David Diamond Diary -- Cassette Tape 1 Side A - 30 minutes and 29 seconds Sullivan's Label: Tape 56a - DD [David Diamond] Diary 1, September 27, 1977 [MC 298-5-1-056a: Label] This and the next 2 items consist of David Diamond (1915-2005) reading selections from his diaries which concern Carson and Reeves McCullers. They were read for Margaret S. Sullivan by Diamond over several days beginning on September 27, 1977. Occasionally Sullivan will ask him a question or they will discuss some point. He is obviously scanning his handwritten diaries from the time he met the McCullers in 1941. He occasionally would skip a day and then read it out of order. The transcriber has put them in the correct chronological order. He stumbles frequently over his own handwriting and will comment on materials he is skipping. His voice is very soft and at times is almost inaudible, even with the volume at the maximum. There is also a fan clacking away in the background which contributes to the poor quality of the recording. Inaudible words are indicated by an ellipsis within brackets [. . .]. Unclear words or phrases are also enclosed in brackets with a question mark to indicate uncertainty. Diamond's reading is often interrupted by his comments on people and events mentioned in the diary. These asides to Sullivan are put in parentheses. These diaries may be among the 210 c.f. of the David Diamond Collection at the Library of Congress in Washington, DC. This tape covers Diamond's diary from May 22 through June 16, 1941 The tape opens with Margaret Sullivan saying, "Recorder, are you working? Testing, testing" immediately followed by David Diamond reading the first entry. Thursday, May 22, 1941. I have met Carson McCullers and I shake as I write. Katherine Ann was [mean?] to Carson last summer but also the stirring as I carried about my heart in Paris when I first read Flowering Judas. Now I have met this lovable child/woman whose loveliness hit me the moment I entered Muriel Rukeyser's apartment while some Mexican woman sang folk songs. (Diamond to Sullivan- I can't make out whether that's "loveliness" or "loneliness." Probably it's "loneliness.") I was high but I had had a bad scene here with John who was to go off soon, out of my life. I cannot write more of Carson. I gave her my ring (Diamond - What is that? I can't read it. Something) for her husband, whom I know I love. As we share the days together I will know by either violence or a lethargic boredom whether destiny was right in giving me Carson. Friday, May 23, 1941. Bad hangover after Muriel's party. Gave Carson the ring. With it went my adolescent suffering. It went to her with my deepest love, for this girl, this amazing child and woman is a part of me. I cannot erase her look of pleasure when I spoke to her, when I declared my feelings for her work. This is my new friend, my new beloved one. She has invited me to be part of tomorrow's (oh, this was the dreadful IMC concert). Saturday, May 24, 1941. Oh God! Dear God! What has happened to me between Carson and now Reeves her husband whom I know I shall love so terribly, physically. And Carson whose magnetism and strange sense of [beauty?] excites me, gnaws at me and I know it's [different?]. It is a great love. It will nourish me. Went to Carson's party at 6 for Betsy Brewer. Champaign in one hand, gin and tonic in the other, and a good mixture it is. No hangover. But something [. . .] to Jeffrey who got too drunk, slapped Reeves as he tried to help him home. Somehow Reeves' hands were bitten by this sot. I took Reeves to the corner joint for a drink. Washed his wounds, cleaned him up as best I could. Left them, for I could see Carson was expecting me (I think it is.). Drove to Cafe Society and (Diamond to Sullivan - That's something else entirely). Sunday, May 25, 1941. Maxine called me last night (No, that's about something else.) will try to work something out about the last [tempi?] of the ballet. Since last night I think only of Carson and Reeves and the way he looks. Took Carson and Reeves to dinner at the Rochambeau. We were very drunk. Carson [wandered?] into the bar and wanted a bottle of champagne. Carson at dinner, "Reeves, David is part of our family. We love each other." And how I love them both, Carson above all but she will not have me physically she said. It is the loveliness (now is that the loveliness or the loneliness. I cannot make it out. No, it is the loveliness) of a woman's woman that does not allow my passage free. Only Reeves, who is not homosexual, can love me. And he admitted it and he said for the first time he had felt a real physical attraction for a man, for me. We were together the whole night. Monday, May 26, 1941. I think only of Reeves and Carson. Reeves and I slept together all last night. After he left for work, I crawled into Carson's little bed and held this child, this so tender, so great artist in my arms, felt her crackling lungs as she coughed miserably. We had a fine breakfast. Left at