Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind (18 page)

As the big day approached, Mitchell stayed busy, answering questions from reporters and responding to a steady stream of letters, much of it fan mail from bookstore employees and reviewers who had read advance copies. To Mitchell, it all seemed like a dream. She could not believe that the “old dog eared and dirty bunch of copy paper” that took up so much space in their small apartment and seemed to get worse with each writing was causing such a stir.
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“Every step along the way of this book has been so unexpected and exciting and everyone has been so kind that I feel like the old woman in the nursery rhyme who screamed, ‘Lawk a mercy on me! This is none of I,' ” she wrote of the experience. “I invited my husband to pinch me so often that he now refuses, saying the black and blue spots on a new author do not look well and may, justifiably, lead to talk.”
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Marsh wrote his mother on June 26 that they were getting a “tremendous kick” out of the excitement. The book's reception had exceeded their “fondest expectations” and surpassed “anything we might have dreamed of in the wildest of dreams.”
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But Mitchell did not place too much stock in all the enthusiasm. Having been a reporter covering the celebrity beat, she saw all the fuss as a passing craze that would fizzle in a month or two, which was something she looked forward to.
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Being from a reserved, Southern family, she had no affinity for a life in the spotlight. Those close to her helped keep the author's feet firmly planted on terra firma. She once told an interviewer that if her beloved housekeeper, Bessie Jordan, had sensed she was putting on airs, “she'd walk out that front door, crushed and broken, like Napoleon retreating from Moscow.”
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Mitchell's father also kept her grounded by commenting he would not have bothered to read the book had it not been written by his daughter.
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The author did not even get carried away by the promise of big money heading her way. Although she would be earning far more from the book than she ever thought possible, the Marshes decided not to make any major changes in their lifestyle. They did not want to move, nor did they let the constantly ringing telephone cow them into changing or unlisting their phone number. The book was being published under her maiden name, so they figured they were relatively safe because the directory listing appeared under the name John R. Marsh. According to her brother, Mitchell's approach was entirely reasonable and consistent with her common sense. “What better could she have done than to stay and be what she was—a person who had hit the jackpot and was enjoying it in a quiet way?”
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Whether Mitchell would be a celebrity, however, was not up to her. The public's whim and fancy would make that determination, and from the way things were shaping up, it appeared she would be cast into that realm regardless of her desires. It was a startling realization to Mitchell that she and her husband could not simply shut their door and be left alone. And, more distressing was that some people might take offense at their attempt to do so. She described their predicament to a friend in the press:

Being in the public eye is something neither of us care about but what good does it do to say it? No one believes a word of it or if they do believe it they get indignant. I have been caught between two equally distasteful positions, that of the girlishly shy creature who keeps protesting her lack of desire for the limelight but who only wants to be urged. . . . And that of a graceless, ungracious, blunt spoken ingrate who refuses to let people do her honor.
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It was an uncomfortable situation for a woman who had been reared to believe it was unseemly to draw attention to yourself and better to commit murder than be rude.

But the author was no pushover. Mitchell had already demonstrated a willingness to set limits, and as the release neared, her resolve showed no signs of weakening. The Sears lending library learned this lesson when its overeager manager, Ruth Hinman Carter, almost caused Mitchell to back out of its book signing. On June 20, Carter sent the author a copy of the “Sears Library News” bulletin promoting the event and told her to be ready to give a few remarks, suggesting that one more talk should not be any bother. Mitchell, whose every spare moment was dedicated to preparing remarks for the radio interview with Perkerson, had no time to come up with something for Sears. She called Carter immediately to explain the situation. Unable to reach her, she sent a letter making it clear that she would not make a speech. “I am frantic now thinking you misunderstood me for I know I said at least four times I couldn't make a talk. . . . If making a talk is the price of the tea, I'll just have to stay away.”
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Not even Cole could cajole Mitchell into embracing her newfound fame. When the editors of a trade publication,
The Retail Bookseller
, asked the author to write a short feature article for an upcoming issue, Cole thought it a good opportunity and something Mitchell should do to promote
Gone With the Wind
. She told her friend to accept the invitation. Cole acknowledged that Mitchell did not like publicity but encouraged the author to be reasonable about it and “damn glad” that people were interested in her and the book. It was a tribute to Mitchell's work, and Cole wanted her to be gracious.
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Mitchell appears to have ignored the plea.

Cole hit another roadblock when she asked Mitchell for permission to copy the letter about the horrors of the Macon speech. Latham had read the letter aloud at the spring sales conference to great effect. The staff thought her comments hilarious and wanted copies. Mitchell went ballistic at the thought of her personal correspondence being shared with strangers. She threatened never to write Cole or Latham another letter if they ever did such a thing again. Chalking it up to a case of beginner's nerves, Cole decided not to push the issue for the time being. She promised the salesmen to ask Mitchell again when things settled down for the new author.
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Mitchell had serious doubts she would get used to being an author anytime soon. A friend warned her, “I know you are plum wo' out being famous—but hold your horses!—think what's coming! You have to pay the price of fame!”
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Part of that price was the incessant worry of whether all the fuss would be merited. Word on the street had it that Mitchell's book was being compared favorably to Leo Tolstoy's
War and Peace
and William Makepeace Thackeray's
Vanity Fair
. Mitchell knew many of these stories emanated from Macmillan's sales team and was astounded by the word-ofmouth advertising “those fine, bare faced liars” had generated. She had no idea how she could live up to the expectations.
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As Marsh wrote on June 25, “Waiting for the book's birthday has been quite a strain on both of us. It will be out next Tuesday and then we will know the worst.”
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A moment of calm before the storm came for Mitchell on Sunday, June 28, when the Atlanta Historical Society hosted an afternoon reception in honor of the author and
Gone With the Wind
. She was proud to see “every pioneer family in town” represented, though she joked afterward that “they all looked a trifle alike!” The recognition of friends and acquaintances meant more to the new author than any of the accolades or hysteria surrounding her.
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She had written a book about the hometown she loved and was being celebrated in that community. That was what mattered most to her.

