountain model by Viggo Brandt-Erichsen now resides in storage at the Elverhøj Museum in Solvang, California.

57 CHAPTER 7

Their stay in Denmark was wonderful for both of them. They got away from the Ark and Viggo was able to show Joan his native land, besides having enough leisure time to go back to his art for a while. Joan learned to speak Danish and met her husband's brother and sisters and their families. On their return to the States, they brought with them two additions to their own family. One was Jørgen (pronounced yearn), who was a lovable, hilarious, mischievous clown — an Iceland horse. The other was the handsome horse Sonny Boy, for Viggo to ride. On getting off the boat in Boston, with the pony cart he had bought for Joan, Viggo drove Jørgen down Atlantic Avenue to the South Station, where they were to board the train for Jaffrey. Atlantic Avenue is one of the busiest streets in Boston, and Jørgen found it very exciting. He took the management of the trip into his own feet, and went clippety-clop as fast as he could, with complete disregard of traffic. He created a sensation among all the cars, trucks and startled pedestrians. In Jaffrey, Viggo looked for a house, but there did not seem to be a suitable one to be had at the time, so they moved to Groton, Massachusetts, a town about half way between Jaffrey and Boston. Here they rented a big old colonial home on the main street. Viggo built a little Danish styled house on the property, for use as a studio. He had a small kiln, and it was there that he created and fired so many of his charming little ceramic birds and animals. One was a fat little junco, called "Cold Weather," which made one want to pick it up and cup it in the palm of the hand. Other birds were a chick-a- dee, a robin and a baby sparrow named "The Fledgeling." One of his most beautiful pieces was "New to the World," a newborn calf sleeping. Joan was in much better health, but they still needed more money to pay for past doctor's bills. So Viggo started teaching at the Art Museum in Fitchburg. Joan wanted to take music lessons, and was especially interested in composition. They inquired among their friends if any of them knew of a good teacher of composition. Someone told them about a young then unknown composer, Alan Hovhaness, who was a very talented young man. Alan had a wife and baby daughter at the time Viggo and Joan started coming to the Hovhaness home in Cambridge for lessons once a week. The four of them became great friends as

58 REMARRIAGE

Alan's wife was also an artist and they all had a great deal in common. They all spent many happy times going to theatres and concerts in Boston and visiting with mutual friends. After about a year, Viggo found an old farmhouse in Jaffrey which was where he really wanted to live. So he started to renovate it, and when it was sufficiently livable, he and Joan moved there, taking the little Danish studio along — also Jørgen and Sonny Boy, and by this time, Bonnie, a cairn terrier, and Chico, a Persian cat. Viggo used all of these animals as models at some time or another. As soon as they moved into the farmhouse, they started to collect more animals, goats, chickens, cows and geese. Mr. Stratten ran the farm almost entirely, but Viggo cared for the goats and chickens. It was almost like being back on the farm in Denmark. But Joan did not continue to improve. Viggo felt the cold winters on the farm were not good for her, so he took her south during the coldest months. They went to Virginia, and to the Florida beaches, and Varidero Beach in Cuba. Viggo thought that the swimming would be good for Joan. But she could not do much more than lie on the edge of the surf and let the salt water flow soothingly over her limbs. She needed almost constant medical attention and the steady stream of doctor bills were difficult to meet. Joan often became depressed and lost her interest in everything including her music. Dr. Sweeney told Viggo that it would be quite possible for Joan to bear a child, if it was done by caesarian section. He felt that a baby might restore her interest in life. So in 1939, Thor, a fat bouncing boy, was born, eight years after their marriage. How proud they were of him! However, as Joan could not care for him herself, she eventually lost interest in the baby too. Viggo tried to get her to feed him by putting a table in front of her and propping Thor up on pillows. She would do this sometimes when other people were there, but she obviously found it an effort. She was steadily failing. Now the burden Viggo was carrying was tremendously heavy. He had to earn more money to care for his sick wife. He built a larger studio and took pupils. He continued to teach at Fitchburg and began teaching at the Manchester Art Center. There always had to be someone at home with Joan and the baby. When Viggo returned from teaching, Joan would let no one care for her but him,

59 CHAPTER 7 but in spite of all he could do, she became steadily worse. Towards the end Dr. Sweeney told Viggo that she also had cancer. This blow almost swamped him, but he never complained that she was a burden to him and tried to keep everyone from showing her how seriously ill she was. In the end he carried her about in his arms like a child because it seemed to comfort her, but she said to him, "You try so hard to keep me from realizing, but I am sure that I know how serious this is." Joan died in 1944 when Thor was four years old.

60 REMARRIAGE

Viggo, Joan, and baby Thor.

61

Part II

Patt

63

Fawns and Nymph, brush-and-ink by Martha Mott.

64

CHAPTER 8 THE BLACK SHEEP

Almost ten years after the birth of Viggo Brandt-Erichsen in Faxe, Denmark, a baby girl was born in New York City to Charles Henry Davis and Grace Bigelow. She was their second child, the oldest being also a girl, and they named her Martha Mott. Because that baby eventually became Viggo's third wife, and because I happened to be that baby, I think I will be able to write down with some degree of accuracy the chain of events which finally brought our lives together for a few short happy years until Viggo's untimely death at fifty eight years of age. My father came from a Quaker family in Philadelphia and "Thee and Thou" was used within the family circle. He graduated with honors from Columbia University in Engineering and became a well known and very creative engineer. My mother was his second wife and the mother of his six daughters. He had no children by his first wife. Mother was a gracious, lovable woman, whose life after her marriage was totally involved in raising her children and managing a large and flexible household. My father made considerable money and we were able to have five maids, two nursemaids, a governess and two men to work on the place. When I say flexible household, I mean that we were never the immediate family alone, but Aunts and Uncles came and went often, staying for several months at a time. We girls could invite friends for meals without advance notice. There was always enough provided for several extras and in summer we had friends who spent a week or more. That could sometimes mean as many as ten extras. There were always enough beds on the outdoor sleeping porches. That was our huge home on Cape Cod, where we moved soon after I was born. At that time the town was called South Yarmouth, but later the community was divided and the section where we lived, which was mostly made up of summer people, became Bass River. The house, designed by my father, became quite famous and was a landmark on the Cape.

65 CHAPTER 8

Grace Bigelow and Charles Henry Davis.

I was destined to live in famous houses. When we moved to Cambridge for the winters, we lived for a number of years in the old home of James Russell Lowell, and soon after I married Viggo we moved to the grand old Stone House in Jaffrey, N.H., which stood on the Main street and was one of the great New England show places. Before he died, Viggo built "Elverhoy" in Solvang, California, another beautiful show place, where I still live. The Cape Cod house was made up of three farm houses and a barn strung around an open courtyard. My father wanted a fireplace in every room and he designed massive chimneys and elaborate mantels, so the house became known as the House of the Seven Chimneys. It eventually had eight. A cellar ran completely under the whole house with three furnaces which had to be stoked with coal at that time. The cellar became known as the South Yarmouth Subway and all the various children of Bass River used to congregate there on rainy days to play Sardines in a Box. We all had to wear our bathing suits and go swimming following these games because we came out looking like chimney sweeps from hiding in the coal bins. I do not remember very much of my earliest years on Cape Cod. My first vivid memory was when I was almost five. I was 66 THE BLACK SHEEP awakened one cold November morning before it was light and told to get dressed. A fire was burning brightly in the bedroom and made my skin very red and hot. There must have been four of us children by then and we were all bundled off into a private train, parents, children, nursemaids and all. The next thing I was aware of was being on a boat. It was the S.S. Baltic bound for England. I have a few vivid memories of that voyage, which must have taken a week back in 1910. I was fascinated by the ocean and especially loved watching the patterns in the water made by the big vessel carving its way through. Many years later I made a painting, which I called "Wave Patterns" which was inspired by that memory. I am sure I frequently worried my mother by climbing on the railing, the better to see it all. I also remember looking up a staircase and seeing my father standing at the top looking down at me. I immediately climbed up to the top deck, but just as I reached the last step the twelve o'clock whistle blew, scaring me to death, so I turned and fled down as fast as my little legs would go. I seemed to have been easily terrified by loud noises or ugly sounds, because I dreaded taking a bath on the boat on account of the awful gurgling sound the water made when it ran out. Very loud noises like the siren actually hurt my ears. My fifth birthday was celebrated in mid-ocean. We spent the winter in London. I have a few vague memories of my own and one that has been told to me. In order to take a bath at the hotel Burlington, where we stayed, the maids had to bring into the bedroom large tin tubs and kettles of hot and cold water. They spread towels all around so we would not splash the floors or rugs. We saw the Opening of Parliament with King George and Queen Mary, riding in a fancy coach drawn by six beautiful dapple grey horses. We also saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace and we often took walks past the gates of the palace. The guards with their monstrous busbies and solemn faces fascinated me and I used to try to make them laugh. That was against their rules and they showed extraordinary control when I made faces at them and performed all sorts of antics. They never even smiled. I have been told that I also tried to feed the lions at the base of Lord Nelson's monument in Trafalgar Square with mud. The following year we did not spend the winter on Cape Cod but move to a rented house in Cambridge, Massachusetts where my

67 CHAPTER 8 older sister and I were entered into first grade at Buckingham School, a private school for girls, held in a big old house adapted for use as a school. My sister was very soon promoted to second and then third grade. She was a year older than I and academically very bright. It was a wonderful school and I spent nine happy years there, particularly so because of two wonderful teachers who truly inspired me: Miss Dorothy Coit, who was outstanding, and Miss Edith King, who conducted the art classes. These two interesting ladies made a wonderful team. They produced marvelously artistic plays, some of which were written by Miss Coit about mythological subjects with stage sets and costumes designed by Miss King and scenery and accessories painted by the children. Later on these two ladies established a school of their own in New York City called the King Coit School, where they did nothing but these stage productions with children and they were most successful. One of these plays, performed while they were still at Buckingham, was Theseus and Ariadne. The production looked like a painting on an early Greek vase from the museum. The stage set was a series of black steps with a black backdrop. The costumes, including the skin of the little actresses, were a dull orange, and little black kinky ringlets covered their heads. Their gestures were stylized to further represent the effects on the Greek vase. The play was written and directed by Miss Colt. I remember when they were selecting members of the cast, I wanted so badly to take part but my name did not come up. Theseus, the Minataur, King Aegeus, and down to the last youth and maiden had all been cast and my name had not been called. I was terribly disappointed. But I had forgotten about Ariadne who had been left to the very end and the part was given to me. In the blink of an eye I was transformed into the leading lady. I was ecstatic. How well I did I don't know, but I do know that the play was a great success and worth all the work of preparation and the hours it took to remove all the orange tint from our skins afterwards By the time I was in the third grade I was able to join the regular art classes, which came on Wednesdays and lasted for a full hour, a double period, which went by all too fast for me. We were allowed only the three primary colors and I remember feeling a bit frustrated because the yellow, which was called gamboge, was a horrid dirty color and did not mix well with the blue or red to make

68 THE BLACK SHEEP a good green or orange. Because I started so early with water colors, I easily learned to handle them with skill and assurance and they were my preferred medium for many years, although I did not use them in a very conventional way. Even at that early age I had serious thoughts about becoming an artist. But because I was very physically active and loved sports and particularly gymnastics, I was often sidetracked by dreams of becoming an acrobat and running away with the circus. Maybe that was because, in spite of my large family, I was a rather lonely child at home. I did not get along with my older sister Helen, who resented me from the time I was born, and the nursemaids would not let me play with the younger girls because they felt that I led them into mischief. Priscilla, Anna, Frances and Lucretia were the younger ones, in that order. Lucretia did not survive her first year and consequently she never became a real part of the family. I was also very mischievous in school and was frequently kept after to see the principal. On one occasion I remember going upstairs to the office where I found the door open and the key sticking in the lock. So I sneaked up quietly and gently closed the door, locking it, and ran off leaving the principal alone in the building. All the children and teachers and even Katy, the old cleaning woman, had gone home. I heard later that the principal had to climb out a window and creep along the mansard roof to an ad- joining classroom window, which was fortunately unlocked. I think that was probably my worst offence in school and of course I had no idea of how serious the consequences could have been. There were classes at school in which I was very interested and in which I never misbehaved. Art, of course, was the most important to me. Fridays were special days because we had music the first period. Miss Eckman was rather an old spinster, at least she seemed so to me at the time, but she had good taste in music and we learned many folk songs and beautiful works by Handel and Hayden. These sessions thrilled me and opened the door into music which became my second love. I joined the singing with fervor and memorized quantities of songs which I remember to this day. A special favorite was a Christmas carol called Little Taper which in later years I wrote down from memory because I was never able to find it in any collection. At Christmas time we had literally

69 CHAPTER 8 orgies of carols and religious music as well as Miracle Plays and we learned to memorize many of the most poetic passages in the Bible which had to do with the Christmas Story. So Christmas time for me was not only Santa Claus and stockings and toys but the glory of the Halleluiah Chorus of Handel's Messiah and the adoration of little children singing "Little Taper set tonight, Throw afar thy tiny light." Another favorite class was Poetry. I learned to recite and even when I could not understand all of what I was saying I got caught up in the rhythms and the music of the words so that when I was older and the full meaning of the words became clear to me, I could still recite from memory and I retain much of it even today. First period on Friday was Music and last period was Mythology. I literally waited all week for that class, which was given by Miss Colt, a magical story teller. She was able to hold me in a trance from beginning to end, while she wove the mysteries of Greek and Norse Mythology into my very soul. I never felt like rushing home for the weekend last period on Friday, but could have stayed forever, my chin in my hand, engrossed in those epic tales of Gods and Giants, Gorgons and Minotaurs. I was usually too active to spend much time reading and for many years my taste remained wrapped up in fairy tales. I got my romantic satisfaction out of the fairy tales and the "lived happily ever after" philosophy depicted in them. I liked to cry over sad stories like "The Little Mermaid" and "The Little Match Girl," but I was not ready to face the sad realities of real life. I also loved poetry and stories about animals. I had enjoyed the Peter Rabbit books, the Thornton Burgess books, and The Wind in the Willows, where I had been introduced to animals as friends, which I loved. In my teens I began to take an interest in biographies, mostly of artists in various fields. Kipling, Jack London and Albert Payson Terhune were among my favorites. I took little interest in novels, though I love them now. I was a happy child and little affected by my isolation within the family. I was highly imaginative and an explorer, poking into everything and venturing far afield from home base. I was friendly and picked up other companions where I found them. This led me to make friends among children whom my parents thought were undesirable and it introduced me to the inequalities of life and the unfair advantages some had by accident of birth while others were

70 THE BLACK SHEEP not so fortunate. I was very concerned with fair play in games and carried this over to fair play in life. My vivid imagination led me into a great deal of trouble. For instance, for a long time I was unable to understand what dreams were and I truly believed they were real happenings, but I was unsure of when they happened. I would tell my dreams as if they had really happened to me and even though my parents told me I had just imagined or dreamt it all, it was all so vivid to me that I was not convinced. Finally my parents began to accuse me of lying and they began not to believe me about many things. If I had a fight with my sister, it was always her side of the story they believed. I got to expect this reaction and so I gave up trying to explain my side of the picture. I was frequently punished for things I had not done because I was not believed, so I got the reputation for being much more of a Black Sheep than I really was and suffered a good deal of injustice. Maybe that is why I care so much about fairness now and have considered it so important in all my dealings with children during my adult life. My mother used to have a stock saying "where is Patt and what is she doing and tell her not to." (My name was Martha, which was a family name, and all the Marthas were called Patty. Mine got shortened to Patt.) Needless to say I eventually learned what my dreams were and eventually outgrew my reputation as a liar. I adored my mother but I was terrified of my father whose big size and loud voice and stern ways commanded fear rather than respect, an unfortunate childhood conception. We were all horrified by the way he used to swear at his secretaries and even at my mother, and I began to get the impression that to be married was not going to be like the fairy tales after all. My father was seldom home and by the time I was eleven I was aware of the fact that he and my mother were separated. I know this hurt mother deeply because in those days a marital separation was definitely looked down on. She never married again and after we were grown up she became somewhat of a recluse and died at the age of sixty five. I think she felt that she was no longer useful to anyone and society had more or less ostracized her. She had a few loyal friends and her brother, who stood by her, but her later years were not happy. Even so, she had great pride and courage and never complained, and was always

71 CHAPTER 8 interested in seeing her children and hearing about their lives, ambitions and problems. As we grew up I believe that in spite of my reputation as a "Black Sheep," I was the one who was closest to my parents in their old age. Incidentally, the label of Black Sheep was also somewhat appropriate because of my dark coloring. My sisters were all very blond. In summer I tanned a deep tan while the other girls sunburned. That was a great advantage to me because strangers could always remember which one I was while finding it difficult to tell the others apart. Such was the stuff of my childhood. Aside from my mother, Miss Coit and Miss King, I do not remember any other individuals who greatly influenced my life. My family understood my interest in art because I spent hours on end drawing entirely from my imagination, stimulated by supplies of books with pictures by Arthur Rackham, Edmund Dulac, Maxfield Partish, and others. For the musical side of my life, I had to fend for myself. I saved my allowance to buy records and eventually an Orthophonic Victrola and educated myself this way. So I reached my teens, a highly imaginative, mentally and physically active young girl, competitive in sports and dedicated to becoming an artist.