two. Slept a bit, then went to see Mrs. [Astor?] (that's something else.) Tuesday, May 27, 1941. Dear God, thank you for bringing me to Reeves. My feelings and thoughts are so full of the love for this sweet, gentle lover. I think I shall never have the right to self-pity again for the neglect of a lover's attention. I have it now, and Carson is so fine about it all. Carson called after I returned from [E. Runcefield's?] film asking me to come down. I bought her some roses, took a cab down. The heat overpowering. There was this extraordinary woman/child. Reeves came home from work. We had some champagne. Drove up, left them off at a friend's for dinner. Carson so tired after, she went on home but Reeves came over with a drunken friend and insisted on holding hands with me all evening. After getting rid of this terrible friend, we went together to Kirk's (that was Kirk [Atkinson?]) at a party for Virgil together. We are so in love we even forgot where we were and were kissing all over the place, much to the annoyance of everybody. Went on home, but Reeves insisted on coming home, too. Wednesday, May 28, 1941. Such a nagging hangover. Reeves did not awake until 12. It is a fine morning to sleep together and consummate our feelings for each other and he does love me seriously, physically. We bathed and dressed and had lunch at [Cesar's?]. Tried to cash my film advance check but did not have sufficient identification. (Nothing more here.) Thursday, May 29, 1941. Very hot day, but I like the feel of perspiration and the sun's great energy. Worked on the film at the lab. Carson and Reeves came over at 5:30. We had some drinks. Carson played some Bach inventions beautifully. Her ear is fine and true and her love of music so great she fairly trembles [playing?] the chords. Took them to [Meakos?] for dinner then back to the apartment for music and talk. Reeves kissed me in front of Carson. Strange love we three feel for each other. They decided I'd sleep downtown. I did. I lay with Reeves quietly. This tenderness leaves me strong. [Sullivan to Diamond - now in between here, this period between July and November, what I was thinking to May 21 was when all this started, from now to the end of November . . . with lengthy inaudible conversation about dates.] Friday, May 30, 1941. When I am punished, I am punished bitterly. Today is Saturday. As I write of last night my heart pounds horribly like some rock against it. The day began fine. I awoke early without a hangover, Reeves laying next to me. He went to work. Carson and I had breakfast. I left, went home, slept til one then met Carson at the [Brovoids?] for lunch. Warm and sunny. I looked at the girl whom I loved so dearly and inside myself I asked God to protect her, her body, her career and keep the venomous parts away from her. Muriel Rukeyser and Eleanor Clark passed and we hailed them for brandy and coffee and Carson seemed so happy. But her hand shook so. At 5 we came to her apartment. Reeves was home. We had a few drinks, listened to the choral symphony, then went to Nino and Nela's for dinner in the open air. Katherine was hanging back, muttering lovely words (. . .). After dinner went back to the apartment. More drinks, then suddenly Reeves and Carson began quarreling like two beasts. Reeves, in his anger, put his fist through a pane in the door. Carson had terrifying hysterics. I controlled Reeves very well. My kisses he loved. More than once did he say I was tops in every way. Told me what a compact body I had, how wonderful I was. Trouble began when Carson accused him of running off with John Elder to Mexico while she was in Georgia. After the breaking of the pane, Carson's terrible hysteria wracked her body. After a terrible fit of coughing I could stand it no longer, left and went to sit in the street, breath the good spring air and hoped I would meet a divine stranger who would take me away with him, away from this pain. Carson came down after me, Reeves right after. He went across the street to Gonzalez' dump and then began my misery. One gin after the other. The mention of Katherine Anne put Carson into a furor. I called Katherine Anne. She seemed, through my stupor, to still love me much and made Carson speak to her. That worked but later, my misery grew worse. The idea of Carson's knowing of my love for Reeves, that we slept together, forced me to drink like a fool. Then came all the pent-up anguish inside of me, my feelings for Katherine Anne and her work and the wish to protect her from Carson's jealousy, forced me to accuse Carson of many hidden qualities. We finally came to the apartment where the dreadful horror began. I was frightfully drunk by now and knew the situation between Carson, Reeves and me would grow more complicated every hour we stayed together, so I tried to jump from the window. My whole wish for death seemed so right then, but Reeves hit me twice and knocked me out. Before that, Carson had hit me several times on my face and shoulders with