In less than a year, Mitchell had gone from unemployed reporter and housewife to the proud parent of an imminent bestseller. Her reference that spring to the book as her first and only child was an apt one. Since the contract's signing, she had spent approximately forty weeks bringing the manuscript to full term. Like any first-time mother, the thirty-five-year-old author was nervous. And, as with parenthood, no matter how stressful the pregnancy, the biggest adjustments were yet to come.

* The night before the library talk, Mitchell apparently gave a speech to the Studio Club, a local organization composed of Atlanta-area painters, writers, musicians, and actors. As a club member, she was set to appear on a program featuring three others who had “won distinction in their several fields,” according to a notice in the
Atlanta Georgian
on May 28, 1936. It is interesting to note that Mitchell frequently joked about her talks at the Macon writers and library clubs but assiduously avoided referring to the Studio Club event. Years later, Baugh said she felt the author would not have wanted her membership in the club publicized. The secretary did not speculate why.

* The handwriting on this note and on the May 11 letter to Chapter do not appear to match.

6
The Making of a Colossal
Upper-case Success

T
he final step in securing
Gone With the Wind
's future was protection of the copyright. In the days leading up to the book's release, Macmillan sent two copies of the June printing to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., along with an affidavit affirming that the novel had been produced in the United States. With that procedural technicality taken care of,
Gone With the Wind
was protected in the United States and officially released to the American public on June 30, 1936. In order to invoke “backdoor” Berne coverage, Macmillan Canada likewise released its edition that same day. When the book hit the market as scheduled in both countries, Macmillan believed its copyright was secure in most of the Western world.

Lois Cole wired Margaret Mitchell on release day, congratulating the author and reporting the remarkable news that shipments to stores had exceeded fifty thousand copies.
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The editor was thrilled with the book's success and proud of her own role in making it happen. Mitchell certainly recognized Cole's contributions, as indicated by her inscription in the Taylor family's copy of
Gone With the Wind
: “To Lois Cole, who fought by my side with great gallantry in the engagements of Dalton, Resaca, Peachtree Creek and the siege of Atlanta and who managed to get me to press on time.”*

June 30 was also the day major reviews began to appear in the press. Edwin Granberry of the
New York Sun
ranked Mitchell with Leo Tolstoy, Thomas Hardy, and Charles Dickens. Herschel Brickell in the
New York Post
raved about Mitchell's skill and promised her book would be a subject of discussion for months to come. But the day was not without its disappointments.
New York Times
columnist Ralph Thompson gave Mitchell a barely passing grade. He acknowledged her extensive research and lively writing but described the plot as unconvincing and somewhat ridiculous. He characterized her work as undisciplined and suggested the book would have been better if it was five hundred pages shorter.
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The review struck fear in the heart of Annie Laurie Williams, who had been promising her Hollywood contacts that the critics would erase any doubts the studios had about Mitchell's book. The agent began receiving consoling phone calls from her studio friends, who worried she had gone too far out on a limb for
Gone
With the Wind
.
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Cole eagerly tracked the press coverage, a process she likened to watching election returns.
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Things in Atlanta were not quite as rosy as Macmillan would have liked either. Although Mitchell had agreed to signings at three Atlanta department stores, only two had taken her up on the offer. A disagreement had arisen between Rich's and Davison-Paxon over where Mitchell should appear first, and, when Macmillan gave Davison-Paxon the first slot, Rich's canceled its event. Secretly relieved to have one less appearance to worry about, Mitchell reported for duty on the afternoon of June 30 to DavisonPaxon's Peachtree Street store for an autograph party in its sixth-floor tea room.
GWTW
lore holds that the event was a madhouse with eager fans falling upon Mitchell in a frenzy,
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but the evidence does not support this oft-told tale. Frank O'Gara, the store's merchandise manager, recalled that a generous crowd turned out and purchased about 250 books but made no mention of frantic fans.
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Luise Sims termed the event “poorly attended” and noted that, had Mitchell appeared a month later, the store would have been “swamped.”
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And no articles about the event ran in the press at a time when the local newspapers were covering Mitchell extensively. The second signing in the Sears lending library the following day also failed to garner any news coverage.

One negative review and two tame book signings did not dampen Macmillan's enthusiasm for
Gone With the Wind
. Richard Brett, Macmillan's business manager, demonstrated the utmost faith in Mitchell when, the day after the release, he ordered a second set of printing plates for the book so the firm could keep up with demand.
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That same day, his father, the senior George Brett, sent Mitchell a check for five thousand dollars in his capacity as chairman of the Macmillan board.
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Although she was not entitled to any royalty payments until that fall, he wanted to pay her early given how far sales had exceeded the firm's expectations. Macmillan also carried through with its record-breaking advertising campaign. Throughout the holiday weekend, the major papers proclaimed Macmillan's joy over
Gone
With the Wind
. Mitchell could not believe her eyes. “My God, woman!” she wrote to Cole. “How much advertising
are
you putting behind me? I quail every time I see another one! And are they grand.”
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