72

CHAPTER 9 THE TERRIBLE TEENS

My way life changed abruptly when I was nearly fifteen. Buckingham School did not go beyond the ninth grade and it was necessary for my mother to send me to another school. My sister Helen had been attending Miss Winsor's, a fashionable girl's school in Boston. It was inevitable that I would also be sent there. For me, it was a somewhat traumatic experience. I had been very happy at Buckingham, but now I was going into the awkward gawky stage and was very shy with boys just when my contemporaries were developing an intense interest in them. The only way we girls could meet boys was through the unnatural highly chaperoned dances in Cambridge and Boston. Since we had no brothers and a father who was seldom home, and we went to schools which were only for girls, it was much like being brought up in a convent. The dances had the horrible "cutting in" system, which was as painful for the boys as it was for the girls. It succeeded in making a few girls Belles and the rest Wallflowers, while most of the boys just stood around in the Stag line. Needless to say I was among the Wallflowers in spite of the fact that my best friends were Belles. They all had brothers, which certainly made a difference. They used to try to help me out by getting their partners to dance with me, but the boys were always afraid of getting stuck for the evening with the same partner. The rule was that a boy could not leave his partner until someone else cut in. I used to love dancing when I was in dancing school where the cutting in system was not used, but this was a whole new ball game and threw me into a panic and made me stiffen up so I wasn't even a good dancing partner. I used to dream of floating across the floor as I had in dancing school, but I couldn't make it happen, and to this day I still panic if any one asks me to dance. I did not however have any problem with any other kind of dancing such as folk or ballet. I think the ballroom dancing symbolized to me an artificial social life which I disliked and was rejecting as I became more and more aware of it. Another thing that bothered me was the fact that I was not yet given a clothes allowance and was not permitted to choose my own dresses. I loved clothes and had very definite ideas about what I 73 CHAPTER 9 liked and felt comfortable in. I never liked what my mother felt was appropriate and did not feel that she had any sense of style. Unlike my sisters, I was not too concerned about the current latest fashions but had a more individualistic approach. My father told Viggo before we were married that he thought I was the best dressed woman in America, and he was a man who appreciated well dressed women. In school the girls talked mostly about boys and their boy friends, conversations which I could not participate in even though I had one steady summer boy friend on Cape Cod, where we continued to go in the summer. There were a few compensations for me at Winsor. Miss Gay was a very good art teacher and introduced me to perspective and light and shade and I was allowed to take as many classes as I could fit into my schedule. I was fascinated by the new dimensions I was able to add to my pictures and gained quite a reputation as an artist at the school. Miss Gay also prepared me for the rigors of art school training so I was well able to cope with them when I got there. The sports program was much better than at Buckingham. There was a large well-equipped gymnasium, big hockey field, and tennis courts. Also there was a glee club, which I joined. We did not get out of school until four thirty and had long study periods to get our home work done. I never was able to make good use of the study hall. There were too many people in it which distracted my attention from my academic studies which I was not much interested in anyway. I wanted to have boy friends and like any fifteen year old I dreamed of romance and marriage and children but still within the fairy tale conception of "and lived happily ever after." When my girl friends asked me what I would do about my art if I got married, I would always say that my marriage would come first, but I had no intention of giving up art. I had not thought about earning a living by painting — girls did not earn in those days, at least not rich ones. I was ambitious and dreamed of some day becoming a great painter. Obviously I had much to learn about life. After two years at Winsor, I was abruptly taken to Europe with all my sisters. I was all excited about it. I think this trip was planned at this particular time because of my mother's growing anxiety about my attachment to my one boy friend. She was very

74 THE TERRIBLE TEENS fond of Ted but she must have realized how little opportunity I had to know other boys and, so to speak, play the field before becoming involved. She was of course right. Ted and I shared some things in common, but music and art were not his interests at all. However, we both loved boats and sailing and the sea, of which there was plenty around Cape Cod. In the summer I suffered terribly from hay fever and was only happy in or on the water. Ted, who later joined the Coast Guard, was more deeply into boats than even I was. We were alone together a great deal and my mother was worried. She was a shy New Englander and had no idea of how to talk to her daughters about sex, but she tried her best and made a pretty bungling job of it. I was by no means innocent, but I was totally inexperienced. I had learned about sex from my girl friends who had brothers, and I had been acquainted with the male nude from my art studies. What I did not know was how the male would react to kissing or necking or petting and my mother managed to make it sound rather frightening. Ted and I were not engaged and had not even discussed the possibility of marrying. We were in the process of courtship in its early stages when mother's well meant advice made me feel fearful of losing control of a situation which was at that time very pleasant and happy. And so I was whipped off to Europe for a whole year, and in the meantime Ted had a series of other girl friends which hurt me very much, but I survived and he and I remained good friends for the rest of our lives. How easy it is for the young to be distracted. I loved traveling and mother was a wonderful guide. She knew Europe well and herded her brood around with great efficiency. We used to be taken for a girl's school. We went to France first, landing in Marseilles and working through the south of France to Paris and the Louvre. Mother had been an art student when she was young and she knew a lot about the art treasures of Europe. We went from Paris to Switzerland, where we were put in school in L'Ecole des Essart, Territet, on Lake Geneva. Again this was a girl's school, but we did meet youngsters from all over the world. My older sister was now ready for college, so she was entered in the University at Geneva. The following spring we went on to visit Germany and Italy. I fell in love with Italy so that later on

75 CHAPTER 9 when I was given a choice for further art training in either Paris or Rome, I chose Rome partly because I loved Italy and partly because everyone I knew about went to Paris. Paris was the fashionable place to go. This journey was right after World War One. One thing I really felt we should do was to visit the battlefields. Mother was against it, but she finally agreed to take the tour when I persuaded her that we should try to understand what our boys went through as well as their European counterparts. Back in the States we had been untouched by everything, our family in particular because we had no boys to enlist. Visiting the battlefields was far from a pleasure trip. It was too soon for any restoration to have taken place and as we drove along we would see sign after sign telling the name of this village or that one and only a pile of rubble to mark the spot. I never could understand war as a means of settling disputes between countries. My father was a pacifist and after what I had seen I became an even stronger one. Back in America again, I made some important decisions for myself. I was almost seventeen. I knew what I wanted to do with my life and felt that I was ready to decide things for myself, so ignoring my mother's plans for me to have a coming out ball, as all my classmates would be doing, I flatly refused this, to me, questionable pleasure and expense, and also refused to go back to Miss Winsor's and graduate. At that time it was not necessary to have a high school diploma in order to enter art school and I did not want to wait another year to begin my more serious studies. So I entered the beginner's class of the Boston School of the Museum of Fine Arts, which was then the most prestigious school in the country. There was an overflow class that year, so the beginning drawing class worked in the Museum Galleries, which at first I did not enjoy because one always had an audience of museum visitors. But I got used to it to the point that I never knew they were there. I took design and perspective as well as drawing. The design course under Henry Hunt Clark, was especially interesting to me and helpful in regard to picture composition. It was a full schedule, hard work, and a wonderful new experience for me. I was drawing from real heads and figures for the first time. Apparently my classmates had had

76 THE TERRIBLE TEENS more experience this way than I had, so I was automatically considered the worst student in the school, quite a come down from my great reputation in high school. But I was determined to master everything no matter how difficult it was, and in my third year I won the coveted Boit Prize for draftsmanship, which, coming from that school, meant you really knew how to draw. The one serious fault with the school, in my opinion, was not so much the discouraging method of teaching as it was the way you were held back in order to put in allotted time, rather than to be advanced as fast as you were able to go. I find that with my own students I can get them to accomplish just as much in a third of the time that we were made to put in. Nevertheless I was doing the one thing that I most wanted to do, and was very happy. I took every course available: anatomy, perspective, drawing, painting, design and composition, sketch classes, history of art, and everything else available with the exception of sculpture, which I took later on. The sculpture students were separated from the rest of the school so one had little opportunity to mix with them. Along with this strenuous curriculum, I decided I also wanted to study music and took up both piano and voice. My family was not interested in music but they did not object although they never encouraged me.

77

CHAPTER 10 GROWING UP

I had discovered my need for music when I was about eight years old and had been given some piano lessons one or two summers at the Cape by a Mrs. Seymour, who was spending the summer with friends. Mrs. Seymour was Walter Damrosch's sister. Her brother was the distinguished New York conductor who gave such wonderful programs for children over the radio and who introduced Sibelius to this country. Mrs. Seymour had a number of music books for the young which told in song the lives of the great composers. Another brother, Leopold Damrosch, wrote these songs and I became much interested and sympathetic towards these men who suffered so much in order to produce such beautiful sounds. My family had an old Victrola, which had been given to them as a wedding present along with a good many records of varying types from "I'm on my way to Reno" to Harry Lauder to Souza and a few Red Seal records of operatic numbers, mostly coloratura sopranos, which screeched under the harsh steel needles. This machine was seldom played but by the time I was eight they permitted me to use it. I played all the records, good or bad. I did not like the operatic ones because of the screech, but I found one Red Seal record which I adored and played over and over until it must have been worn thin. It was Beethoven's Minuet in G, played on the violin by Fritz Kreisler. I had never heard a violin before but I immediately wanted to learn to play it. My parents told me that I did not have a good enough ear for music to play the violin and I wondered why I loved music so much if I didn't have a good ear. I had never had any trouble carrying a tune so I was greatly troubled by their evaluation of my musical capabilities. I was not old enough to know that they did not know enough to know what they were talking about. However, they finally gave me the Victrola and all the records and I took it off into my bedroom where I could play it whenever I wanted to without having people talking over it all the time. At seventeen I was slow in learning the mechanics of the piano and reading musical notation and I never became a rapid reader. But I did earn to play fairly well and although I didn't have a 78 GROWING UP very strong voice I did have a very true pitch and learned many beautiful songs and arias. Later, as we shall see, my first husband encouraged me with music. He once told me that I was the most musical person he had ever known and that I had perfect pitch, which phenomenon he assured me was of very little value. I had an insatiable curiosity and desire to hear and learn more about music. I began to collect records, starting out with Beethoven's First Symphony. When I knew that by heart, I got the Second Symphony and so on until I had all nine of them. I saved my allowance until I had enough to buy an Orthophonic Victrola, which was just coming on the market. I invested in season tickets for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the best in the world at that time, and I went to as many other concerts as I could afford. I loved it all from Bach to Stravinsky, but my special favorite has always been Schubert — or it might be just the composer I am listening to at the moment. I was usually more interested in what was being performed than I was in the performers. Maybe that was because around Boston one usually heard only top performers. I had definitely outgrown fairy tales and animal stories and was mow reading biographies and autobiographies, mostly about the lives of artists and musicians but also dancers and actors and other famous people who appealed to me. One of the side effects of attending art school was that it brought me together with members of the opposite sex in a natural environment of work and play and mutual interests. I found these young men did not terrify me as my father had done but were more like Ted with the added companionship of mutual interest, and I thoroughly enjoyed this new kind of relationship. I was also meeting young men and women from all walks of life, not just a specific social set. It all made me even more aware what a misfit I would have made as a Society Lady. Even though I could learn all the proper things to do and say, I was essentially not a Society Lady, but an individual with many ideas of my own which did not necessarily conform to the class to which I was born. These social distinctions have been greatly modified over the years, which is all to the good, and during my lifetime I have been privileged to have many good friends from all walks of life. When I was in dancing school I used to dance with the Crown Prince of Siam, who was attending school

79 CHAPTER 10 in Cambridge. He was the one who later became King and was celebrated in the great musical The King and I. Later, when I was in New York studying sculpture, my two best friends were a Park Avenue socialite and a beauty parlor operator. After three years of intensive training at the Museum School, I again went to Europe. About this time my father met Dr. Alfred Adler whom he wanted to consult about my older sister, who had had a nervous breakdown while at the University in Geneva. My father and Adler became close friends and Dad assisted Adler to get established at Columbia University. Adler's home was in Vienna where I was able to take a six week course with him in child psychology. It was my first introduction to the field of psychology and I became very interested in it. I began to read all of Adler's books and benefited greatly from the knowledge I acquired, especially when I began to teach. We went from Vienna to Munich for the Wagner Festival. My family now seemed to recognize my seriousness about music and were themselves learning a great deal from following the initiatives that I took in that direction. Needless to say I was swept off my feet by the drama and grandeur of these performances and was in an ecstatic trance the whole time. In the fall we went back to Switzerland, where Priscilla and Anna were placed in a school in Lausanne and mother and Frances and I went on to Rome where I entered the British Academy to further my art education. It was a small school, not of the high standing of the American Academy which only accepted advanced students and professionals who had scholarships or grants. However the British Academy was a good school and I benefited a great deal from a more relaxed method of instruction than I had been accustomed to. It was while I was there that Viggo and Dorothy were honeymooning in Rome, but we did not meet. The following spring I took a trip through Spain with my aunt who was an artist and sister to my father's first wife. She had also been a teacher at the Museum School. She and her husband used to take students on tour through Europe but she had never been to Spain. We had a marvelous time visiting museums and painting in the Alhambra and generally exploring.

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On returning to America that summer, Dad took me to Windsor, Vermont to visit the renowned artist Maxfield Parish. I was already well acquainted with his work as an illustrator but I was unprepared to see the many beautiful Vermont scenes he had painted all in the same style as his illustrations. He was very kind to me and gave me much sound advice which I have always remembered with gratitude. He evidently took a great interest in young potential illustrators. He also gave me a small tile which had been cut out of a larger painting he had discarded, but he liked "The Girl on a Bug" flying against one of his Maxfield Parish blue skies and had kept her. It is unsigned but it is one of my most prized possessions. For a number of years Parish and I wrote to each other and I kept him informed of my progress and he kept advising and encouraging me. His handwriting was beautiful and I kept all of his letters until they unfortunately got lost among all my various moves. About this time Dad gave me a small cottage on the Bass River property close to the river which I used as a summer home and studio for a good many years. I loved it there and so did my daughter when she arrived on the scene. All my friends adored it too and spent many weeks with me there.

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CHAPTER 11 PROFESSIONALLY SPEAKING

As I am going into my twenties, I find it harder to keep events chronological. Life becomes more complicated and things pile up in confusion as more interests somewhat divide my attention. I went back to the Museum School for a while, only to find that I wasn't learning anything new. I switched courses and took illustrating where I did learn a lot about pen and ink techniques and found out that I could live very well without color which I had never thought I could do. I felt I needed to take sculpture in order to improve my sense of form, so I left the Museum school because it was midterm and there was no room in the modeling class. I was disappointed because I admired the man who taught that class. So I went to New York. My sisters Priscilla and Anna were living at the Studio Club, and I joined them there. I entered the Art Student's League sculpture class and stayed there until mother became quite ill and I decided to go back to Cambridge and be with her. I had enjoyed the sculpture so much that I looked for a private teacher in Boston and found one in a Swedish man named Karl Skoog. When my mother was better I rented a studio, which I then shared with some of my colleagues. It was a great big studio, the whole top floor of an old building on Newberry Street, decorated with wood carvings done by the illustrator Eric Pape, who had once lived there. It had also been at one time the studio of John Singer Sargent, so we felt we were in illustrious company. My old music teacher, Mrs. Seymour came to Boston while I was there and asked me if I would illustrate a book she was writing about the Wagner Operas. It was to be, in book form, much like the programs Walter Damrosch had given over the radio. This seemed to me to be a great opportunity to get started in an illustrating career, which I was sure I would like, so I accepted eagerly. I worked most of the winter on this project and took the pictures I had made to New York for Mrs. Seymour's approval, only to find out that she had been unable to get a publisher and had decided to give up the whole project. I was never paid for the work but I still have the pictures

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and am proud of them even today. I did not however give up the idea of becoming an illustrator as you will see. Then the great depression came and I had to give up the studio and much else. We were hard hit along with many others. One of my friends from art school days rented a studio in the famous Fenway Studio building. Charlotte Lamson wanted me to go in with her, but I could not afford to, so she suggested that I pay my way by modeling for the group. I agreed to do this and I also modeled and

83 CHAPTER 11 cast in plaster a bust of her, which I painted bronze. It turned out very well and was probably one of the best things I did in my short career as a sculptor. I now considered myself a professional artist and I was. I had all of the skills I needed and I was already accepting portrait commissions. But much as I liked portrait, that was not my ultimate goal. The transition between student and professional is very difficult for any artist, and I wanted to get into the illustrating field. So I decided to enter the competition for the Limited Editions Club of New York. I spent six months on this project, for which I illustrated The Crock of Gold. My technique was broader than in the Wagner pictures. I used mostly brush and ink and I also designed page borders and capital letters. I went down to New York to see the exhibition of the winning artist's work and was not surprised that I had received no honors. The illustrations were superb, first prize going to The Arabian Nights done in full color. While I was in New York I went the rounds of the publishing houses armed with photostat copies of my work. I learned a lot about the difficulties of getting a job when you had no sponsor or agent and not even a friend who knew a publisher. Finally one kind editor enlightened me thus: "You have to see the right publisher at the right time, who is about to publish a book which needs exactly the kind of style you have." That might happen tomorrow or not for twenty years. I had to find another way. It seemed to me that most artists became known by showing their pictures in exhibitions, so I went back to Boston and arranged for a one-person show at the Copley Gallery. As far as I know the critics completely ignored it, but it did result in my being asked to show in the Fine Arts Theatre in their spacious lobby. There I fared better. At least two critics gave me very favorable reviews and one picture and an article appeared in the Christian Science Monitor. But I did not sell anything. Looking back I think my paintings were too different in subject matter from other artists, so they puzzled people. If anyone reading this book has ever seen the paintings of Nicholas Roerich, you may be able to visualize what I mean. The style is neither old nor modern. It is neither impressionistic nor representative, or surrealist or cubist or just plain crazy. Let us say that it is

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Pan from The Crock of Gold, by Martha Mott.

individualistic. Some have compared my work to William Blake and some to Maxfield Parish, two very different artists. The brilliant colors are reminiscent of Parish and the ideas represented are somewhat Blakeish. I like it best when someone says they are reminded of Nicholas Roerich. When I first visited the Roerich

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Museum in New York, it was like the fulfillment of my dreams and visions. Following these exhibitions, I was asked to teach in the Saturday classes for children at the Boston Museum. I had never taught and had no experience with children though I loved them. I made this clear to Mrs. Sayward who was the lady in charge, but she hired me anyway. I loved the work and continued for three years until the birth of my daughter. One Museum class was conducted by a young man from Arlington, one of the many suburbs of Boston. His name was Ned Haig and we met one day on the steps of the Museum, locked out and shivering with the cold. Ned introduced himself and said that he knew another way to get in. He escorted me to a back door which was unlocked. We got acquainted rapidly and had lunch together that day in the Museum cafeteria. I found out that he knew Charlotte Lamson, who was also from Arlington and in whose studio I was working, and that he was as interested in art and music as I was. He came frequently to the studio after that and one day he told me that one of his best friends was a brilliant young composer and he wanted me to meet him. So he and Charlotte arranged for us to meet in Arlington at the home of a gentleman who had a fine Steinway piano and who was also a great music lover. And thus I met the man who was to be my first husband.

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CHAPTER 12 MARRIAGE

Alan Scott Hovaness (he later changed his name to Hovhaness) was a tall, slightly stooped, poorly groomed young man with enormous dark heavily lashed eyes and a pimply face. He was quite extraordinary looking, like someone out of an El Greco painting. He was six feet one, and very thin, with a shy manner and a limp hand shake. After we were introduced, our host immediately asked Alan to play as if he knew that music was the best way for him to communicate. Alan went to the piano at once and turned to me and asked "what would you like to have me play?" I had already been informed that he was a fabulous pianist, so I felt that I should challenge him to the utmost limit. So I asked for the Love Death from Tristan and Isolde, and he immediately launched into the Liszt version without any notes. I was dumbfounded. He played with such depth of feeling. He was only twenty two and I felt that I was in the presence of a genius. I had never before known any top flight musicians. True, Arthur Fiedler had been once or twice to our studio, and while I was in Rome I had an Italian friend, whom I was very close to, whose brother was one of the conductors of the Augusteo concerts. But I had never met one like this or under such favorable circumstances, or one who impressed me so much. He began to play again. This time it was "Give Me Thy Hand Thou Fairest" from Mozart's Don Giovanni. It seemed like an invitation, performed with infinite grace and delicacy and such a wonderful contrast to the Wagner. After that I asked him if he would play one of his own compositions. He played a lovely, rather Mozartian little piece which he called "Among the Stars." I knew then that he would never be a Hindemith and that I would always love his music, and I always have. After that memorable meeting we saw each other almost every day. He always played for me whatever he was working on at the time and we would discuss it. He seemed to value my opinion. I was enormously flattered by the respect he seemed to feel for my opinion, especially so because my own family had so little respect 87 CHAPTER 12 for my musical talents and I had strong feelings of inferiority in this regard. It was a tremendous boost to my ego to be taken so seriously by this gifted young man. I suppose that it was inevitable that this extraordinary beginning would lead to love. I suspect that I fell in love with the music and could not separate it from the man, as indeed it could not be. But he also had a very brilliant mind in other respects. He loved Shakespeare and we read all the plays together. I learned a lot more about Shakespeare during these sessions. Socially, Alan was shy and awkward. He was an only child, whose mother had died when he was very young. His father was Armenian who came to this country at the time of the Armenian massacres by the Turks — he spoke no English when he came but he managed to put himself through Harvard and became a brilliant chemist and a Professor at Tuft's University. Alan's mother was Scotch English, named Madelein Scott. Alan was christened Alan Hovaness Chakmakjian but finding the name somewhat cumbersome he changed it to Alan Scott Hovaness and still later to the Armenian spelling of Hovhaness. His grandfather on his mother's side was Walter Scott, descended from Sir Walter. Alan was an egotist and fully conscious of his own superior abilities although his shy manner tended to make him appear modest. We were married within six months of our meeting. My own mother died a few months before the wedding, which was a home affair with only family and close friends. No formalities such as bridesmaids, best men, or giving away of the bride. After the wedding for our honeymoon, Alan's father drove us to Pittsfield, New Hampshire, to visit the grandparents. Alan loved New Hampshire and mountain climbing so we did a lot of that. Many of his early compositions were named for sites in that state which were dear to his heart. From there we went to my little house on Cape Cod. It was only a summer cottage so we could not stay there after it got too cold. My father owned a small house in Cambridge (one of the oldest) where my sister Frances had been living. She had gone back to New York so Alan and I fell heir to this cute little place. The ceilings were so low upstairs that Alan could not stand upright and it was very drafty.