fists like a boy's and with a young boy's strength. I understood that, even in my drunken misery. Were the three of us only very drunk because our miseries weren't? They were monsters that stood defiantly before us all and shouted, "Go on, you three officious fools! You make good nourishment for our avarice, our rancor! We'll show you sorrow!" I finally passed out. We all slept til 2 o'clock. I awoke miserable and hungover. Carson came and lay with me a while. Took a cab home and slept until 6. Maxine called about something about the ballet. I made vague promises. (. . .) I am not disgusted with myself, really. What Friday brought to me is the punishment which every artist deserves when the personal life at least demands violence. This is realism which fulfills the necessary loving demands of his work and friends. Mine is a strange and violent life. I ask only for lovers. I have them, but they negate my love for them out of their pride and their jealousies. This is all unfair I know. Someday I shall rehash it all. Sunday, June 1, 1941. This has been made clear to me today. I seem to be a real receptacle of individual's problems. [Diamond then comments on the chronology of the diary in an all but inaudible voice.] Monday, June 2, 1941. I have heard Katherine Ann and Carson speak of "holding themselves to account." I am sure it is Rilka au fond. I too must do so, and at once. This past week of turmoil has created a maelstrom within me (Diamond - That's the fight. That's what I read you yesterday. The terrible fight on May 30th. Sullivan-Is that in here? Diamond-OK. My fault. He then goes back on reads the skipped days and then resumes here again with Monday, June 2.) in which the sexual question has become terribly acute. Reeves shares my feelings, my kisses are an experience [not directly accepted?] yet I must share him with Carson who admits she does not want him sexually. Yet should I want to make it apparent that Reeves and I might become lovers and leave her, I would wound her love for me so much she would interpret it only as a betrayal. What should I do, oh God? A stinging letter from Katherine Anne about the drunken call of last Saturday. Tuesday, June 3, 1941. Carson, dearest sweet Carson who loves me so came at 4:30 to "buck me up." [Lindly?] arrived soon after (with instructions about the ballet and so on). Wednesday, June 4, 1941. (More about the film score I was working on.) Reeves called. "I've brought some calf's liver, scallions, rolls and some packages of [goodies?]." Reeves loves me, Carson loves me so much. Reeves and I got dinner together. Drinks later. Carson went to bed. Reeves and I lay in each other's arms, our kisses as pure as always, and the wind rattling, the windows shook, and the rain made purring noises on the panes, and I knew I was happy. Thursday, June 5, 1941. Carson, Reeves and I wake at 11 and have a good breakfast. (Something. Reeves. I can't read my own handwriting.) Something on and yet on love each other so. It still had been possible to reach Reeves last night. The greater fulfillment of my love for him. Saturday, June 7, 1941. Did not get much sleep. Miserable hangover today. Could not work. Carson called. Reeves did not come home, so her lad did not come home to her last night. Met her at Chino's for dinner. We pledged each other that we would marry if Reeves was not (something) involved. Sunday, June 8, 1941. It is strange that night as I sat hoping that Reeves would phone and he did not, I flipped the Bible open and read "I will arise and go about the city in the streets and the broad ways and I will seek him whom my soul so loveth." This has been a bad, bitter, lonely day. My bowels have groaned. Carson called. Reeves was to have phoned. He is passing through a grave crisis with Carson, I am sure. And this film, this dreadful boring task - if I could only write any notes down. The [. . .] is, I cannot stand the horror of slacking a job. (Diamond - I hope this is registering. It would be a shame if it's not. Sullivan - it is.) Monday, June 9, 1941. No end to this strange, insidious strain. I tried so hard to keep away from further involvement and each step brings new ones, and each more empty than the last. [ All useless?]. Nightmare of a hemorrhage of the eye this morning and particularly after sex with Reeves[?]