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Here we started our married life, with many drastic changes for both of us. These were probably the most difficult and frustrating years of Alan's life. Years when his genius was just budding and success was very far away. He wrote mostly for piano because he could perform what he had written, but it was the orchestra which he heard in his head. What young composer gets to hear his work performed by an orchestra? He later destroyed most of these early compositions but he reused some of the thematic material in later works. The main theme of his Symphony "All Men Are Brothers" was written at this time. Alan eventually achieved success and much has been written about him in recent tears. I can sympathize with the long, long years of frustration and persistent effort which finally brought him to the top in his profession, which does not often happen to men of genius during their lifetime. So for the moment I became private secretary to a musical genius. I became an expert copiest of musical parts for orchestra. It was a tedious job but I felt that I was making a big contribution to the world of music. I also managed the household and all the arrangements for everything we did together or he did alone. It gave me little time to paint, but I managed to produce a series of water colors, many inspired by his music. An example is on the next page. Alan had an overwhelming admiration for Jean Sibelius, and since he was the only living composer of the stature of the great musician of the past, Alan had a burning desire to meet and talk to him. I too was all for it. The hitch would be how to break down the defenses Sibelius put up in order to prevent people from seeing him. As usual I would have to take the initiative. I wrote a letter telling Sibelius about Alan's music and his admiration for his own. I told him of Alan's longing to see him and asking if he would receive us if we came to Finland just for that purpose. We received an answer written by one of his daughters, all of whom were musicians. Sibelius did not speak English but the five daughters did. She told us that her father expected to be in Finland during the summer and would receive us. That was only the first hurdle, but it was the most important one and it both surprised and delighted us. As Alan and I were both living on small allowances from our respective parents, we had to make the long trip in the most economical way possible. Trans-Atlantic flying had not even come

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"Star Dawn" is a water color painting by Martha Mott inspired by the piano piece of the same name by Alan Hovhaness. The Angel of Night, carrying comet's tails, sprinkles the darkening sky with stars. The original painting is in storage at the Elverhøj Museum.

90 MARRIAGE into being then. I booked passage on a small freighter and return passage on the same line. We sailed from Boston in June reaching Copenhagen two weeks later. Alan did not enjoy the trip because he felt hemmed in with people he did not enjoy being with. But he did love the part of the voyage which took us north of Scotland into the North Sea. In June it was the time of the midnight sun. The sunsets merged into sunrises, which took up most of the night and were spectacular over the ocean. We had beautiful weather. We had a couple of days in Copenhagen (this happened to be in 1934 when Viggo and Joan were also in Copenhagen). We visited the Thorvaldsen Museum and Tivoli and whatever else we had time for just walking around. We then proceeded up the Baltic Sea to Helsinki. I had not made any plans ahead for where we would stay there, so I read all the available pamphlets on the boat and decided the best thing to do on arrival was to go to a tourist agency where there would be someone who could speak English. Fortunately our arrival was in the morning, so we took a taxi and went straight to the agency. When they learned that we were there to see Sibelius, they could not do enough for us. They booked us a room at Hotel Tusula on Lake Tusula about twenty five miles from Helsinki and the nearest place to Sibelius' home, which was about five miles from Tsula. They told us that the best way to get to Tusula was by taxi. I was aghast! Twenty five miles in a taxi must be pretty expensive. But the agency arranged with a taxi-driver to take us there, bag and baggage, for twenty five dollars. We arrived at the hotel after lunch. We had not eaten since breakfast, but Alan insisted that we go right then and there to find Sibelius' home. There was only one way, we were told, which was by the main road going north from Tusula. The road was graveled and as there was no other means of transportation, we set out to walk the five miles, armed only with the daughter's letter, which we presented at the door on arrival. The meeting was to say the least disappointing. Language was an immediate barrier and seemed as if it was going to be quite insurmountable. After a short time we left to walk the five miles back to the hotel, arriving footsore, weary, hungry, and discouraged. Dinner was being served and one table was decorated with an American flag, so we sat down there. We were served a very small piece of fish, followed by a small cup of clear soup, followed by

91 CHAPTER 12 some sort of equally small desert. It looked as if we were not going to be fed very well at Hotel Tusula. That was far from the truth. The next day we discovered the proper routine. Breakfast in bed. A large table in the room next to the dining room had snacks and coffee on it by mid-morning and guests helped themselves. At noon the table was bountifully loaded with Smorgasbord, snacks and coffee were available in the middle of the afternoon, and at dinnertime there was an unbelievable spread. It had all been there the night before but we had been too tired to find it. We felt a little better after filling our stomachs and having a row on the lake. Still, Finland was along way to come for such an unsatisfactory interview with the object of our trip. We could not leave things like that. We knew that Sibelius spoke French so I suggested that we speak only French for a week and then try again. I knew French pretty well from school in Switzerland, but I was very rusty. Alan, who had only had American school French did surprisingly well when he felt that he had a good reason for doing so. At the end of the week I wrote a letter in French to Sibelius. I told him how disappointed we were after our first visit and that we had practiced French all week and hoped that he would see us again. We decided to deliver the letter in person and Alan brought along several of Sibelius' scores, including his piano sonata, for props. A maid came to the door and told us that Sibelius was in Helsinki. So we gave her the letter and she told us to wait. After a few minutes she came back and said "He will see you." Maybe it was the unusual approach which got us into the inner sanctum, but anyway here we were again. What a difference! The scores broke the ice and so did the French. The two men started talking right away about the music. While they were talking some geese flew over the house honking. Both men paused to listen and Sibelius said "Clarinets" while Alan immediately followed up with "Chalumeau register." Sibelius noticed his own piano sonata lying on the table. He asked Alan if he could play it saying he had not heard it for forty years. "It is very difficult" he said "and none of my daughters can play it." Neither could he because he was a violinist, not a pianist. Alan said he could and went to the piano. The Sibelius piano sonata is a very beautiful work which is seldom performed, maybe because

92 MARRIAGE it is so difficult, but Alan never made it sound that way. It is very reminiscent of Sibelius' early symphonies, in particular the third. While he was playing, the room began to fill with people. All five daughters plus Mrs. Sibelius drifted in and remained spell- bound. Afterwards everyone started talking at once in any language. No one seemed to have any difficulty understanding anyone else. Coffee and pastries were brought in and we all had a ball. We returned to the hotel that evening in a very different mood from the time before. One day I decided to go swimming in the lake. Alan did not care about swimming so I went down to the Hotel bath house alone and in my bathing suit. There appeared to be nobody else around and I dove in immediately. When I came up I was joined by man in his bare skin. I knew, from a distance that nudist swimming was common in Finland and had seen much of it on our boat trips rowing on the lake, but I was not quite prepared to find myself suddenly participating in it. I stayed under water as long as I could, because I felt so overdressed. There were just the two of us brave enough to swim, the weather being fairly cool in June in Finland, and my companion appeared to have a very long endurance. Finally I had enough and dragged my weary over-clothed body out of the water. I didn't have the nerve to try it again properly undressed. We were notified that our return passage would stop for four days in Leningrad, and since we had not acquired Russian visas, I began to look into that. We were told that we would have to send our passports to Russia to get the visas. Things were so uneasy at that time that I was afraid we would never get them back so I did not apply. Our boat sailed in late July, stopping at the little Finnish port of Viborg, where we took on a cargo of matches. The piers were not equipped with modern mechanical devices for loading, but everything was accomplished with great dispatch and efficiency and we went on the following day to Leningrad. In Leningrad the port officials woke us up at five in the morning to look at our passports. We told them we were not going on shore although everyone else was, and they tried to persuade us to give them a bribe, saying that for a certain sum (I forget what) we could go on shore. I figured that we would probably get into trouble if we did that so we stayed on board. It was not at all a dull four days, as you might think. The docks were equipped with every

93 CHAPTER 12 conceivable kind of mechanical loading and unloading device, but no one seemed to know how to use it all. Crates of caviar were counted and recounted ad infinitum as they constantly fell out of the conveyers. It was a real circus to watch. Alan was happy because he had total use of the piano in the main lounge, and no one to bother him. After four days we pulled out of port late one afternoon followed by a dozen harbor boats bringing on stray sailors who had had too much vodka and missed the boat. We did not have to worry too much about the drunken crew because we had to have a special pilot all through the Baltic and the crew would have time to sober up by the time we reached Copenhagen. We had a rough and gloomy passage around Scotland and were grateful that we had seen it in all its glory on the trip over. There is a sixty foot tide at Pentland Firth. It was running strong when we went through this time and there was a big storm in the North Sea. When we hit the North Sea it was a major shock to the vessel. Almost everyone who was standing fell down, except the crew who were used to it, and things stayed pretty much in place because everything was nailed down. The sun came out in late afternoon and colored the spray with orange light. That was such a beautiful effect that after I got home I made a painting of it from memory. The following Spring Jean was born. We toyed with the idea of naming her Sibelia, after the man in whose country she was conceived, but we were not sure how she would react to it later on. Now that she is grown and a musician in her own right, I think she would have worn the name proudly, so we compromised with Jean Christina after Jean Christian Sibelius, who when he wrote us, sent his love to his "little God daughter." On our return from Finland I received a letter from my father saying that Alexandra Adler, the second daughter of Alfred Adler and a neurologist and psychiatrist, had just arrived in America from Vienna, and that she had received an appointment at a hospital in Boston. Would I please welcome Ali, as we came to call her, and do what I could to make her feel at home? We became great friends and have remained so to this day. In fact, she helped me greatly to weather the stormy time that was ahead of me.

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Jean was born early in June and I went straight from the hospital to the little house on Cape Cod, taking a practical nurse with me. In those days one could afford such a luxury and as a new mother who had never taken care of a new born infant, I really needed to be instructed. Alan joined us a little later. Before Jean was born he had seemed pretty proud of his approaching fatherhood, but now that she was a living breathing reality he ignored her completely and resented the presence of the much needed nurse. After she left I had, of course, to devote more time to Jean and Alan did not like that either. So after two years the honeymoon was definitely over. I still loved Alan and still played the part of secretary, but he began to go out in the evenings more and more without me. Then he would come home late and work until the wee small hours of the morning and sleep until noon. We saw less and less of each other. Alan continued to ignore Jean and became angry if she cried or spilled her milk or any of the other ordinary things that babies do while they are learning to manage for themselves. Alan had some playing engagements, which he seldom was paid for, and he had one private pupil in composition, a young woman who aspired to write a musical. Joan Brandt-Erichsen had been an acrobatic dancer before she became crippled by a fall from a second story window during a fire. This had happened shortly after her marriage to a young Danish sculptor so she had turned to her second love which was music. Her husband, Viggo Brandt-Erichsen, was well known in New Hampshire for his powerful World War I Memorial, carved in granite, which stands on the village green in Jaffrey, N.H. Viggo had immigrated to the United States following the death of his first wife. He was currently teaching at the Fitchburg Art Museum and had his own private classes. They were living in Groton, Massachusetts at the time. Since they came so far for Joan's lessons, Viggo had to spend an hour or more waiting. If he had errands to do he would do them, but more often he sat in the front room of our house and played with Jean, who was usually up and in her play pen at that time. I could not help to notice how much they enjoyed these little sessions and how differently Viggo reacted to Jean than Alan did. I think Viggo wanted children of his own but did not expect Joan to be able to have any.

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I loved the Brandt-Erichsens and Alan enjoyed them too. We became very good friends, and they were very kind to me. They often stepped in to help me when Alan was being particularly thoughtless. One night all four of us were at a gathering at the studio of a dancer whom we all knew. It got to be very late and I had several times urged Alan to drive me back to Cambridge so we could let the babysitter off. Alan was having a good time and would not leave so Viggo and Joan drove me home. I must have let on to them what a hard time I was having with Alan, because they stayed with me until Alan came in about two in the morning. I was becoming exhausted burning the candle at both ends so soon after having a baby. Alan did not notice or care and I was pretty sure that he was seeing another woman. I couldn't take it any longer, so I picked up Jean and fled to my little house on the Cape where I slept for thirteen hours every night for two weeks. After that I felt better. Then I got a letter from Alan saying that he was leaving me for another woman. I knew who she was and she was years older than Alan. I guess he wanted a mother, but he did not stay with her more than two months. Anyway that left me no choice and on Dad's advice I decided to go to Reno for a Nevada divorce. The Cambridge house where we had been living was up for sale, so I rented an apartment not far from there and made the necessary preparations to leave for Reno with Jean. We were delayed by the 1938 hurricane which held up all transportation for several days and caused terrible damage in Cambridge. All the beautiful old English elms that lined Brattle Street went down and when we got to Reno, Jean wondered why we didn't have to jump over trees any more. Alan has been married five times since our divorce. Except for his marriage to Hinako they have all ended in divorce and he has never had any other children. I think that the most humiliating thing that can happen to a woman is to have her husband desert her for another. I certainly felt it deeply at the time. My mother went through it and now I was able to fully understand how she must have felt. It took me a long time to recover and finally stabilize my life. My first priority was Jean and my second was that I felt, for the first time, that it was essential for me to earn a living for both of us.

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I was going have to put aside my artistic dreams because I did not want to continue to accept help from either my own father or Alan's, who both were very generous to me. Alan's father adored his little granddaughter and I tried to let him see her as much as possible. He was a lonely man and very good to me on her account. Alan, of course was never able to contribute anything toward our support and I doubt if I would have accepted it if he did. I always followed his career, but I never saw him again until some forty years later, when he came to visit me in Solvang with his wife number six. He seemed not to have changed at all, and I was grateful that my life had not been smothered as it surely would have been had I remained with him.

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CHAPTER 13 READJUSTMENT

The next few years were, to say the least, very difficult ones. The whole direction of my life had, of necessity, changed, and for some time I floundered around like a drowning woman trying to reach the surface and make sense out of things. Jean was a great consolation and a stabilizing force. She was a sweet cooperative little person, the kind a mother could take with her anywhere and everyone would love her. But she was also a problem when I tried to enter the job market. I had always to consider how it would affect her in accepting any kind of work. I had never seriously looked for work before except for my brief encounter with the publishers, which was too uncertain and therefore out of the question now. I decided teaching would be my best bet. I had had experience and I knew I liked it. It was, however, the wrong time of year to be looking — late November. Nevertheless, I began to investigate. First I tried the public schools. There I found that I must have had a Normal Art School training to qualify, but that I was qualified to teach in the Normal Art Schools to teach the teachers who would then qualify to teach in the public schools! That was one of those strange regulations of our public school system. I then tried the Private Schools, but all positions were filled and they had not begun to look for the following year. I then resorted to the want ads. I found an ad for an artist at a print shop in Boston. I answered the ad and got the job. The pay was low, but they told me that after a period of apprenticeship, they would appoint me as supervisor at a very good salary. I soon found out that the period of apprenticeship would be a long one and might never lead to being promoted to supervisor. Besides, the hours were long and grueling and the noise of the presses was nerve wracking. It also did not work out well for Jean. I had to pay a baby sitter almost all of my salary and could be with her very little. After a few months I gave it up and decided to look elsewhere. Besides the print shop, I had gotten a Saturday job at a small art school in Cambridge, but the school closed for the summer. At this point I decided to go back to the Cape, where we had always been so happy.

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My cousins Edward and Dorothy Davis and their family had a summer home near by and they persuaded me to come to Winter Park in Florida, where they spent the winters. My uncle was a professor of geology at Rollins College in that town. He was also the son of the famous Geologist, William Morris Davis. Uncle Will, as we called him, used to spend a month with us on Cape Cod early during the summers when we were kids. What he did with his time I was too young to know. Perhaps he was writing a book, but he used to show up for meals at which time he would tell jokes and stories which were way over our heads and which we had to listen to politely. Alan's grandparents were also spending the winter in Winter Park and their youngest son Robert Scott planned to drive down and visit them there. He asked me and Jean to drive down with him. I was delighted to have an opportunity to see something of the United States, so I welcomed the invitation. Joan and Viggo had meanwhile moved to a little farmhouse in Jaffrey where they asked me to spend a week or two before leaving for Florida, so Jean and I stayed with them during the season when the color in the sugar maples is at its height. Their first baby had arrived on the scene — a bouncing boy named Thor — and was Viggo the proud papa, showing him off for any excuse. Viggo was in complete charge of his care, as Joan was not able to do it. Uncle Rob picked me up in Jaffrey for the trip to Winter Park. We stopped at Mt. Vernon and Williamsburg, the two most historical places on route. The trip took about five days. Jean made a good traveling companion except for one incident when she threw up in the car after eating too big a breakfast. I was careful to see that she ate light after that. Uncle Rob was a thoughtful tour guide and chauffeur. In Winter Park, cousins Edward and Dorothy had a large rambling colonial home for their big family where we stayed until we found an apartment of our own. Jean was now four and very bright, so I entered her in kindergarten and sent her to Sunday school. As an only child I felt she needed as much exposure to other children as possible. This gave me time to paint scenes of the tropical vegetation in Florida which was so different from what I was used to. I also had some private children's classes, but no opportunity for full time work turned up, so come spring we returned again to the Cape.

99 CHAPTER 13

I applied for a camp job and got one at a camp near Portsmouth N.H. It was a bad camp and totally unsanitary, so I went back to the Cape. I still had my job open at the art school in Cambridge, so when a friend of mine gave up her house in a reclaimed neighborhood of Cambridge, I took it. Some friends I had made in Florida who were living near Boston wanted me to take their daughter as a private pupil. This paid me very well and I also got a job teaching young adults at the Y.W.C.A. Edward and Dorothy's daughter, Penny, was looking for place to live in Cambridge, where she had a job, so I rented her our extra bedroom. I still was not earning enough to be totally independent, but this was progress even though the multiple job situation was exhausting. Jean was now five and quite ready for school so I invest- igated the Cambridge School for Girls. I knew the public school would not take her so young and I hoped this school would let me pay her way by doing some kind of work for them. I was lucky. They needed a part time art teacher and after testing Jean, they decided to take us both. I also started Jean with piano lessons. She was very musical and we spent much time playing and singing together. She learned to sing parts such as rounds and canons and even duets. My aforementioned friend Ali Adler was on a lecture tour and the tour included a girls' school in Rochester, New York, where she learned that they were looking for a new full time art teacher in the fall. Ali gave the principal, Mrs. Simpson, my name, so when she came east in the spring she got in touch with me and I was interviewed. I hoped desperately that this would be my lucky break. I liked Mrs. Simpson and she seemed to like me, but the interview was not conclusive. There were some problems — I wanted Jean's tuition plus a salary enough for us to live on, and she had others to interview. I knew I could manage on very little money but she had not mentioned a figure. For several weeks I did not hear from her. Then finally a letter came offering me the job with Jean's tuition and 1,100 dollars. I was disappointed. I did not think that I could live on that small salary, so I regretfully wrote back that I could not accept at that figure. I was sure that would close the matter and I feared that with Jean I was going to have a hard time. But I got a letter back

100 READJUSTMENT immediately offering me 1,300 dollars and promise of a raise the next year if I proved satisfactory. I decided to take it and I did not regret it. Columbia School was a fine school with a wonderful faculty, among whom I made many good friends. I was there for five years and was able to expand the art department so that it made quite an additional reputation for the school. After the first year we won honors in the Scholastic Achievement Awards every year. I loved the work and my students, who ranged from first to twelfth grade. For me the situation was perfect, but not quite as much so for Jean. The school was fashionable and filled with rich children, whereas Jean was the little girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Her mother was a teacher in the school, and though respected, she was definitely another breed of animal to their mothers. There were a few children in the same boat. Rosemary and Diana McKowen were the children of the music teacher and a cellist with the Rochester Symphony Orchestra, and Louise and Margaret Clark were daughters of the Presbyterian Church organist. All of these people were considered inferiors, so the inferiors got together and made friends with each other. I was able to help Jean a little because I made friends among the parents because so many of them wanted me to do portraits of their children. So my weekends became occupied that way, and Jean, who was a quiet, no trouble kind of child, was welcomed wherever I went. I could perhaps have done more if I had followed up on an introductory letter I had received from home, addressed to the President of Rochester University. His daughter was attending Columbia School where I was teaching and it seems that we were related some way. I did not choose to take advantage of this intro- duction, but preferred to make it on my own without being bolstered up by prestigious relatives. The second year in Rochester I met Hilda Wickes. She ran a camp in the summer on Lake Ontario. Some of the children from Columbia School went there so Hilda had heard about me and came to see me about teaching at her camp. I had never been to camp as a kid although several of my sisters went, and I thought it might be a good experience for Jean, but as usual I would have to take her tuition off my salary. I didn't make much but all our summer expenses were paid for. We both enjoyed it and went back the

101 CHAPTER 13 following summer. Phil and Hilda Wickes became life long friends and later, when Viggo and I married, it was in their home on the lake. The curriculum at school was rough and it took me a couple of months to get used to the rapid change of classes, managing and timing it to have one class picked up in time to let the next class in. I more often than not had eight classes a day. Sometimes the seniors would come in right after the first grade, which made me have to switch my thinking rapidly. The teachers in the younger grades all wanted more and more art classes, partly because the children loved it, but mostly because it gave them a free period, something I seldom got. It takes my breath away now to think of such a heavy schedule. But I was allowed to teach as I pleased and order what supplies I wanted as long as the list was checked before it went out. My depression had completely disappeared. I was carrying my own and Jean's weight and feeling constructive and useful again. In fact if it had not been for Viggo I might still be there. Joan Brandt-Erichsen wrote to me frequently when I first went to Rochester. Then she became very ill with cancer so I did not hear from her for a long time. Mutual friends kept me posted, however, and when she died I wrote to Viggo. He did not answer and I did not expect him to, but I continued to hear about him from my friends. Except for my two summers in camp, I went back to the Cape for the summer holidays. The winters were strenuous and I needed a break from teaching. Besides, Jean and I both loved the Cape. The last summer I took Jean's classmate Margaret Clark with us. There were other mothers who wanted me to take their children for pay, and though I appreciated their confidence in me, it would not have been much of a vacation, so I declined. Margaret had never been to the seacoast, so the first thing I had to do was to teach her to swim. Bass River was dangerous for non-swimmers. The tides were very strong and at low tide there were sudden drops into deep water. We also had the added problem that year of broken glass on the beach. A spring hurricane had swept our boat house away, leaving behind all the glass from the windows and doors. The children could not go on the beach without their sneakers on. They also wore them in the water because the pier had gone out to sea so one had to walk into the water from the shore.

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The sneakers were an added weight for Margaret to contend with while learning, but by the end of the first week she was pretty safe in the water and was a regular fish by the end of the summer. It turned out that I was the only one to cut my feet and that was because I did not obey my own rules. We always had lots of company and when it got too crowded in the house we used to spill over into the boat house. But now the boat house was gone so I bought a tent for Jean and she and Margaret preferred to spend their nights there unless it was stormy. In mid summer Elsa and Stephen, friends of Viggo's and mine, came for a visit. So I wrote to Viggo and asked him if he would like to come too and bring Thor. Thor was now five, but I had not seen him since he was a baby. Jean and Margaret were both nine. Viggo accepted my invitation, but then he strained his back and cancelled. But he did come later.

103

Part III

Viggo & Patt

105

Martha Mott ("Patt") paints her and Viggo's son David.

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CHAPTER 14 LOVE AGAIN

After the death of his wife, Joan, Viggo was exhausted both physically and emotionally. The minister of the Congregational Church, who was a good friend, took Viggo and Thor to the parsonage, where the minister and his wife and their four year old son looked after both of them. It was some weeks before Viggo had the will or energy to take Thor back to the farm. He hired a housekeeper, but they still spent most of their time at the parsonage. Little by little he began to recover from the long strain and the final shock of Joan's death. A faint stirring of the old creative urges began to surge back into his thoughts. From out of his sorrow, a beautiful memorial sprang into being. Although he could not work too long at a time for weeping, through his tears he created a lovely idyll with the God Pan playing on his pipes and surrounded by deer, fawns, squirrels and many other gentle animals of the woods. The whole was cast in ceramic, and when he finally put it up in the cemetery, he made a pool into which it reflected. A photo of its original state is below. It was subsequently vandalized and the surviving pieces have been removed, so only a headstone remains today.

Original gravesite memorial for Joan Brandt-Erichsen.

107 CHAPTER 14

A new idea for a Second World War Memorial began to take shape in his mind. He made designs for this too. The working model for this was so immense that it took him several years to complete it, while he dreamed of finishing it in ceramic. As he began to feel better, he also began to realize how much his young son needed a mother and how lonely he was himself. His friends advised him to re-marry, but he did not respond to this idea. His feelings were as yet too numbed. His old friend, Mrs. Martha Hovhaness, known to everyone as Patt, had been divorced from her husband for some years. She was teaching art in a girl's school in Rochester, New York, while raising her young daughter. She had corresponded regularly with Viggo and Joan up until the time of Joan's death. After that she wrote less frequently, as Viggo who was no letter writer, never answered her letters. However, she kept in touch with him and Thor through mutual friends who lived nearer to Jaffrey. About a year after Joan's death, Viggo received a letter from Patt saying that she was at her studio home on Cape Cod, and that she thought the sea air would do him and Thor good. This sounded like a fine idea to Viggo. In fact the more he thought about it, the more he began to feel that this attractive and artistic young woman might be just the right person for him and Thor. After all, he had known her for ten years, though he had not seen her very recently. He thought perhaps he should go and see her without Stephen and Elsa, and ask her to marry him. Just at this time he sprained his back. This was a good excuse for not going to the Cape with Elsa and Stephen. When Viggo and Thor finally did arrive at the Cape studio, Patt greeted them in a dripping wet bathing suit, her dark, short hair windblown and her skin as brown as a nut. She was like a fresh breeze out of the sea to Viggo, and the sight of her brought a big smile to his face. Thor had not seen Patt since he was a baby, so this very brown lady was a stranger to him and he to her. So was the blond nine year old daughter, Jean, and her little dark friend from Rochester whose name was Margaret. Patt's studio home was charming, cozy and rustic, with a beautiful view of the river, marshes and ocean. But best of all, you could go out the front door and in a few seconds jump into the clean salt water of a tidal river. There were windows everywhere, and

108 LOVE AGAIN paintings all over the place. Just like home to Viggo! Also there was an old piano and stacks of records. Viggo and Thor soon found that this house was seldom without music of some sort. From the moment that Viggo first saw Patt in that wet bath- ing suit, he knew that he wanted her for his wife and it did not take him long to tell her so. Patt loved children, so wherever she was, you could be sure that there were some children not far off. Viggo noticed this and was glad. He also noticed her love of animals, which suited him well too. Another thing that made him happy was that Thor loved Jean. Patt, on her part, had known before Viggo ever came, that her heart was his if he wanted it. And so they made their plans to be married the following spring when her contract with the school in Rochester expired. The days that followed were full of fun and laughter for all five of them. The children seemed as delighted to be together as did Viggo and Patt, to whom, out of heartbreak and sorrow, a new spring of love had suddenly come. The late summer evenings were long wonderful hours of talking and of finding out about each other through the intimate talk of lovers. They discovered that many times in the past they had come in close proximity without ever meeting. They had stayed in Paris at the same hotel at the same time, and been on the same street corner of the Rue de Rivoli when a policeman was shot in a Mayday demonstration. Patt had been studying art in Rome when Viggo and Dorothy came there on their honeymoon and for ten years they had known each other as someone else's husband or wife. Viggo had promised to go on from the Cape to visit some old friends in Maine, so after three glorious days, he reluctantly left. On his return to Jaffrey, he wrote to Patt almost every day until they were married. This was a monumental task for him as he spelled so poorly. But there was nothing wrong with his power of expression. Since Patt was scheduled to teach again in Rochester in the fall, they initially planned to wait until June of the next year to get married. This long wait was difficult. Patt wrote to Mrs. Simpson at her school and was able to get released from her teaching contract after the Christmas holiday, which at least shortened the wait. Viggo and Thor met Patt and Jean in Boston on the return trip to Rochester. Their time together was all too brief. Parting came again as Patt

109 CHAPTER 14 headed for Rochester and three and a half months of teaching before Viggo and Thor would join them at Christmas time. However, they were much encouraged by the fact that the time had already been shortened by so much. They managed to shorten the wait further, with Viggo planning to go to Rochester so the two of them could get married on Thanksgiving. As luck would have it, a replacement teacher was found, so after getting married on Thanksgiving Day they were all able return to Jaffrey together as a family. A collection of Viggo and Patt's letters during this time can be found in Appendix I.

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CHAPTER 15 A NEW LIFE BEGINS

Everything did not go exactly as they had planned. When Viggo left Jaffrey Thor had a cough, but Viggo was not going to let a little thing like that stop him now. Patt immediately took Thor to the doctor to find out if he was alright to go to school with Jean. After examining him, Dr. Beven told Patt that Thor had the whooping cough. Both children had to be quarantined, as Jean had never had whooping cough. All their plans had to be changed. Thor could not go to school with Jean and neither could he be his father's Best Man. Jean began to cough too, so it was out of the question for her to be her mother's Maid of Honor. Nevertheless, Viggo and Patt were married on Thanksgiving Day in the Wickes' home, though neither of the children could be present. Their disappointment was somewhat tempered by the fact that they were as yet not very sick and were able to enjoy their poor health in each other's company. It was decided that they should all return to Jaffrey right after the weeding and before the children were too sick to travel. The plan to honeymoon at Niagara was given up for the moment, with the idea that they could always have one later on. As it turned out, they kept planning this big event for the rest of Viggo's life, but something always managed to interfere. Viggo said many times "It doesn't matter because our whole life together has been one long honeymoon anyway." The trip back to Jaffrey was long and cold. They could not stop with the children and even had to bring all food out to the car. Four hundred miles of driving with snow and ice and two sick children was exhausting for all of them. Viggo had telephoned to have the heat turned on at the farm, but when they finally drove up at one o'clock in the morning, the house was stone cold. Nothing had been done. Viggo gallantly carried Patt across the threshold just the same, saying "I didn't really want to give you such a cold welcome." Such confusion followed. Viggo dashed to the cellar to start the furnace, while Patt, with Thor's help in finding bedding, attempted to get the two children to bed, fully dressed because it was only sixteen degrees above zero in the house. As soon as they were warmly tucked up, she went downstairs, still in her fur coat, to find 111 CHAPTER 15

Viggo in his overcoat, lighting a roaring fire in the fireplace. He found a few almost empty bottles of various warming beverages in the cupboard. He threw the contents of all of them into one potent drink, so the two newlyweds sat down contentedly before the fire sipping this deadly heating concoction. The first winter was long and hard. The temperature was often thirty degrees below zero and there was lots of snow. Thor had a really long drawn out old fashioned case of whooping cough. This kept Patt pretty confined, as the farm was somewhat isolated. She did not get to know many people that winter. As she was no farm girl herself, she made all kinds of comical mistakes, which Viggo thoroughly enjoyed teasing her about. He loved to tease anyway, and he especially loved to tease Patt, as she was always giving him such wonderful opportunities, like the time she saw the cheese cloth hanging on the clothes line. She wondered how it came to be there, and thinking that the pieces would make nice dust clothes, she took them down and brought them in the house. Soon Mr. Stratten, who worked the farm, came in and inquired if anyone had seen his milk strainers. Nobody had until Viggo spotted Patt's new dust cloths. "Are those things milk strainers?" Patt exclaimed. "Well I never would have known it." The one Viggo liked best was the time when Mr. Stratten was hauling manure and old bedding straw out of the bottom level of the barn, where it had been shoveled from the stalls. Patt poked her head in, and seeing chiefly straw, she commented companionably "What a nice lot of hay you have here, Mr. Stratten!" She could not understand why both Mr. Stratten and Viggo were so convulsed with laughter. But Patt learned, and it wasn't too long before Viggo had to find something else to tease her about. In April when the daffodils were poking their heads up through the fast melting snow, the Brandt-Erichsens moved from the farm to the Stone House. This was a beautiful old Colonial house on the Main Street of Jaffrey, one of the show places of New England, known as the Stone House because of the huge three-foot thick granite blocks of which it was built. Viggo had been able to sell the farm and buy this lovely home and fifteen acres of grounds and woodland for fourteen thousand dollars, the price which had been offered by the Mayor of Fitchberg.

112 A NEW LIFE BEGINS

The house had been vacant for many years, because most people did not want the care of maintaining such a large place with its thirteen rooms and various out buildings. Undaunted, Viggo and Patt moved in with the two children. They took old Jørgen and put him in the Stone House barn. Viggo converted the old carriage house into a studio, where he planned to start on his World War Two Memorial. Patt was happier here. She could get about and see people more easily and make friends. The first time that she heard about The Count was at a large party with many out of town guests. She was dancing with a gentleman from Winchendon, when he remarked, "The Count does not seem to be on his dignity tonight, does he?" Patt's eyes brightened. "Which one is he?" she asked her partner. "That man over there" replied the man from Winchendon, pointing out Viggo. "Oh no, you mast be mistaken," Patt said, "because that man is my husband." Her partner looked puzzled. Could it be possible that Viggo had not told his new wife about the title he held, and which everyone else knew about? He took Patt over to where Viggo was and began to apologies to him for having been the first to inform her. "Good Heavens," he said, "if she had been my wife, that would have been one of the first things I would have told her." Viggo laughed and assured him that it was quite all right and that he didn't mind at all, while Patt remained completely bewildered. Later on, Viggo told her about Mrs. Knickerbocker's famous letter, and how he had never been able to stop people from calling him Count. That summer they went to the Cape Cod studio. Patt was now pregnant and the following April she delivered another fine boy to further unite the family. Thor and Jean became very devoted to little brother David. They were like a second mother and father to him, for Thor was now eight and Jean was twelve. Viggo's life became very busy at this point. He was asked to submit various designs to compete for other memorials in other towns. The new projects had to be worked on in odd corners of the studio, as the huge kiln for firing the World War Two Memorial occupied more than half the studio in its still incomplete state. The townspeople were of two minds about this plan but had still given Viggo some money to start on the project. Even though Viggo had offered to do it for the cost of material alone, the design proved too

113 CHAPTER 15 ambitious and never proceeded beyond the production of a model (a photo of which is on the next page). The following article, published in the Jaffrey Recorder in 1947, indicates some of the feelings that finally led to the abandonment of the whole project.

Now that Town Meeting is over and the voters of the town have each had an opportunity to have their say, we would like to discuss something which has been on our minds for sometime. We want to talk about the statue which Mr. Brandt-Erichsen is in the process of creating. When the question of a war memorial first came up, we were against the erection of a statue to the boys of World War II. We felt, as so many of the veterans felt, that the money involved in erecting a statue could be better put to use in another way — some way that would directly benefit the children of those veterans. And then we thought it over more carefully. The situation in Jaffrey is unique. We are fortunate in having as one of our citizens, a man whose artistic ability is nationally acclaimed; and a man whose generosity is a beautiful thing. Mr. Brandt-Erichsen has offered to the town of Jaffrey for merely the cost of materials, a piece of sculpture, which in years to come, should make the town famous. From a purely mercenary standpoint, it should benefit the town materially as people travel here to view it. But from another standpoint, an aesthetic standpoint, it is something which our children, and our grandchildren's children, would have to live with — something which would bring beauty into their little lives, and an appreciation of the fine arts — an appreciation incidentally, which has been inherent in New England for generations. If it were just another statue — a man on horseback, or something that could be seen in any town in the country — we would say no, thank you, we aren't having any. But it isn't just another statue. It is a memorial — a tribute to our husbands and your husbands, to the sons and brothers, the nurses and fliers — all who helped preserve democracy which made it possible for all of us to go into Town Meeting on Tuesday and speak our minds.

114 A NEW LIFE BEGINS

Viggo with model of a World War II Memorial that was never built. The model is currently in storage at the Elverhøj Museum in Solvang, California. Photo by Jack Teehan, Keene, N.H.

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The Veterans of Jaffrey stated at Town Meeting that they didn't want a "statue" as a memorial — we would like to point out that while Mr. Brandt-Erichsen's statue is primarily a war memorial, it is something more than that, it is a memorial to all the boys who fought — not just the Jaffrey veterans. We were proud to be able to say that a large percentage of our men were in the service — but they weren't fighting just for Jaffrey — they were fighting for a world of freedom, and a world of beauty. They were fighting to preserve a way of life. They deserve all kinds of credit, praise and appreciation — and most of all deserve a monument. It would be a monument not just for a handful of soldiers, sailors, and marines — but a monument to a whole generation, a generation conceived in war and blood — a generation that fought tooth and nail for that heritage which their pioneer ancestors had willed them — a generation which is still fighting with words and food, and which, God willing, will win the fight for all time. Surely a generation like that deserves a monument that will be standing as a memorial, centuries after we are all forgotten.

In spite of all these problems, Viggo modeled a Mother and Child, using Patt and David as his models. This was included in one of his memorial designs. He also built another kiln for firing a huge bull, which weighed three hundred pounds at its completion. Firings were very exciting things, reminiscent of the old potters in Vaernamo. Viggo and Patt would sit by the kiln for hours, playing chess. Late at night, Viggo set an alarm, and when it rang and waked him, he grabbed up a coat and rushed out into the freezing New Hampshire winter night to the carriage house studios to see if another cone had dropped. When he was ready to fire the bull, he opened the door of the four-foot kiln, and started to shove the bull, which was just under four feet in size, inside. He had forgotten that only the center part of the kiln was actually four feet and that the spread of the horns was just a little too much to slide under the arch. One horn hit the top and broke off. To repair the horn was very risky. There would be a weak spot in the construction, and it might not stand the high temperature firing, causing further damage to the rest of the piece if the horn blew off. He decided to risk it. He repaired the horn and cut two grooves in either side of the kiln top in order to allow the horns to slide in

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"Ferdinand," the 300-pound fired ceramic bull by Viggo Brandt-Erichsen, is on permanent display at the Elverhøj Museum in Solvang, California. Photo by John Urwin.