. Morning brought a letter, rather cruel. A hot bath. My stomach feels drowsy. Slept until Carson woke me to say she was off to the country. Reeves called and will dine with me Tuesday. Dinner at Meakos. Tuesday, June 10, 1941. Worked as much as I could on orchestration of the film. God, what a difficult movie this is. Carson returned from the country sooner than I had expected. She came straight to the apartment. We waited for Reeves who had a dinner date with me, but he was very late. We had him meet us at Chinos. Depressing from the moment we walked in to find Muriel, Eleanor, and a gang of writers collected at the bar. We had so hoped to be alone, the three of us. Reeves very upset about no job. Got depressed more and more as I saw the impossible state that existed between Reeves and Carson. Carson very tired. We saw her home. Reeves and I walked to Artie's for a while then we came to reach Carson and Reeves asked me if I knew he loved me. I could not answer. I feel such a hopeless thing is going on so long as Carson is mixed up in it . Dinner at Meakos. Then we took Reeves to the Cafe de la Paix. [Processor's note - there is a minute or more of inaudible back-and-forth between Diamond and Sullivan] Wednesday, June 11, 1941. [Processor -- very garbled sentence that sounds like "Like these pole cats, I have come drunk every day" but I doubt that is correct.]. Reeves and I went to the Saison d'Or last night after spending a wonderful hour of kisses and sex in possession of our love. What will it all mean? Drank too much as usual. (Long mostly inaudible discussion about restaurants and other things with Sullivan.) Reeves met us after. Bad hangover all day. I left Reeves sleeping. Thursday, June 12, 1941. It was fine getting to bed early last night and having Reeves stay with me here. He kisses you so tenderly and I just find it perfect for me these days. I simply swooned off to sleep. But today, after having worked all day orchestrating, all day, my bowels dropping as they always do, my stomach in an uproar, when I had hoped to see Reeves tonight, as he had promised me, he called and said he must go away alone and be alone, that he is not [. . .], that he is miserable, that he is confused. I am in for a hopeless situation unless I cut this out at once. If Reeves loves me as he says, then why does he not trust mine seriously? Why? I cannot keep hanging this way. What shall I do? God! What shall I do? What does Reeves want of me? Carson is honest and clear and good. But Reeves? What? Friday, June 13, 1941. Reeves terribly drunk when I came up to see Carson. He broke a glass square on his head. (Diamond to Sullivan - He could certainly be violent.) Saturday, June 14, 1941. Walked for over an hour in the rain last night. It is good for me. What shall I do about Reeves? He's stuck with Carson. Just getting (something) drunk and cracking glasses on his skull, putting his fist through windows for shock. His personal unhappiness is so intensified by Carson's independence that it is torture for me to set (something) on (something) watch, hating himself. Mark (I think this is Mark [Lipstein?] at the Session's yesterday. He thought Carson and Reeves were both "users." Emotionally perhaps, yes. But am I not using them to serve my own loneliness? Sunday, June 15, 1941. Saw Carson off to Yaddo. It was horrible. The poor kid swollen with hives and shaking, shaking. She must get well in Yaddo. Reeves spent the whole day with me. We saw a revival of Garbo's Streets of Sorrow. She was lovely then, but not too much of an actress. Mark has begun to act strangely since I have been with Reeves. (Aside to Sullivan - Mark Lipstein was very astute. He felt that Reeves might fulfill the things I wanted but that he was against me at the very end. He pretty much predicted what would happen.) After we left Lindsey's he asked us to come up to his place for a drink. He himself did not drink, but Reeves and I had far too much. Trouble began with talk of the Communist Party. Mark's one man show began. He angered Reeves [. . .] Afterwards he asked that we sleep a trois. I refused. Bad talk. Bad argument. Bad everything. Mark really revolting. Reeves and I left in disgust with Mark's frustrated intellectuality, his sexual haziness. Reeves' is good and we love each other very much. [. . . ] Perfect consummation always. I have faith in life and perfect love, but what can I do about this misery? I don't understand it. Reeves is resting now on the sofa as I write. I think of Carson and hope for her and thank God, quickly, for Reeves. Monday, June 16, 1941. Suffered a small hangover from last night. Reeves at least can sleep on and on. I try and try but only long, melodic lines of strange words and (. . .) goes through my bean and nightmares. But it is good to have Reeves' love. He is the person, if anyone, who has really said to me, "I love you." And his kisses are so good, so tender but he is so unhappy. His longing for a steady job, another home. How can I help? And there is Carson and the relationship of ours, so strange. [. . . ] [end of tape] David Diamond Diary -- Cassette Tape 1 - Side B - 30 minutes and 28 seconds Sullivan's Label: 56b - DD [David Diamond] Diary 2, September 27, 1977 [MC 298-5-1-056b-Label] June 27, 1941 through September 1 [Labor Day], 1941 More of the diary, focusing on Diamond's physical relationship with Reeves. At one point, about 25 minutes in to the tape, he stops and says to Margaret Sullivan, "The rest is just everything leading to that scene at the bridge. This could go hours. I really don't see how this could be of value to you, all this about my personal relationship with Reeves".