117 CHAPTER 15 without touching. He said nothing about this to any one and started to fire. It took thirty six hours to fire "Ferdinand," as he was called. Then it took several days for the kiln to cool enough to open the door. Viggo and Patt held their breaths when the great moment finally came. As far in as could be seen, he seemed to be whole and unblemished. Slowly, Viggo eased him out of his imprisonment. He was a beautiful gray green now. It was a masterpiece. Just the tiniest little glaze crack marred his glossy skin. Only then did Viggo tell Patt about the broken horn. "Ferdinand" is now on permanent exhibit at the Elverhøj Museum in Solvang, California. A photo is on the previous page. All the firings did not have an equal amount of luck, how- ever. Viggo made a life sized fawn for the big Syracuse Ceramic Show. He was in a hurry to get it done in time and forgot to make a vent in it, so when it was fired the deer exploded in a thousand pieces. Another project that was doomed to failure, through no fault of Viggo's, had an exciting career. Some influential Americans, one of whom was Patt's father, had dreamed up the fantastic idea of presenting to Great Britain a colossal statue of Sir Winston Churchill holding aloft his famous cigar. They envisioned this ridiculous idea as standing on the Cliffs of Dover, the lighted cigar a beacon to ships in the Channel. The same kind of a gesture was made by France, when she presented the more dignified Statue of Liberty to the United States. When Viggo was requested to submit a design for this atrocity, he accepted with respect to Patt's father, though he was not interested in either the design or the idea. His model turned out to be remarkably dignified considering the inartistic conception. When it was cast it was to be presented to a committee at a luncheon at the Waldorf Astoria in New York. There was a deadline for the luncheon so Viggo did not have time to do his own casting, but took it to Boston to the best old school Italian plasterer. The old craftsman was impressed by the model and in voluble Italian, he chattered a great deal about "Churchahilla." Viggo thought that was a great name for this crazy piece, so from then on he always referred to it as "Churchahilla." On the roof of the building which the statue was designed to stand on,

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Winston Churchill Monument model, "Churchahilla," is kept in storage at the Elverhøj Museum in Solvang, California.

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Viggo planned to place four Bull Dogs, a symbol of the British character John Bull. He only modeled one dog, asking the plasterer to cast him four times. When he returned to Boston ten days later, there was only one dog. The old man had not understood. The photographers were coming to Jaffrey the following morning to take pictures to send to New York. Without the other three dogs the pictures would not in any way present the overall effect of the model. The old man was heart broken when he finally understood the situation, for at this late date there was no time to cast the rest. What was to be done? Ever resourceful, Viggo returned to Jaffrey. He set right to work and made a fragile glue mould out of plasteline. He worked all night and when the photographers arrived, there were four dogs painted neatly with bronze paint. Viggo called the old plasterer in Boston and told him that the Bull Dog had puppies. "But," shouted the Italian, "how could the Bull Dog have puppies?" So Viggo explained how he had cast the dogs. "Ah!" the Italian said, "Now I can see how the Bull Dog could have puppies." The big dinner was not a success. Arguments flew back and forth across the Atlantic as to where the statue should be erected, or if it should be accepted at all. Finally in spite of Viggo's clever design, the whole thing was fortunately dropped, with Churchahilla's cigar still unlighted. One of the Bull Dogs died. He fell off his corner and was shattered into many pieces. ______

Viggo's love of animals kept the Stone House well stocked with four footed friends. There were Jørgen and two other horses, Jerry and Kitten — Jerry was Jean's dearly beloved old plug with one watch eye. There was Bonnie, the little Cairn terrier, who could kill rattlesnakes and trap woodchucks in their holes. Blondie and Dagwood were two geese, who strutted around guarding the place like watch dogs. When Viggo tried running a small shop, in which to sell his ceramics, Blondie and Dagwood scared away the customers. The geese would nevertheless join Patt and Viggo for afternoon tea in the garden in summer time. They preferred their tea from a saucer.

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The cat Skippy looked like a skunk, and there were Skippie's kittens, and Michael was a goat with several nannies whose names have been forgotten. There were also Thor's chickens. Thor loved to take care of chickens. But it was Jørgen who provided the most fun. He was an escape artist. He could get out of any stall or paddock, or pull up his peg if he were pegged out. Viggo fixed him a box stall with a bolt too low to reach. Still he got out. No one could understand how he did it. Finally one night after he had been locked up, they set a silent watch in the barn to try and solve the mystery. No sooner was all quiet, than Jorgen gave a small snicker. Up walked Blondie and Dagwood and proceeded to shoot the bolt on Jørgen's stall, and out walked Jørgen. He invariably went to the Catholic church and tried to get in. Viggo used to tell about the time in Groton when he went skijoring behind Jørgen on the main street. He drove along merrily enough until his skis hit a spot where the snow had melted. Viggo lost his balance, but that did not bother Jørgen. He would not stop, and dragged Viggo ignominiously through the town, to his great discomfort but the amusement of everyone else, until Jorgen finally came to a halt. Sometimes Viggo would hitch up the Norwegian "Sparkstoting," which he had brought back from Denmark. This was a long slender sled to which he harnessed Jørgen. Standing in back on the runners, he would drive Patt, who sat in the single seat, out into the country to visit friends. And so life was very full with the two older children and their school activities, the new baby, and all the animals. ______

As time went by and prices soared, Viggo's income was no longer adequate to meet the needs of his growing family. The cost of heating the Stone House was enormous. The studio was cluttered up with the materials for completing the World War II Memorial and the town had still not decided to give any more money for finishing the project. Finally Viggo asked to have a definite decision made within three months. "I cannot do any other work in my studio," he said, "until the big equipment has been moved out."

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At the end of three months, nothing had happened, so Viggo re-designed the memorial, with a soldier's mother and a soldier's sweetheart kneeling under the Gold Star names (the nine Jaffrey men who died during the war). He fired this in his smaller kiln and placed a large American Eagle on top. This was put up in the town park across from the earlier memorial, "Buddies." It was dedicated on July 4th, 1948.

World War II Gold Star Mothers Memorial, Jaffrey, New Hampshire.

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CHAPTER 16 ELVERHOY

Viggo started looking with favor on a warmer climate than New Hampshire. Viggo had always wanted to visit California, and he had seen an article in the Saturday Evening Post, telling of a couple who moved to southern California and bought an avocado ranch. Innocently, he and Patt concluded that this would be an ideal arrangement for them. The profits for avocadoes were excellent, and Viggo had a lot of experience growing things. So they dreamed of a ranch hand taking care of the orchard, while they had plenty of time to be creative, with no need to heat the house or studio. The choice of a place in California for them to live came about by an odd series of coincidences. While living in Jaffrey, Viggo had made the acquaintance of Paul Draper, who had a summer home there. Paul was a wool merchant, whose winter home was in Canton, Massachusetts, and his business in Boston. A man of unusually charming personality, he was full of fun and a good horseman. Every year, in the fall, when the maple leaves had turned red, golden and brown, Paul would come to Jaffrey, where he and a group of his friends, Viggo included, would ride to hounds. Every spring, when southern California has it's brilliant green season and all the wonderful wild flowers are in bloom, Paul would join the Rancheros Visitadores, one of the largest riding groups in the world, who, in the tradition of the early ranchers, rode from the old Mission in Santa Barbara, visiting camp sites and ranches until they reached their final stop, the Mission Santa Inez, in the peaceful Santa Ynez Valley. One New Years Eve, while still in Jaffrey, Viggo and Patt had seen Paul show moving pictures of this ride. They had both been impressed by the lovely scenery of rolling hills and purple mountains that was the Santa Ynez Valley as shown in these pict- ures. They therefore decided they should visit the Valley on their arrival in California and see what kind of cultural life was there to accompany the gorgeous scenery. In the spring of 1949 they sold the Stone House for a good profit, bought a new car and a trailer for transporting their

123 CHAPTER 16 immediate necessities, and made ready to depart for the promised land. Just at this time Patt's father became seriously ill. He was in a hospital in Hyannis, Cape Cod. So they decided to go first to Cape Cod and wait until later in the summer before leaving for the west coast. They took the children to Patt's cottage, where they had a lovely summer in spite of the cloud of sickness that hung around them. Patt's father did not die, though he was in his eighties. He got much better and returned to his home in New York. So in September, Viggo and Patt and the three children started the long cross-country trek to California. They felt like pioneers, going to they knew not what. They took their time, visiting some of the sights of the country on the way. The two older children were thrilled, and Viggo and Patt never forgot Thor's face when he saw his first real cowboy. His eyes popped as if he had seen something out of a movie. David, age 2, loved what he called "Ride in the car! Eat! New House!" repeated over and over throughout the journey. Excitement kept mounting as they came nearer and nearer to California. In the desert they got into temperatures of one hundred and thirteen degrees. The canary and one of the parakeets which they had with them died. If they had only known that September was so hot, they would have taken the northern route. In spite of their ignorance they made it through the hardships of the trip without undue problems, and arrived in Needles, the first California stop, hot but all in one piece. Their next stop after Needles was Los Angeles, where Patt's sister Priscilla and her husband and two children were living. Priscilla had been to Santa Barbara, but she had not enjoyed it and gave a rather grim picture of it and the area around it, although she did not know the Santa Ynez Valley. It was pretty in Santa Barbara, she said, but very stuffy, overflowing with elderly characters, retired and uninteresting. She thought Viggo and Patt would be much more interested in Southern California, which she felt was more alive and up and coming. As Priscilla had been in California for close to eleven years, Viggo and Patt decided to take her advice, and while they were so near, to tour the most southern parts. So they headed south and scoured the countryside from Los Angeles to the Mexican border.

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They were amazed by what they saw. There was such a variety of scenery and climate. Everywhere there were real estate offices and more real estate offices and all the prices were so exasperatingly high. The money which they brought with them from the sale of the Stone House, and which had made them feel so rich on arrival, now looked ridiculously small in the face of land at one thousand dollars an acre. They looked at what was advertised as sixty acres of unbroken mountain land, the only ad they had seen within reach of their pocket books. It was a brush covered wilderness, infested with rattlesnakes, and a fire trap. In case of rain it would be impossible to get out of on the only road, which was a dirt one which led through a creek bottom. There were no neighbors within five miles. The avocado ranches were out of sight in price. Young trees were seven dollars apiece and would not be ready to bear for several years. They were so disappointed and discouraged that they were quite willing to leave California and try Colorado instead. It was now near the end of September, and they could not put off much longer entering the two older children in school. So they decided to go up to Santa Barbara and look for a temporary place to stay while the children went to school while Viggo and Patt drove around looking at other places. They stopped at a motel in Montecito and Viggo bought a newspaper to look up rentals. He came across an ad for a three bedroom house with mountain view which was in the Santa Ynez Valley. He and Patt wondered if it would turn out to be like the sixty acres of unbroken mountain land. They decided that they might just as well take a look at it and the Valley too. So the next day, which was partly foggy, they started up the coast, not having the courage to try the San Marcos Pass road with their trailer. They had been on unknown passes before and on some of them it had been quite difficult to manipulate the trailer. Fred Brown's real estate office would be in the town of Santa Ynez, they supposed. They would go there first. On the way, Viggo became quite curious about a town a little south west of Santa Ynez, called Solvang. He said that this was a Norwegian word meaning Sunny Valley. He thought that perhaps it was a small village that had been originally settled by Norwegians.

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The trip up the coast was excitingly beautiful. The mount- ains, though partly hidden by clouds, were mysterious and dramatic, giving the impression that they were much higher than they really were. On the other side of these mountains lay the little dream valley of Santa Ynez. Turning inland at the spectacular Gaviota Pass, they entered a new world. Here the country was rolling. The hills were dotted with live and white oaks, hung with Spanish moss. Cattle were grazing peacefully on the brown slopes. At Buellton they turned off the main highway. The sign read "SOLVANG 3 MILES." They drove along a narrow road between fields of alfalfa, lima beans and flowers. They did not yet know that here in the nearby valleys of Lompoc and Santa Maria, one fourth of the world's flower seeds are grown. No place in the world, it seemed to Patt and Viggo, could be more pastorally beautiful and peaceful, and they had both seen a good bit of the world. The road passed between two giant eucalyptus trees. There was no sign of a town ahead, just a few more hills. Suddenly the road turned sharply to the right, and skirting the foot of a hill, turned left again and started to climb. All at once Viggo exclaimed in astonishment, "There is a Danish country church!" There it was, white and red and just like the pictures you see of them on Danish post cards. They were now entering the tiny town of Solvang. On the right they passed a small shelter, with tiled roof. A sign hanging from the roof read "Ventnor Platz fo Børn," which is Danish for "Waiting Place for Children." They now turned right, and came onto the main business street, an odd conglomeration of Spanish styled buildings, typical old west store fronts, and an imposing square, called Copenhagen Square, surrounded by large buildings in typical Danish style, even to imitation thatch, storks, and Bindingsverk (beamwork). This hodge podge was, strangely enough, extremely quaint and attractive, and everything was as neat as a pin. A sign on a shop window announced the Danish Kitchen. Viggo parked the car and trailer on the main street in front of a small building bearing the inscription "Santa Ynez Valley News" and walked across the street to the Danish Kitchen. Here they fell into the arms of Aksel and Nanna, an honest to gosh Danish couple straight from the old country.

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Since 1926, when Viggo first came to America, he had met only one or two Danes in the States. In spite of his love of America, he always had a nostalgic feeling for his native land, and many times he thought he might like to return there permanently. Now, unexpectedly, he had dropped into a little bit of Denmark. He was bubbling with excitement and chattering away in Danish, for the first time in years, to this friendly couple, while Patt and the children listened happily without understanding a word of it. While they were eating a delicious Danish dinner, prepared by Nanna, who was a superb cook, the car with the New Hampshire license plates and loaded trailer had attracted the attention of some of the worthy citizens of the community of seven hundred and fifty inhabitants. So after reluctantly leaving their now found friends, they ran into the editor of the Santa Ynez Valley News. He greeted them with pad and pencil, all ready to get a story. Viggo generously obliged, and before he had finished, he and Patt and the children had met a good portion of the little town's inhabitants, who were mostly Danish. They had scarcely been in Solvang more than an hour, but they seemed to have been given a hearty welcome. Viggo said that he was going to Fred Brown's real estate office in Santa Ynez to see about a house. He was quickly informed that Santa Ynez was only a ghost town, and that the real estate office he was looking for was right next door. How charming and convenient! No new parking was necessary, and they were personally conducted to the office. The mountain view house for rent was in the even tinier town of Ballard, with but fifty inhabitants, about five miles distant to Solvang. It was a simple, comfortable, small home which really did have a magnificent view over the valley and the Santa Ynez and San Raphael mountain ranges. They took the house at once. Both Viggo and Patt had already made up their minds that this was where they were going to stay. If they had any doubts as to what kind of people they had thrown their lot in with, these doubts were quickly dispelled, for the people were friendly, intelligent and up and coming, as is often true in a growing community. It might have seemed like a sleepy little place to them upon arrival, but they were to see Solvang more than triple its size within the next few years. They were to see not one Danish baker in town, but four flourishing businesses in pastries, pumpernickel, cakes and cookies

127 CHAPTER 16 made from Danish recipes. Two country doctors would be replaced by an up to date Medical Center, built in Danish style and staffed with a surgeon, technicians, laboratory, two general doctors and sufficient equipment to deliver babies and perform appendectomies or other minor surgery. Instead of one drug store there are now three. Instead of two eating establishments, there are now too many to count. There was not a motel in town when Viggo and Patt arrived. Viggo designed the first motel in Danish style. Now there are dozens of them, mostly Danish styled. Some of the names are typically Danish, such as the King Frederik, the Royal Copenhagen, the Viking, and the Solvang Gaard. Being only forty miles from the highly cultural city of Santa Barbara, the town of Solvang left little to be desired. Viggo often said of Solvang, "'When you find Utopia, you do not look any further."

______

Jean and Thor were enrolled in school, while Viggo, Patt and David looked around for a permanent place to live. They soon found out that anything ready built was out of the question for them, so they decided to get some property and do their own building. Viggo quickly realized that property in Solvang would go up in value as the town began to grow. He found a tract of six acres on the edge of Solvang, but it was not for sale. The tract belonged to a Danish couple who farmed the land for vegetables, and Viggo went to see them. Mrs. Madsen's father was a fine artist, and when she learned that Viggo was a Danish artist, she thought twice about his offer to buy their property. The six acres had not been under cultivation for a few years, as Chris Madsen, who was getting on in years, had confined his gardening to the one acre next to his home. So after some dis- cussion, the cute couple decided to let Viggo buy the property for six thousand dollars. There went most of Viggo's capital. He divided the property into two parts, keeping one part to build on, and subdividing the rest into lots, six in all. These lots he sold almost instantly for eleven hundred each so he wound up with three beautiful acres of land and six hundred extra dollars.

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It was on one of these lots that the first motel in Solvang was built, the Solvang Gaard, which was designed by Viggo. Viggo's purchase of the property opened up a whole new section of the town for development. He deeded land to the county for roads and sidewalks across the property. The fields beyond the six acres are now a forest of roof tops, and the lots that were sold have all been built on. Now Viggo and Patt went about drawing up designs for a dream house and studio in Danish style. With complete disregard for climate and conditions, of which they understood nothing, they decided on Bindingsverk to be pegged together instead of nailed, the way the old houses in Denmark had been constructed. Viggo discovered some fascinating material in nearby Lompoc. This was diatomaceous earth, a material which could be poured like cement, but which had a soft rosy color, and was supposed to have excellent insulating properties. Viggo decided to use this material instead of the commonplace stucco so popular in California. They named the new house "Elverhoy" after the famous Danish play of that name. Translated, "Elverhoy" means the Hill of the Elves, though this particular Elf was more like what we call a Nymph. During the winter rains, Viggo carved out of redwood, the most beautiful front door imaginable, depicting this Nymph surrounded with woods and wood animals (see photo on next page). The street on which Elverhoy was being built was at that time known as the Twenty Foot Alley. After Elverhoy was named, and Viggo had donated the land to expand the street, the name was changed to "Elverhoy Way." Building began in November 1949, one month after the Brandt-Erichsens arrived in Solvang. It was also the beginning of the rainy season that year, so progress was slow and subject to many frustrations. The first one came right after the foundations had been dug. Viggo filled the forms with large rocks brought up from the river bed, in order to give a firmer base and to save on the cost of cement. Everything was ready for pouring. That night it rained, and in the morning the forms were filled with mud. When it dried off a bit, Viggo and Patt began laboriously to haul the rocks out of the trenches, dig out the trenches and start all over again, putting the rocks back. This time when it was ready they prayed for fair weather. They got it.

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Elverhoy front door with latchstring.

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Very slowly the work progressed. Each beam was carefully hand hewn by Viggo, and then given to Patt to coat all four sides with a mixture of tar and turpentine. When the uprights were in place, Patt looked at the whole plan aghast. She has not expected it to be so big. "How can he ever do it?" she thought, but she said nothing until after they finally moved in three years later. Only then did she tell Viggo of the doubts she had had. Viggo laughed and said "To tell the truth, I didn't think that I could do it either." Everyone thought Viggo was a little cracked, but they were all much interested, and would stop by and lend a hand here and there. The floors were to be of cement covered with cork tile. The first step was to dig down to hardpan and then fill with gravel. By spring this had been accomplished. There was yet no roof, so come warm sunny weather, the weeds began to grow in the living room, kitchen and bedrooms. Some of them got to be three or four feet high while they were busy putting up the walls. Finally, Viggo went to the hardware store and asked for some weed killer for his living room. Coming back to Elverhoy, he found Patt and David hard at work pulling weeds in the kitchen, while several friends were attacking the bedrooms. The studio floor and walls were completed during the summer. Both were of diatomaceous earth. It was very pretty, but very difficult and strenuous for one person to pour. Viggo decided to vary it by doing the gables in old brick laid in fancy patterns. The effect was so attractive that he began the front wall of the living room in the same style. He never went back to casting diatomaceous earth again, except for the fireplace. The studio was pretty much finished during the summer. Patt had requested that the studio be built first, to make sure that Viggo would have his place of work. People began asking Viggo when he expected to finish the house. "By Christmas," he answered, but he never said which Christmas. Neither Viggo nor Patt wanted the house to look new and they were much pleased when tourists went by and inquired what the old ruin was.

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Viggo's last major sculpture was this statue of a Ranchero, made in the Elverhoy studio.

All this time Viggo was becoming more and more involved in community affairs. He and Patt together made a Nativity of life- sized figures for the little bus stop. Now, ten years later, the scene is still used every Christmas season. Viggo was especially interested in the annual Danish Days celebration, which was on the wane when the Brandt-Erichsens moved to Solvang. This was a kind of folk festival, for which the whole town turned out in traditional costume. Viggo lent his active imagination to the revival of this colorful festival. He added a folk play each year which was held in the town's outdoor theatre. Each year, he directed the play and designed the sets, which he and Patt painted together. On two occasions, he 132 ELVERHOY

Terra cotta Icelandic horse in the patio of Elverhoy as viewed through the front door before the door was in place. even translated the plays from Danish, for lack of any translation that successfully preserved the original flavor. In spite of all their happiness of working and playing to- gether, they had problems too. Jean broke her neck and back in a horse accident, but she recovered after many weeks. In the fall of 1952, Viggo and Patt drove Jean to Berkeley to settle her in for her first year in college. To celebrate Viggo's birthday on April 25th, 1953, the family finally moved into Elverhoy (see photos below and on page 105). It was four years since they had started to build it. Other homes on Elverhoy Way had long since been finished and lived in, while the 133 CHAPTER 16

The original Elverhoy living room.

The original Elverhoy kitchen, painted by Martha Mott Brandt-Erichsen.

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Brandt-Erichsens were still plodding along with their unique home. Thor was in high school, and Jean was in college, while David had entered first grade in a small private school where Patt had taken a part time teaching job. Patt also had the huge responsibility of landscaping the grounds of Elverhoy. This was rather a joke, as Viggo was the one who understood the work, while Patt was as green at this as she had been on the farm. However she bravely set to work and wrestled with the problems of sun-baked earth, gophers, and the continual distraction caused by plows, tractors and the like. For some strange reasons the grounds of Elverhoy are quite beautiful today. Viggo was riding every spring now with Paul Draper and the other Rancheros. He always looked forward to this ride, even though it was the only week in the year in which he and Patt were separated. He told her once, that the nicest day of the whole year was the day when the Rancheros wound up their ride at the Old Mission Santa Inez, and he and she were reunited. Little David found these days very exciting as well, anxiously waiting to pick out his father in the sea of horses approaching the Mission, while the Mission bells were loudly ringing in celebration as the procession filed in.

Viggo (center) with the Rancheros Visitadores as they complete a ride at Mission Santa Ynez. Photo by Hans Sorensen.

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Viggo (right) rides with the Rancheros Visitadores. Photo by Karl Obert.

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CHAPTER 17 GOODBYE, VIGGO

Ever since his second wife Joan's death from cancer, Viggo must have had some fear of this dreaded disease. He did not speak of his fear until the fall of 1952, when he discovered he had an unusual lump, which frightened him. He had read, with interest, an article in the Reader's Digest which told about Dr. Ivan Smith and the miracles he had been working with Cobalt Bomb treatments in Canada. He decided to go and see Dr. Smith, so when he and Patt drove Jean to Berkeley to settle her in for her first year in college, they spent a couple of days sightseeing in San Francisco, and then Viggo took the train for Chicago, where he had to change for London, Canada. This was their first real parting, and it made them both sad. While apart, Viggo wrote what would be his last letter to Patt (see Appendix II). The lump turned out to be an abscess, which he had removed back in Santa Barbara. Their idyllic life at Elverhoy was not to be of long duration. Viggo was not feeling too well. In spite of the removal of the abscess, he began to have many colds accompanied by fever. Gradually his breathing became somewhat difficult and continued to get worse. Many examinations and x-rays failed to show what was wrong. Finally the doctor recommended a trip to Los Angeles to a chest specialist. It was a long and tedious trip for Viggo and Patt, who had somehow managed to slip her sacroiliac for the occasion, while Viggo could walk only very slowly for lack of breath. Besides this, it was hot and they had a long uncomfortable wait in the doctor's office. Finally they were admitted, and after due examination and fluoroscoping, they were told that Viggo had a tumor in his left lung. He should go to the hospital immediately, where a biopsy would be performed on the lymph gland. By now they were both aware that Viggo was suffering from lung cancer. The biopsy showed no sign of malignancy in the gland, so they advised Viggo to go back to Solvang and prepare for a lung oper- ation. The home trip was a sad affair. Viggo was miserable and slept most of the way on the back seat. Patt's mind was in a turmoil of apprehensive thoughts. On passing through Santa Barbara, Viggo 137 CHAPTER 17 sat up for a minute, and in characteristic style, asked Patt if they should stop off at "El Paseo" for dining and dancing. It was a weary couple who turned in at Elverhoy that night, sick and discouraged. As soon as it could be arranged, Viggo was taken to Santa Barbara for the tremendous operation. Patt had been told that it would take at least three or four hours, and after what seemed to her to be an interminable wait, the doctors suddenly appeared. It had only been two hours. Pettis heart sank. She knew before they told her that the operation had not been a success. The doctors gave her the small comfort of six months or a year with her beloved husband. After Viggo regained consciousness, there was no mention between them of the terrible cloud that was hanging over their heads. Patt was sure that Viggo knew the score, and Viggo did not feel like talking about it. He did not even ask how long he might have of life on this Earth. Apparently, in his present shocked condition, Viggo had forgotten all about Dr. Ivan Smith. But Patt did not forget. She began to investigate the possibility of having Viggo receive this treatment. At that time the nearest Cobalt Bomb was at the Lovelace Clinic in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The doctors encouraged Patt to take Viggo there, telling her that it would help the pain and might add a few months to his life. They never encouraged her to feel it would be a complete cure, but when she told Viggo about it, he was thrilled, and felt that now he was going to be made well. He never lost his hope even to the very end. The trip to Albuquerque was extremely difficult. Viggo had to be under intensive medication. Patt did not want to try driving the great distance across the desert with such a sick man and alone. Air transportation was out of the question as the tumor was so close to the heart. So they took the Super Chief out of Los Angeles. Viggo was bothered by having to be pushed around in a wheel chair but with three broken ribs and a twenty four inch scar where he had been almost cut in half, there was not much choice. People were wonderfully kind and helpful. The colored porter on the train sympathized with a story of his own broken ribs, which he acquired when he fell in the bathtub.

138 GOODBYE, VIGGO

On reaching Albuquerque, which seemed to both of them to be a miracle of luck, they went straight to the Clinic, where Viggo underwent routine examinations and was scheduled for treatment the following day. Patt succeeded in locating an apartment near the Clinic, but it was not near enough for Viggo to walk back and forth. One of the girls who worked at the Clinic offered to pick them up in the morning. After the treatment they taxied home. They soon met other patients. Little Mrs. Burleigh was due for her treatment right after Viggo. They became good friends, and soon Mr. Burleigh began to pick them all up in the mornings, and they would go together to the Clinic and back. The treatments had a very disagreeable effect on the stom- ach. In fact, after a couple of doses Viggo lost his appetite and never really regained it. This was the effect of radiation. The doctor in charge never gave Patt much hope. He never could be sure if the radiation would damage the aorta or not, and cause internal hemorrhage. The heart could take it all right, but not the artery. Even so Viggo was full of hope, as his letters indicate (see Appendix I), but he was not aware that many of those who went home "cured" of the cancer died soon after from pneumonia or the effects of the radiation. Viggo was heartbroken, however, at having to miss the ride with the Rancheros for the first time since he had joined the group. Everyone at the Clinic was wonderful. Perhaps they were unusually sympathetic because they knew that most of the cases were hopeless. The Burleigh's took Patt and Viggo driving. They both loved the Rio Grande country around Albuquerque, and Mrs. Burleigh, who had intestinal cancer, was as cheery as a little bird, and full of courage and sympathy. This dear little lady died a few months after Viggo. In order to keep Viggo amused when he wasn't too uncomfortable or asleep, Patt kept a supply of pocket books and Saturday Evening Posts on hand to read to him. She also got some water colors and paper, so she could keep busy when he slept. She never dared to leave him for more than a few minutes at a time. Seven weeks of this was wearing on both of their nerves.

139 CHAPTER 17

Albuquerque was an Atomic Center in 1954 when they were there. Their apartment was just below the very active airport, and the constant roar of huge planes landing or taking off, was very distressing. Also it was the season for dust storms. When these occurred, even a tightly closed apartment became filled with dust. This usually bothered Viggo's hypersensitive lungs considerably. There was nothing to do about their miserable plight except to supply guts and grin and bear it. A day came when Viggo had to be hospitalized for mustard treatment, a combination of nitrogen and mustard injected into the veins, designed to hasten the destruction of the fast disappearing tumor. The effects of this treatment were devastating. After seven weeks, Viggo was discharged, and though he was much sicker than when he left Solvang, he started home with hope. It was a nightmare trip, but getting back to Elverhoy and the children was an inspiration to both of them. They had not been home more than a few days, when Viggo was seized with a violent fit of shivering. The dreaded pneumonia, an aftermath of the treatment, had set in already. Viggo must have had an iron constitution, for with the skill and devotion of Dr. Pedersen, he pulled through it. As summer came on, Viggo gradually improved. He even did a little modeling and started to build his big kiln. He ate better too, but every so often he would have a return of the radiation sickness, and at these times he would become deeply discouraged. There were some wonderful summer days, where it seemed as if he really was going to get well. They went to some parties and even gave a few themselves. Viggo also began to work on the plans for a forty-unit motel he wanted to build. He tried to get a loan for this project. Perhaps it was fortunate for Patt and the children that he was unable to do so. Viggo wrote to the Rancheros to thank them for a sheepskin which they had sent him, signed with all of their names. He also wrote three letters to the Santa Ynez Valley News, two of which were published and one of which was unsent (see Appendix II). On New Year's Day 1955, Viggo carved the roast at a family party, and he seemed just fine. He went to bed early that evening. It was the last tine that he was up. The radiation was attacking his kidneys. Within eight days they ceased to function.

140 GOODBYE, VIGGO

Dear optimistic Dr. Pedersen had gone off on a week-end trip, confident that the medication he had given Viggo would have him much better by the time he returned. Patt was troubled by Viggo's condition, and called Dr. Casberg, who after examining Viggo, told her that it would be just a matter of hours now. Viggo dozed most of the day. He was in no pain and when he waked his voice was strong. Late in the afternoon, as Patt sat in the chair by his bed, he opened his eyes and formed the words "I love you" with his lips. He was very weak and immediately fell asleep again. About five-forty-five he began to cough and gasp for breath, and Patt called the doctor. At six o'clock she was still with him when the sweet strong spirit passed from the wasted body and earthly suffering into Eternity.

141

Appendices

143

"Fire," painted in 1975 by Martha Mott while she was living alone at Elverhoy.

144

APPENDIX I LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT

The following exchange of letters occurred in 1945, just before and just after Viggo and Patt's engagement, beginning with Patt's invitation for Viggo to visit her at Cape Cod (see Chapter 14). ______

Dear Viggo,

Elsa and Stephen are coming here for a visit on July third, and I wonder if you and Thor would like to come too. As we lost our boathouse in the hurricane [in the past Viggo and Joan had used the boathouse to sleep in] we will be a little crowded. We don't mind, if you don't. The two girls are just dying to sleep on pillows on the floor. I am so afraid that we will not see you and heaven knows when we will get back here again. Do come if you can. It is lovely here and the swimming is grand. It was just a stroke of luck that the house was left standing. Jean is very anxious to see Thor, and so am I.

With best wishes, As ever, Patt ______

Dear Patt,

I don't know if you can read my English as the spelling has nothing to do with English as you know it. I want to thank you for your invitation and I am sorry not to be able to come because I did a foolish thing. I strained my back. It makes me mad, but that really doesn't help. It is a long time since I have seen you, so no wonder I am swearing, even though I should not swear in the presence of ladies.

Sincerely, Viggo 145 APPENDIX I

______

Dear Viggo,

I like your English very much. It is like old English, and very charming. What I do not like is that you strained your back and are not coming. If you and Thor would like to come sometime later, we have some nice excitement for you. I remember a story that you told me once about yourself living in a tent. Of course, if your back bothers you, you might not want to sleep in one. The fact is, that Jean has bought herself a tent, and she and Margaret have slept in it and pronounced it very comfortable. It is restful here, so if you feel like lying in the sun on the beach, you can do so often. The girls send their love to Thor and join me in hoping that you will come sometime soon.

As ever, Patt ______

Dear Patt,

Thor and I are going to take you up on your invitation and come down to see you leaving Boston on Monday at 1:45, if it will be convenient for you. If it is, it will be nice to see you again.

As ever, Viggo ______

Jaffrey, Aug. 9 Patt, my darling,

I am back in Jaffrey, and I am the first to confess to things. I love you very much, and miss you very much. The more I think of the distance between now and June, the less I like it. I never thought ten months was much, but it is a lifetime if you are longing.

146 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT

I want to tell you that you are guilty of making me very happy and I am not going to thank you for it, because you are making me miserable for ten long months. But I am going to try to be worthy of your love and all the happiness your love is and means to me. And Patty I hope that my love will fill your life with complete happiness till death do us part. And that, darling, comes from my heart. You know that we are both very lucky to have a lovable child that we both will love and who will love each other. In spite of deep sorrow, life is full of happiness for all four of us. I want you to tell Jean when you wish, that I love her like I love Thor, and really want to be a good father to her. Darling, I love you.

Viggo ______

Bass River, Cape Cod, Aug. 10 Dearest beloved,

Your letter made me so happy I cannot possibly write you what I feel. You know I knew before you came, that if you could love me, I would love you. But what I didn't know was that I would love you so much. I don't know how I will be able to wait until June either, but now that I have your letter I feel better and know that it was not just a beautiful dream I had so it will not be quite so bad. I am going to love having a little boy too, and I am going to try to be an understanding mother to Thor as well as an under- standing wife to you, darling. I wish that we could be together again before I go back to Rochester. I think that you must have taken my heart away with you in your pocket because I haven't got it here any more to send it all to you for always.

Patt ______

147 APPENDIX I

Jaffrey, Aug. 13 Patt darling,

Your letter made me so happy. I wish it were spring that was just around the corner instead of fall. I know that spring will come, but---- Oh well, we will see if we can shorten the time. You are right, I did take your heart with me and I am going to keep it. But I left my heart with you for you to keep, and come June, we will unite our hearts and become one strong unit of unselfish love. Patt darling, you write and tell me your plans, because after the 28th, I can probably fit my time to your plans, and perhaps we can figure a way to be together again before you have to go back to Rochester. ______

Bass River, Aug. 14 Hello darling,

Isn't this a wonderful day? I just put the children to bed in "PEACE." [This was V. J. Day.] Now I will tell you something funny and see if it gives you any ideas. It just so happens that I do not have a written contract for my job in Rochester, so if you can think of any way of not waiting until June, think fast, and I will see what I can do about it. If I went back until Christmas vacation that might give them time to get someone else. As things are now, we will come to Boston on September first, and stay about six days so we will get back to Rochester on the 8th. You may have some better ideas, as two heads are better than one. ______

Jaffrey, Aug. 20 Darling Patt,

I am still tired and sleepy from dancing on the streets in Jaffrey. Everybody was out for two nights, dancing and parading until one and two o'clock, after which we all settled down to

148 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT everyday life again, only it really wont be life until we are together for good. Your last letter seems to open a possibility of not having to wait until June. I think it would be a good idea if you could be released by Christmas and we would all have a wonderful Christmas present. I had seriously considered to come to Rochester so we could all be together for Christmas. How much better if we did not have to part again after Christmas. You go ahead and see where you stand with the school, and we can then make definite plans on where to do it, and how to do it and when to do it. Darling I love you, and don't want to wait any longer than necessary. ______

Bass River, Aug. 21 Viggo,

I love the way you take me up on my suggestions. I have just written a special delivery letter to Mrs. Simpson, asking her to release me from my contract. Now it may be that she will get someone to step right into my place in September, and in that case I will have to let her do it. In any case I have to go back to Rochester to get my things and to deliver Margaret to her parents. I think that the sooner we can settle things, the better for all of us. ______

Jaffrey, Aug. 23 Patt, my darling,

I love your letters, especially as it begins to look as if I won't have to write as many. You see, darling, if we are together we don't have to write. So I may as well confess that I am only going to marry you because I am lazy and don't want to write letters. I hope Mrs. Simpson can get someone to replace you because I can't. And besides she can easier do without you than I can, you know. I may just as well end this letter now, because all that I can think of saying is--- I love you.

149 APPENDIX I

______

Bass River, Aug 28 Darling,

I had a letter from Mrs. Simpson and she will release me at Christmas, but at present she wants me to stay with them until then, unless she can get someone sooner. I am all stiff from spending the day sailing, but I loved it. Good night darling, I am going to dream about you. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 6 Patt my beloved,

I almost hope that the school burns down, if Mrs. What have you doesn't find someone quickly. In order to prevent me from getting too lonesome, she will have to let you go. It is written in the Bible that it isn't good for man to live alone. You tell her that. I will be waiting every day to get a letter saying that you are coming back, and I hope and pray that I won't have to wait until Christmas. I feel lonely, and can't help to until you are back. If I send you some boxing gloves, do you think you could knock Mrs. Simpson out of the picture? and I would step in and have you sign a contract for life. It is hard to concentrate on my work when my heart is four- hundred miles away. The horse that I am modeling is back, so I can get busy on him, but I will feel better when I hear from you that you are either settled in your apartment, or returning East. ______

Rochester, Sept. 10 Darling,

I went to see Mrs. Shipman right away when we got here. She hasn't got anybody yet, but she is perfectly willing to let me go when and if she does.

150 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT

Everybody wants you to come to Rochester. If I have to be here for Thanksgiving, why don't you and Thor come here then? We could get married then. I am sure that I could make all the necessary arrangements, with a little help from you as to what you want. I was just thinking that maybe you would prefer to get married here anyway, then we would be able to go right to Jaffrey without waiting. That would be a wonderful Thanksgiving! If you want to be married in church, Maggie's father is organist at the church on the corner of this street. It is a Presbyterian church. Do you care what kind of a minister we have? Well, we can settle all that when I know if you would like to be married in Rochester or not. I wish it was Christmas. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 12 Patt, my darling,

I feel better now that I got your wonderful letter and know where you are instead of floating around in space between here and there. Thanksgiving is a wonderful idea! It will break the long wait until Christmas, and maybe if I ask the President to change Thanksgiving to October it would be even better. We could not celebrate Thanksgiving any better, and I think the children will enjoy Christmas more without the added excitement of a wedding. It doesn't matter to me what church it is, so darling, you go ahead and make what arrangements you want. I don't care about what kind of a minister we have. I only care about the bride. Therefore I insist that she is you. I think it will be much easier for us when we have set a definite date. ______

Rochester, Sept. 16 Dearest Viggo,

Everyone is so nice and wants to help us. The people who took Margaret back from the Cape want us to be married in their home, Mrs. Wickes is the head of the camp where I taught, and she

151 APPENDIX I has offered to take care of Jean and Thor for a few days so that you and I could go away. I would trust her implicitly with the children. If you have to be here a day or two ahead to get the license, you might just as well come the week end before Thanksgiving. How did we ever think we could wait for nine months? ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 17 Patt, my darling,

So today is your first day at school. If we decide that there isn't any reason except Thor's schooling why we couldn't stay in Rochester until Christmas, we will do that and all come back to Jaffrey together. Would you like that? ______

Rochester, Sept. 18 Darling,

Jack, my lawyer, thinks that you should be here at least three days ahead, so you might as well come the weekend before Thanks- giving and stay the whole week. Gee! I hope the children stay well. You know I sort of wish it was a little simpler to get married. It would be nice if we could just go around the corner and walk into a church and say to the minister "Will you marry us, please?" And that would be all there was to it. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. l8 Patt,

Your letters are wonderful, and I love you. Thor and I will be there the weekend before Thanksgiving. Tell your friends that I love their suggestion that we get married in their home and I am glad that they want to help us on our way to happiness. And darling, the time will go. Even a snail gets there. ______

152 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT

Rochester, Sept. 18

O.K. Darling, we will set the date for November 22, and I promise you that I will come to your wedding. I talked with Jean about her and Thor staying with Hilda Wickes for Thanksgiving weekend, and she felt that Thor would like it better there than in the city. So we will see what turns out. ______Rochester, Sept. 19

I just talked with the first grade teacher about the possibility of Thor visiting our first grade and she was thrilled. Now if Mrs. Simpson will consider me to be the mother of two children, she should help us out. It is nice to have the date settled. Everyone here is full of advice. I didn't know that there were so many ways to get married. In fact I don't think even Emily Post could decide what to do. Do you want a double ring ceremony? You really have spoiled me, because today when I didn't get a letter I was so disappointed. Now I figure that this letter won't get to you until Monday. It is very complicated to carry on a conversation with someone, when what you say on Friday night doesn't register until Monday, and you don't get an answer until Tuesday or Wednesday. So many times I thought of calling you on the phone, just to hear your voice. But then I wouldn't be able to say anything anyway, and everyone in the house would be listening in. Well all of this will be remedied in eight weeks. I heard about a little place in the Bristol Hills, not far from here. And then we are about two hours drive from Niagara Falls. Maybe we should be conventional honeymooners and go there. I am all excited too, and to tell you the truth, what I look forward to most is getting back to Jaffrey. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 20

Gee, Darling I love you so, and I am so excited. I am working hard to make the time go. I have finished the Dapple Gray.

153 APPENDIX I

I am now working on the War Memorial again. I am going to try to finish it before Thanksgiving. If it is alright to leave Jean, where shall we go? I know Thor won't mind as long as he is with Jean. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 23 Patt,

Yes, my beloved, I would like a double ring ceremony. It is the nicest and the only way. Gee! I love you and I think the Aladdin's Lamp is working for us. Anyway I feel lucky and happy. I am tired and can't think tonight, or even less tonight is more correct. ______

Rochester, Sept. 24 Oh Darling,

You know that Mrs. Simpson's one hope for a new art teacher fell through, so now she hasn't even a prospect for after Christmas. She is so desperate that she is going to try to work on you to give an art course too so that we both will stay. Incidentally I think that she will get you to do all the dirty work around school as they are short of men. So you see, darling, you can have a job in Rochester if you want one. ______

Jaffrey, Sept. 27 Patt my darling,

I have been working hard on the War Memorial and it is coming along. It is too bad that Mrs. Simpson's prospect fell through. I don't know what to say. I don't mind helping all I can, but to stay beyond Christmas is something else. I will have to think that one over a lot.

154 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT

Sweetheart, the little place in the Bristol Hills sounds nice, and I have not seen the Falls. I agree with you that it doesn't really matter where we go. To be together is what matters. ______

Rochester, Sept. 29 Dearest,

I just found out that some of our teachers are going to the Bristol Hills, so let's go to Niagara. Only six more Sundays. Mrs. Simpson said that she didn't think that a marriage on Thanksgiving Day would be legal. So I called Jack, and he said that it would be legal on any day of the year that we wanted it. ______

Jaffrey, Oct. 2 Patt,

I have been working hard all day and have accomplished a lot. I had a letter from my best girl, and she said that she loves me and that she found out that it was legal to get married on Thanks- giving Day. Gee' darling, October is already on its way, so before we know it we will be running around like a fly in a bottle to get everything ready. It is really funny because when you wrote, I was thinking I wonder if I can start for Rochester a little sooner. I am going to try very hard to do it. It sure would be wonderful to shorten the time between. ______

Rochester, Oct. 15 Darling,

A Mr Erlich, a sculptor, and a very nice seeming man, came to see about taking my job today, but I have no idea how it will work out.

155 APPENDIX I

Viggo, you know we are getting used to each other in letters. Do you notice a kind of rhythm in the writing and replies? It is getting to be a little more like talking to each other. That helps a lot in making the waiting easier. Thank God for the Post Office. ______

Jaffrey, Oct. 16 Patt my beloved darling,

We are leaving Jaffrey either the 7th or 8th. I can't wait any longer. ______

Rochester, Wednesday Nite. Oh my dearest Viggo,

How wonderful that you can come sooner. And I have got a minister, which is kind of important. By the way did I tell you that your wedding will be at four o'clock in the afternoon? I think that you should know when you are getting married. ______

Jaffrey, Oct. 22 Oh Patt,

I am glad that you thought of getting a minister to marry us at four o'clock. It is nice. Then we don't have to get up early in order not to be late. I love you so much, Patt, that it won't have to be a shotgun wedding. I will marry you willingly, so that ought to cheer you up a little anyway. ______

Rochester, Nov. 1

Mrs. Simpson came to me today and asked if Mr. Erlich could come and visit my classes on Friday. She also made an adjustment in the schedule to suit his time, so I expect they are

156 LETTERS DURING ENGAGEMENT going to take him. Mrs. S. also asked me if I would mind stopping sooner. I told her that I would prefer to be released as soon as possible. So there is a possibility that I won't have to teach after we are married. Mrs. Wickes just called up and said "Do you know that it is three weeks from tonight?" But I was thinking that it will be a week from tomorrow that you and Thor will be here. ______

Jaffrey, Nov. 3 Patt my beloved,

Oh Boy! your letter made me happy. It is wonderful that there is a chance that you will be released soon. The old Aladdin's Lamp is working again to bring us together more completely. The last Sunday is gone. I know that you are writing the last letter to me now. I know that there are several things that you asked me, but I can't concentrate away from you long enough to answer. I wish that I could put wings on the car or just press a button and be beside you as quickly as my thoughts.

157

APPENDIX II LETTERS DURING FINAL ILLNESS

The first four letters were written during Viggo and Patt's separation when he saw Dr. Ivan Smith in Canada in 1952. The rest are written by Viggo during his final illness in 1954. See Chapter 17. ______

San Francisco, September 14, 1952 Beloved Sweetheart [Patt],

I have just come back from the diner, full of chicken and beer, so my stomach is full, but that did not remove the empty feeling I have inside from leaving you at the station. I guess that empty feeling is just the price one has to pay for LOVE. On the other hand, life without love would otherwise be empty. What I am trying to tell you is that I love you and miss you. ______

Solvang, Sept. 18, 1952 Darling [Viggo],

At last a letter from you, and such a sweet one. It was just as cute as if we weren't married yet. I sure mind this waiting even more than the waiting we did before we were married. I almost hate to tell you how much I miss you in case it should make you feel bad. But the way you miss me makes me feel good so maybe it is the same with you. There is not much news here. I've read your letter three times and I guess I will have to sleep with it under my pillow. ______

London, Ontario, Sept. 20, 1952 Dearest [Patt],

The earliest I can get an appointment with Dr. Smith is Wednesday. 158 LETTERS DURING FINAL ILLNESS

London is quite English. It even includes the River Thames and Eton collars on the college freshmen. They talk a very nice English here. The taverns are the same as in England. They open twice a day and the men gather to drink their beer and ale with much chatter and pipe smoking. It is the same atmosphere as the "pub" in England. I am hoping and praying every minute for a quick return back to you. Give my love to the kids.

I love you, Viggo ______

London, Ontario, Sept. 25, 1952

I saw Dr. Smith. He sure instilled confidence and I am coming home. Hurray! Dr. Smith gave me a thorough examination and declared that I had a deep abscess that would have to be re- moved, but that nothing was seriously wrong. I decided to come home and have it taken care of in Santa Barbara. I don't miss you so much now. I will telephone you from Frisco as soon as I know when I will get to Santa Maria. This is the last letter you will get from me, and I hope forever. That means that I don't want any more situations that involve writing to you, and that is final.

Love, Viggo ______

Letter from Albuquerque to Viggo's Ranchero friend Paul Draper, 1954.

Dear Paul,

This is a darn hard letter to write, but I don't want you to get a completely hopeless picture from Dr. Grossman.

159 APPENDIX II

The operation was a flop. The doctors found that the lung was not good enough to remove, so they gave up, which is foolish. Where there is life there is hope. Patt and the children are wonderful. You know, Paul, there is quite a lot of hope. Patt and I have never had a honeymoon, so we decided to take one, and are here in Albuquerque, where I am being treated by cobalt bomb. Six cases like mine have been cured. Day before yesterday we saw the seventh discharged, and he was sicker than I to start off with. So Paul, I don't think that there will be an empty saddle for quite a few years. But I feel terrible about not seeing you this year. Paul, if for any reason Patt and I figure wrong on my time allotment, I would like it very much if you and the rest of the Rancheros, who are still gentlemen, would kind of be Patt's Godfathers. My love to you and all of them,

Viggo ______

Viggo's 1954 letter to the Rancheros Visitadores, thanking them for a sheepskin which they had sent him, signed with all of their names.

Solvang, California Dear Rancheros,

There is one thing I want all you wonderful fellows to know. A modern miracle has happened. The most deadly of all Atomic Bombs is being used to save lives. Even so, it would not have been successful without the miracle of having a wife with an unusual amount of Love, Courage, and Compassion. Six months in bed gives you time to think, even tho' half the time was occupied by dope. I don't mean just being one, but being given plenty. When the Sheepskin arrived, I was in no condition to even know that it was there. My wife hung it so that I could see it from my bed when I came to, and took it all in.

160 LETTERS DURING FINAL ILLNESS

I realized that when the fine Doctors of today cure you physically as well as they can, they also kill you economically, not just as well as they can, but completely. In spite of it, I find myself rich beyond belief. The most wonderful capital we can acquire is friends and good fellowship. So when my saddle, in years to come, is empty, my heart will never be cold or lonesome. Now that I am getting one foot out of bed, I got hold of a comb to part my hair. Had to give it up though. There wasn't room. I have to fatten up a little first. I find that I am better off than Adam. I have two Paradises on Earth. My home with Patt and our children, and the Rancheros Visitadores, and that includes all you Gringos, I love you all. ______

Viggo's 1954 letter to the Valley News, which was never sent.

No part of my writing is supposed to be of any use to Doctors or Scientists. They may even not be able to understand anything so unscientific. It is a patient's viewpoint, written in order to encourage others to take advantage of what hope cobalt can give. You have nothing to lose, but you have a chance to gain life and health. If your type of tumor cannot be destroyed by cobalt, the cobalt can reduce the tumor, and thereby save you a lot of pain, and make what life you have left a lot more comfortable. Dr. Ivan Smith, of London, Ontario, Canada, gave hope to the condemned hordes, when he started using the deadliest of atomic bombs as a lifesaver. When it was discovered that I had cancer of the left lung, I was operated on by one of America's top lung men from Los Angeles, only to discover that the tumor was located on the right edge of the lung, and shaped like a cockscomb, which had grown around the aorta, which is the large artery supplying blood to the body. The tumor was strangling the artery and cutting off the blood supply, making the heart pound itself to pieces. Therefore, a successful operation was not possible. So I was sewed up, and my wife notified of the non-existing hope. But being hard to convince, she asked Dr, Van Valin, one of our local doctors, to telephone Dr. Ivan Smith to find out if he could

161 APPENDIX II do anything for me. His answer was a definite "Yes." We further found that there was a cobalt bomb recently installed at the Lovelace Clinic in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Since time was important, and I might not live through flying to Canada, this was a godsend. Dr. Grossman, at the Lovelace Clinic, and Dr. Ivan Smith have so much in common. Both are men that inspire you with confidence. You feel these serious, friendly men are giving you so much of themselves, that the cobalt treatment seems almost sec- ondary. On looking around at the other patients, you realize that most of them have the same feeling. You could see hope grow in them daily. I do not know how many of them knew the hopelessness of their cases. The rest of the doctors did their best to prepare us for the treatment and its effects. We happily ignored it in our optimistic way, and therefore got through perhaps easier, and were able to encourage other patients who were unnecessarily discouraged. My tumor was located in the worst possible place for the treatment, as so many vital spots were exposed to the damage of the radiation. Yet, if the treatment were not successful, it would be the quickest and least painful exit possible. No exit is ever welcome, so we fight on. Besides the modern miracle of the cobalt bomb, I had the unusual miracle of having a wife with an exceptional amount of love, courage and compassion fighting with me. After one week of treatment, I started to feel better. The pressure on the large artery was released, and my walk was stronger and more normal. After two weeks, I was a new man. After three weeks the new man wasn't worth a damn. The effects of the radiation began to tell on him. I was told that the effects of it hitting on the edge of the stomach would make me feel nauseated. When I kidded Dr. Grossman, saying "Anybody who could live through the treatment could not be killed by a little thing like cancer," I had no idea that I had stumbled on so much truth. You see, the type of tumor and the way each individual responds to treatment varies so much that they cannot say if you will be cured or not.

162 LETTERS DURING FINAL ILLNESS

I was given almost no hope, yet I responded so well, that all sign of cancer had disappeared one week before the treatment was completed. So they reduced the strength of the treatment during the last week. I began with three weeks of cobalt, plus intravenous feedings, which was not bad. Then came three days of nitrogen mustard intravenous treatment. In fifteen minutes it destroys enough of the tumor so that it takes the system two weeks to eliminate the waste, plus acting as a pain killer. The mustard does, however, destroy the white blood corpuscles, so you are also given a blood transfusion before you faint. Then you are ready to go back for three more weeks of cobalt. In a few days you don't feel so good. You have nausea and lack of appetite, but then again, modern medicine comes up with a pill called Thorazine, which counteracts the nausea. So now you are all set for two more weeks, at which time you get a reaction from the mustard. Depression! There again, modern medicine steps in with a new capsule which removes the depression, so you have just a couple of days under the weather. The weather can be a little rough. After the treatment we returned home. I was fortunate enough to catch pneumonia in both lungs, which gave us a chance to give our three doctors in the Medical Center a real test. With my white blood count down to three thousand, plus having lost forty-one pounds, and unable to eat, you may even say that I took an unfair advantage. But they proved themselves capable, and pulled me through. Dr. Grossman telephoned from Albuquerque and congratulated Dr. Pedersen on his success. I had lost so much weight that I could not part my hair. After getting well enough for x-rays and fluoroscopes, they found there was no sign of cancer anywhere. They can't yet quite believe the miracles especially as mine was the fastest growing and spreading type of cancer. The only thing left before complete recovery to normal health and strength, is some fibrosis in the lungs and adhesions in the diaphragm and stomach. It is painful like any large incision, but will disappear and readjust.

Viggo

163 APPENDIX II

______

The following two letters were published in the Valley News in 1954.

The Greatest Gift

The operating table has just been pushed back under the large shadowless light. Wonderful invention! The doctor can't possibly get in his own light. It makes you feel good. The shot in the arm made you drunk. You feel fine. The nurses look pretty. It is a major operation. Yes! But you have the best of doctors. Besides, you are a strong fellow. You know you can't kill weeds— My eyes don't focus too well. Yes, I do see some pretty girls. I don't know them. Oh yes, I know that one. It's Patt, my wife. I feel happy, sliding off some more. The eyes open. A small girl comes floating into the room, guiding a large X-ray machine over my bed. There is one of the surgeons. They are shoving a plate under my back. Good Lord! Has one of the doctors mislaid his pipe? Is that what burns in my chest? The machine is rushed out. Doctors are poking around trying to get some needles into veins. Tubes are attached here and there. I feel like a mobile on exhibition. The doctor is pulling a drain out of my back. Oh well—it is over. It makes it more comfortable to lie down. I am feeling better. The things my wife says seem to have more sense. She is learning to talk better. This morning I feel stronger. I am beginning to ask my wife questions. Simple ones to start with. She knows the answers. I feel encouraged and ask more complicated ones. I am impressed with her answers. I stop talking. Replace it with thinking, and make the biggest discovery. I am not the big, strong important, self-sufficient man I thought. I am not alive now, because I was a weed you couldn't kill. But I am alive, because my wife, my friends, my fellow man in the Valley, gave their blood freely that I may live. They shared their life's blood with me, and gave me life. And beyond that—the blood flowed with warmth from their hearts. The Lord must really enjoy watching mankind using their God-given talents to perform modern miracles.

164 LETTERS DURING FINAL ILLNESS

I am interested in watching how the gift of new Life will be used. Will it be fritted away or developed into something of beauty, useful to mankind?

Humbly yours, Viggo Brandt-Erichsen

______

Away from Elverhoy Way and HOMESICK

This here ain't one of those letters to the editor, no sir—This is a letter to everybody. I ain't homesick for the editor—I'm homesick for everybody. It was too bad when my air compressor went on the blink, that the Los Angeles specialists were helpless to fix it, and just gave up. Dr. Van Valin telephoned Dr. Ivan Smith in London, Ontario, Canada, to find out if the Cobalt Bomb could fix me up. His answer was a definite yes. Then Luck helped us out again. The word Luck should be replaced by Dr. Casberg. He knew the Lovelace Clinic had just installed the most modern Cobalt Bomb Outfit. So he (meaning Luck) telephoned and made the arrangements. After we got here—we realized the doctors here in Albuquerque work on a much higher, level—4000 feet. The Cobalt treatment is a wonderful thing. It is a tough treatment, but you should see the different patients after three weeks of treatment. They feel better and are beaming with hope, and without the treatment, would not have lived 3 weeks. After 3 weeks of Cobalt, they inject nitrogen and mustard into your blood. In 15 minutes the miracle drug goes to work and destroys any stray cells in the blood or wherever they are, plus destroying enough cells in the tumor so that it takes your system two weeks to eliminate the waste. This mustard business makes you violently ill—but they have again a new drug they inject 24 hours ahead of the mustard. That saves the day, so you feel fine until the new drug suddenly has destroyed the white corpuscles in your blood, so you faint. But a simple little blood transfusion (or confusion) straightens you out

165 APPENDIX II again. That is just as far as I have gotten. I have "Passed Mustard." So after three more weeks of Cobalt, we are heading for home—all cured. It seems like a miracle —and it is. I wonder if when the discovery was made that one cylinder in my air compressor was punk, I might have saved a lot of money by going to Herman Strandskov. I am not trying to imitate Karl's column or Dan Britton's way of writing. No, we had a little accident when the treatment began. They meant to start removing the air compressor, but by mistake removed some of my brain. I am homesick and send you all my love.

Viggo (Viggo Brandt-Erichsen)

P. S.: Any queer expressions you may find aren't necessarily the sentiments of the writer, but just the standard Valley News misprints.

166

APPENDIX III PATT'S JOTTINGS – ON ART

Visual Training: An attempt to explain my art teaching methods (October 25, 1980)

Learning to draw or paint is a matter of learning to see what is actually there rather than what one thinks is there. Our minds form certain concepts about the things we see and these concepts block our clear vision of what is really there. For example, some common concepts are that grass is green, the sky is blue, and snow is white. To a certain extent that is true provided that you ignore the fact that these things exist in light and in different kinds of light according to the weather or the time of day. Snow seldom falls on a flat surface, such as a tennis court, but covers everything that lies on the ground and disguises it into many humps and bumps of different sizes and shapes. It also drifts so that even a tennis court may be covered with waves like the sea. These forms create shadows where a part of the form is turned away from the light. These shadows may be grey or a deep blue or purple according to whether the sun is shining or not. Look closely and you will see that these shadows have edges that may be sharply defined or softly blurred. You will also notice that when the sun is shining brightly, the shadows are darker and that the tops of the various forms may sparkle with a slightly yellowish color. In the end, if you have studied your subject faithfully, you may find that very little of what you have painted is actually white. If you are painting indoors, you will have a different kind of light. If you are using light from a window, it will be a bluish light, which will affect the color of the objects you are painting. And if you use an electric light, it will be a warm yellow light. Or you may even have window light on one side and electric light on the other. In my studio I have both window light and electric light and often use them both at the same time. This makes one side of a fold in a piece of purple drapery have a bluish highlight on one side, whereas the other side reflects the yellowish tones. At first the student cannot see all these differences of color and only sees the local color of the purple drape with perhaps some differences as to light and dark. 167 APPENDIX III

The difference in material makes a difference as to whether the object reflects light or absorbs it, so it is important to observe it carefully and represent it faithfully because it will make the difference between an object made of silk or one made of wool, or copper, or glass, or flesh or hair. There is no trick involved. It is merely the careful observation of what you are painting from. This also includes the lights and darks. Darks are usually cool or bluish and lights are warm. That is because darks are turned away from the warmer light. Darks also have very definite shapes of their own which are created by the form of the object in question. If properly observed, they will indicate on your canvas that you have a round object or a square one or one of an irregular shape and what kind of an irregular shape. If you have a square object with sharp edges between its sides, the shadow will have sharp edges at the point where it changes to light. If it is a round object, the shadow will graduate slowly into the light, making a soft edge. There are all kinds of degrees of soft edges as well as all kinds of degrees of lightness or darkness, and all these differences must be observed if you are to create the illusion that these objects have form and different textures of materials. All this intense study of light and shade and color would be more or less useless if one could not accurately draw the shapes of the objects. The average person approaches drawing with the concept that lines or outlines are the first and most important thing to look for. This concept will make drawing very difficult, if not impossible. The most important thing to look for is the general shape of the spaces between the lines. For instance, if you are drawing a horse, look for the shape of the spaces between the horse’s legs. Beautifully drawn legs will not make any sense if they are too far apart or too near together, and mistakes will force you to make the body too long or too short. The horse’s rump in profile is like a kind of tipped oval, with the narrower end at the lower right if the horse is facing towards your left. The body will be like a short rectangular box with rounded corners. These sections can be fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, and tied together by your outlines, which at this point become very easy to draw because you have already established the general shape and proportion and also the action if

168 PATT'S JOTTINGS – ON ART you have correctly observed the shape of the spaces between the legs. It is always good to exaggerate a little the action of any living thing, because the usual tendency is to underestimate it. I chose the horse as an example because next to the human being it is probably one of the most difficult animals to draw. I find it is not absolutely necessary to know the anatomy if your observation is sufficiently trained, although it is very useful and absolutely essential if you do not have a live model to work from. Again, in drawing as in painting, it is necessary to approach the subject without letting your preconceived mental notes influence your observation. For instance, most people think that hands and feet are much smaller than they are and will make them that way. In reality the hand is about the same length as the face from the chin to the hairline, and feet are about a long as the whole head. It is a good idea to squint up your eyes when looking at your subject. It is easier to see your shapes this way and also clarifies the lights and darks and eliminates too much detail. I think this is because you focus more directly on your subject without being able to see all the peripheral material around it. You can get a similar result by cutting a small window in a piece of paper, close one eye, and frame your object in it. This window can also be a great help in selecting your composition, much as you use the viewer in a camera. All details can be added as you complete your drawing, being very careful not to exaggerate them. Students are overly concerned about the mixing of their colors. If you use only the primary colors you will very soon find out how to mix. Give children red, blue, and yellow and they will soon come up with everything they need and at the same time will achieve a natural harmony. It is necessary, however, to have two kinds of each color, a blue which has a little yellow in it (cobalt) and one that has a little red (ultramarine), because there is no blue that is minus a pinch of yellow or red. By the same token, lemon yellow has a pinch of blue and cadmium medium has a pinch of red. For the reds, vermillion will have a pinch of yellow and alizarine a pinch of blue. In oils or acrylics, white is necessary to lighten the colors. In water colors, use less paint and more water to get a lighter color. A neutral color is one that is not bright, such as brown, black, grey or dull green, blue orange, etc. Neutrals are made by

169 APPENDIX III using all three of your primaries and the difference between brown and black will be made by the proportions of your mixture. If you want a bright green, you would choose lemon yellow and cobalt blue because there is no red in that combination, but if you want a dull green you must add a little red or you could use ultramarine and cadmium medium yellow, both of which contain a pinch of red. With this amount of knowledge, try a little experimenting and you will soon be able to make any color you want. Never use special colors premixed in the tube, like green, since they are likely to clash with your other colors and create an unnatural effect. There is no such thing as flesh color. Flesh is made up of a great variety of slight changes in the combination of your primaries as the light plays on it. Rubens was the most perfect master of flesh tones, and every student would benefit by studying his paintings. All great artists are worth studying. One can learn from all of them and will incorporate something from each one into your own work. It is by your personal selection or rejection of what you see in other artist’s work that you develop your own style. Perspective can and should be studied. The principle of the vanishing point is very important and necessary when you are representing architectural subject matter. It is possible to observe it correctly when you see it, but if you are drawing from imagination you would have to know it just as you have to know anatomy. One more basic: You should try to supply yourself with the best possible materials whenever you can. Now, after covering the above basics, comes the most important part: Composition, or picture arrangement. If you have a good composition your picture will be pleasing even if your skills are imperfect, but no matter how well you have painted, if your composition is bad your painting will be a failure. You may have noticed that I have not spoken about techniques. That is because I believe that there are as many different ways of putting things down as there are artists, and that if one is sufficiently concentrated on what one sees, the hand will automatically react to the eyes and the mind and one will develop ones own personal technique and not someone else’s. I do not want my students to be my imitators and will only help them with technique when they are getting into trouble and do not know what they should do, which is not often.

170 PATT'S JOTTINGS – ON ART

To return to the problems of composition, in organizing a painting you want to be sure that the most important thing will be the thing your eye is attracted to. There are many different ways this can be accomplished. One way is by strong contrast of light and dark or color contrast. But it can also be done by the lines in your composition that lead your eye into the picture toward the object of interest. I do not refer to actual lines but things like roads or paths or hilltops or whatever. I prefer rhythmic lines, but other artists may use straighter lines. Rhythmic lines create motion and movement, while straighter lines create a more static feeling according to what you want to express. You can accent these types of lines, making them move back and forth in your picture in a zigzag or S formation to create an internal rhythm always bringing the eye back into the picture. Besides lines, composition is made up of balances. One does not want everything to be on one side of the picture, so your forms must be balanced as also your colors should be. Balance can be unequal as well as equal. The Japanese were past masters of unequal balance, as in Hokusai’s Wave — a huge wave breaking on the left of the painting is balanced by a tiny Mount Fujiyama in the distance on the right. Eyes have a strong pulling power and one will tend to follow the direction in which a person’s eyes are looking so it would not be good composition to place a person’s head close to the edge of your canvas and looking off the picture. Turn the head into the picture a little and turn the eyes more and you will bring the viewer’s vision back into the picture. Composition and color selections are the most creative part of your painting. They cannot be taught by strict rules, but must be felt and are quite instinctive with most artists. What is most pleasing to one artist will not be to another, and it will be the same with the viewer. There are many highly skilled artists, but few truly creative ones. Creativity is natural in children and they should be encouraged so they will continue to develop it and will not be afraid to express it in their adult life. It is difficult to stimulate creativity in adults if it has never been encouraged in childhood. As a teacher, I feel that this is my ultimate challenge.

171 APPENDIX III

Thoughts on Art Trends (September 30, 1973)

The artist of today is perhaps more highly skilled than at any period in the history of art including the great Renaissance period in Italy. We have the good fortune to have benefited from the Impressionists, with what they have taught us about light and color. We have benefited from the Chinese and Japanese with what they have taught us about the use of space and line. We are able to draw as well as the greatest masters of the past and our use of color and light is way beyond any previous age. We can cope with the most difficult perspective problems, which was also a field in which they excelled, and we can cope with foreshortening even better. Our ability to produce form on a flat surface is enormously improved. When one looks at the Mona Lisa, one is impressed with the lack of form in both face and hands. When one looks at Raphael’s “Marriage of the Virgin” one notes the perfection of the perspective, and except for the drapery, the lack of form in the figures. In spite of our neurotic “Modern Art” fashion, we have improved immeasurably through the centuries. There seems to me to be only one area in which we have not improved, and that is in the richness of design. We are coming into a new phase, where incompetence is no longer fashionable. A new super-photographic realism is taking its place. But it is not enough to paint a couple of oranges with drops of water on them that look like they really exist. The “still life” has always been the artist’s technical exercise, but the end result is not necessarily a masterpiece — neither is Czerny in music. Such highly skilled artists in modern times as Picasso and Dali have offered us nothing except destructive concepts. They are “tongue in cheek” artists who disdain the public’s ability to appreciate art and they capitalize on dealers who know nothing and promote them for monetary gain. This phase has put our best artists out of business and relegated them to starvation and non-recognition until after their deaths. Art dealers and museums are largely a menace to the advancement of art progress.

172 PATT'S JOTTINGS – ON ART

I know a number of finely skilled artists who have tried to paint for a market in order to sell. They have lowered their standards and sold out their art potential in order to live. How can we remedy the dilemma that faces the public and all artists? Maybe critics should be qualified by their own performance as artists. Dealers also should have that qualification, and museum selectors too. If they can’t perform they are not qualified to select. After all, they are there to educate the public taste, but for the past thirty years they have attempted to spoil it. I welcome the new fashion in realism, even though it is overdone. At least it is not trash. A great artist must be highly skilled even though he may be self-taught. However, skill alone does not make a great painting or sculpture. Among the many fine artists of the past there were only a few who had the divine spark of genius, but every lesser artist carried the torch of good taste and skill. Since the beginning of the 19th century we abandoned these for the sake of sensation, an art that denied beauty as a primary requisite and appealed only to the intellect and not to the heart. In too many cases it could not even appeal to the intellect. The reason I have subscribed for so long to the magazine American Artist is because it is the only art publication I have come across that has maintained a high standard of good taste and good information. I loan my copies freely to my students, who also benefit by it. I think we may have turned the corner and that the 21st century may be one of a great re-birth in art.

(February 6, 1981)

At long last I have thought out what seems to me the only possible good reason for the past fifty years of what we call “Modern Art.” It could be that these artists with all their hideous distortions of nature have been trying to give us a message. What are we doing to our natural environment but distorting it, polluting it and totally eliminating all vestiges of the natural beauty of nature — that nature, which has in the past been the inspiration of the creative

173 APPENDIX III artist in any field? As Shakespeare said, “Hold the mirror up to nature.” But today’s mirror reflects back many hideous distortions. Has the modern artist been trying to tell us, either consciously or unconsciously, that what they are depicting is going to be the ultimate result of our disregard and lack of respect for our natural environment? I would at least like to think that an artist of the stature of Picasso had at least a reason for his work, and an intelligent one. Or has he just been juggling with mental tricks? I wonder if any of these aberrations will be considered art in the centuries to come, or if a few will remain as historical curiosities out of a temporarily insane past.

174

APPENDIX IV PATT'S JOTTINGS – ALONE AT ELVERHOY

On the Eruption of Mount St. Helens (June 3, 1980)

Outside my kitchen window I can see a tree. It is not a very big tree, but it has dark red leaves. The sun is shining on it. All this anyone can see easily, but I see so much more. The top of the tree, which is in the sun, is bespangled with tiny silver lights created by the sunshine on the shiny leaves. Even in the dark, warm, almost black shadows where the sun does not reach, there are a few twinkling lights breaking up the dark area. In the background I see the matte greens of a weeping willow, delicately laced with threads of silver where the sun picks out bits of the slender upper branches. The trees are very much alive and dancing in the wind. By contrast, the distant hills and mountains are motionless and massive in shades of grey, except for the far off mountains which seem almost transparent in the afternoon haze, a faint silhouette against a pale grey sky. Every day I am privileged to gaze at this scene, but it is never just the same. Sometimes the sun is more intense and the silver lights change to gold, the mountains change from pale grey to deep purple, and the sky to brilliant blue. According to the season the hills may be gold and dark grey, as in summer, or brilliant green as in spring. In winter the trees will lose their leaves and show a tracery of lacy branches or, as in spring, they will start to bud into a delicate pink and a feathery fluff of pale yellow. And when it rains, the pine tree near the window becomes decorated with tiny droplets, clinging like diamonds to the beautiful tracery of slender branches and needles. The little sparrows and finches, with a great deal of twittering, vie with each other for a place on one of the five perches of the bird feeder. It is an ever-changing scene, and always beautiful. In summer, with doors and windows open, one can hear the music of the trees. Each one has its own special voice. The willow makes a swishing sound like silken skirts, while the lights on the little red tree tinkle and rattle like tambourines, and the pine tree sighs softly. 175 APPENDIX IV

All this we can see and hear, but not many stop to look or listen. We have to make our own noises, mostly without beauty — the honking of horns or screeching of brakes and revving of motors as well as the blaring of radios, until our ears are so deafened that only the thunderous eruption of a volcano can jar us into an awareness of the wonderful world of nature in all its awesome splendor.

Mockingbirds (June 27, 1976)

I have had mockingbirds again this year. Their nightly concerts are a joy and an inspiration. If I were a composer or even just me, I would like to tape record the infinite variety of their natural music. The nightingale is supposed to be the greatest vocalist of the winged world. I have heard the nightingale, I suspect not at its best, and have heard the beautiful music of Francois Couperin’s “Rossignol,” inspired by the nightingale. My mockingbird this year has been a superstar, an operatic star, a beyond belief musician and vocalist. There was an infinite variety of melodic line. The only repetition within several hours was a kind of rest period of a soft churring sound. The range was not very great, but the tonal quality was outstandingly varied, from very clear pure highs to warm middle range and throaty low tones. The changes of rhythm and tempo were constantly varied, and the melodies were elaborated by trills and turns, as in baroque music. Last night he didn’t sing and has not so far tonight. How I miss him. I hope the extreme heat, 100 degrees in the shade, has not got him. I can’t understand why some people can’t bear them because they keep them awake at night. If I am very tired, I fall asleep, but I would rather lie awake and listen.

176 PATT'S JOTTINGS – ALONE AT ELVERHOY

Living Alone at Elverhoy (October 9, 1973)

Since I am living alone, a widow of almost 68 years of age, with three children married and settled away from here, I do not have anyone with whom to share my thoughts so I have decided to write them down from time to time. I don’t teach any art classes today. No hurry to get going. By the time I had finished breakfast, made my bed, taken my bath, and fed the cat, the sun was already warm. I started to walk downtown to the bank. My crippled friendly neighbor Josie across the street was out picking up walnuts off the ground. She has a large tree that hangs over her brick wall and a lot of nuts drop outside. I stopped for a chat. She is a widow living alone now since her middle-aged son recently married. Her fruit trees did not bear this year so I offered her apples from my trees, which have been loaded. The air was so fresh and clean after the rain, and so soft and warm. After going to the bank, I walked over to Garden House to deliver some money and some new registrations. The yard was filled with the chatter of happy little voices. Play school was in session. Some very floury little girls appeared from the table in the court where they had been rolling out cookie dough. Emily was busying around in a bright pink smock and Eva was baking the cookies. Garden House has a cozy charm and an atmosphere of happy participation was in the air. I stayed long enough to absorb it and to rescue a beautiful four-month old baby left in a rather precarious situation on a table in one of those carrying seats. On the way back through the garden I rescued one of Emily’s climbing roses from the curious hands of two very small boys. The day was so lovely and everyone was so friendly. Passers by said “Good morning, beautiful day for a walk, isn’t it?” On returning to my own street, I stopped to chat with my next door neighbor, Tarnow, who was watering his lawn. He is eighty one and a bit deaf, but he still teaches and does gymnastics. He is an interesting and well educated Dane, whom I always enjoy

177 APPENDIX IV talking with. We compared notes on teaching and he expressed the desire to visit my classes, all of which are full and with waiting lists. I ate my very simple lunch on the terrace in my beautiful back yard. Then I picked apples for Josie and took them over to her. I was touched by her real delight. After that I stretched out on my very comfortable chaise on the terrace. The oleanders are still spectacular and roses are still budding, and chrysanthemums are just about to burst open in a glorious array of autumn colors. A slight breeze brought down a flurry of leaves from the poplars. The bird houses swung in the pine tree and I could see the black and white patches of my cat trying to find a footing near enough to reach it. No luck for her, I am glad to say. Some wild canaries splashed in the bird bath. I did some watering, in spite of the rain of yesterday, and found a beautiful purple iris, as glorious as an orchid which had mistaken the time of year. I swept the leaves off the terrace and tidied up the chairs and tables and went into the studio to set up for tomorrow’s class. Flo Hamilton came in with a couple of zucchinis for my dinner and hedge clippers for my hedge. I shared my over-supply of tomatoes with her. What a perfect day!

(June 20, 1981)

I have been living alone now for some years, but life is never dull. Besides my teaching activities I take a great interest in community affairs and particularly in people.

178

AFTERWORD: THE LATCHSTRING

By David Brandt-Erichsen

I moved into Elverhoy when I was six. My father died before I reached eight, and my mother died from strokes when I was 36. She donated Elverhoy to the community to be used as a museum, and it is now the Elverhøj Museum of History and Art (using the Danish spelling). Her funeral service was fittingly held in the beautiful back yard at Elverhoy which she had tended for the previous 30 years. The service was very well attended. Frustrated that the service was all about ritual and not about my mother, I made my way to the podium to say a few words:

When we were growing up, my mother used to tell us this story: In olden days, there was a beggar by the side of the road. A traveler walked by and asked the beggar “What are the people like in the next town?” The beggar responded by asking the traveler “What were the people like in the town you just came from?” The traveler said “Oh, they were mean and nasty and I couldn’t wait to get out of there and I hope things are better in the next town.” The beggar replied “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid you are going to find exactly the same kind of people in the next town.” Another traveler walked by and also asked the beggar “What are the people like in the next town?” The beggar again responded by asking the traveler “What were the people like in the town you just came from?” The second traveler said “Oh, they were absolutely wonderful, the best people you could find anywhere.” The beggar replied “Well, I have good news for you — you will find exactly the same kind of people in the next town.” Well, my mother was like the second traveler, and when she moved to Solvang, she found a lot of wonderful people here, and I’m glad that so many of you could be here today.

179 AFTERWORD

Growing up at Elverhoy was both ordinary and unique. It was ordinary in the sense that our family had strengths and weaknesses just like every family. It was unique in that Elverhoy itself is a work of art. The house was built by my father, and it was turned into a home by my mother. Elverhoy was both a reflection of its creators and an influence upon them. In this regard, one thing about Elverhoy stands out in my memory above all others. The front door is very unique, not just because it also is a beautiful work of art (see photo on page 130), but because of the unusual way that it opens and closes, unlike any other door that we are used to in this country. On the back of the door is a heavy metal latch. A heavy string of rawhide or leather attached to the latch can be poked through a small hole in the door. If this “latchstring” is pulled inside the result is a very secure lock. If the latchstring is out, it is in invitation to visitors that they are welcome. Whenever visitors came to Elverhoy, they simply pulled the latchstring, opened the door, and announced themselves. That’s always the way it was at Elverhoy. And I remember that the latchstring was always out at Elverhoy.

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© 2010 Elverhøj Museum of History & Art Solvang, California www.elverhoj.org