04/08/2006 May Day - Research (Part 2)

Yale Junior Promenade Committee 1936


“Yes, I went up with him twice --to the Pump and Slipper and the Junior prom” (page 88).

The ever helpful Manuscripts and Archives department at Yale informed me that there is no record of any “Pump and Slipper” dance (page 88), however there was a Junior Prom that was held at Yale until February of this year. The Junior Prom, called so because the Junior class was in charge of putting on the event, was a three-day event held once a year. By 1893 the faculty, worried that their students may not be studying enough moved the event from mid-February to within two weeks of the beginning of Spring term.

“Students spent so much money on the Prom that they eventually demanded reform. It was customary for the young Yale man to pay for his date and her chaperone's traveling expenses and hotel fees. The committee worked yearly to reduce students' expenses, at one point passing a resolution that men should send no flowers to their dates” (Hsu, ‘Girls’ on Campus Once a Year).


Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.
Hsu, William. “‘Girls’ on Campus Once a Year”. Yale Daily News. May 19, 2000.
“Winter Ball’s Demise Marks Cultural Shift.” Yale Daily News. February 17, 2006.
The picture is from, Yale University Manuscripts and Archives

04/08/2006 May Day - Sheffield Scientific School

“I thought perhaps you might be members of that lowly section of the university known as the Sheffield Scientific School” (page 96).

That quote just stuck out in the story. I wasn’t sure why Peter was making a derogative statement about this school. What is it about Sheffield that the Yale students dislike and how is the school connected to Yale?
Founded in 1851 as Yale Scientific school, Sheffield Scientific School was later renamed for Joseph E. Sheffield. In it’s time; Sheffield was fairly innovative by trying to integrate the applied sciences to the more classic arts that colleges were teaching at the time.

“Loomis Havemeyer stated: “During the second half of the nineteenth century Yale College and Sheffield Scientific School, separated by only a few streets, were two separate countries on the same planet” (Wikipedia).

The classical students thought that the applied science that the students at Sheffield were learning was worthless. When Dean states that he believes a “Sheff student” (page 119) stole Peter’s jacket, he is doing so because at the time science probably wasn’t the best field to study in a society that was obsessed with money. The whole idea is the very definition of ironic. Today every time I share my field of choice they always ask, “What are you going to do with that degree? Why not take computer science?”

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheffield_Scientific_School>
The picture is from - http://www.astro.yale.edu/dept/overview/images/scheffield.jpg

04/08/2006 May Day - Resarch (Part 1)

Yale Commencement 1916

One of the first questions I had when reading "May Day" was, when exactly did Sterrett and Dean graduate from Yale? According to the following quote it can be inferred that both Sterrett and Dean graduated three years before the story takes place.

“He thought, quite without amusement, that only three years before he had received a scattering vote in the senior elections at college for being the best-dressed man in his class” (page 63).

According to the Manuscripts and Archives Department at Yale the commencement date of the class of 1916 was held on June 21st. If there is any doubt to the year of the graduation Fitzgerald refers to their year of graduation again by referring to it as “the year before the war” (page 63).

Gamma Psi Fraternity

“Well, I imagine she's down for the Gamma Psi dance. Did you know we're having a Yale Gamma Psi dance to-night at Delmonico's” (page 64)?

The fraternity that is mentioned throughout “May Day”, Gamma Psi, doesn’t seem to have ever existed. I’m unclear whether this was a chapter or an actually fraternal organization. However, the Manuscripts and Archives Department of Yale sent me a paper outlining Yale’s Extracurricular Activities and Clubs from 1780-1960 (Havemeyer) and reading over it there is no mention of any Gamma Psi of any kind. From what I’ve found elsewhere there isn’t even a Gamma Psi fraternity in existence, I’m not sure if there ever was. I have found chapters of fraternities named Gamma Psi but no actually organization with the name. As far as Fitzgerald himself is concerned he was never a member of any fraternity (Bruccoli). Throughout his college career he was active in the Triangle Club, Tiger, and Lit; all of them literary clubs, however Fitzgerald did join the Cottage Eating Club (Bruccoli, 64) which served “in the absence of fraternities and secret societies” (Bruccoli, 64). The only thing I did find connecting Fitzgerald with a fraternity was an anecdote Bruccoli mentions,

“In February, Fitzgerald cooked up a locally famous hoax, with Gus Schurmeier, he attended a Psi U dance at the University of Minnesota dressed as a girl and shocked his dancing partners with a racy line (The joke supposedly ended when Fitzgerald tried to use the men’s room.)” (Bruccoli, 73).

Perhaps, this is the fraternity that Fitzgerald bases Gamma Psi off of. I doubt it though. The thing is probably just made up. I mean I was in a made up fraternity in eighth grade called Sigma Omega, so fake fraternities aren’t that difficult to imagine.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.

Bruccoli, Matthew J. Some Sort of Epic Grandeur, The Life of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Carroll and Graf. New York. 1993.

May Day 04/05/2006 - Edith's Walk

“Pulling her cloak close about her Edith darted across the Avenue. She started nervously as a solitary man passed her and said in a hoarse whisper --"Where bound, kid do?" She was reminded of a night in her childhood when she had walked around the block in her pajamas and a dog had howled at her from a mystery-big back yard” (page 103).


Edith’s journey to her brother’s office “across the street and just around the corner” (page 100) is fairly dry too. The way Fitzgerald is able to make it so visually appealing through words is a testament to his abilities as a writer, “Glancing down toward Forty-second Street she saw a commingled blur of lights from the all-night restaurants” (page 103). The neon lights dancing well into the morning that the young Fitzgerald so beautifully personifies are much more stunning than walking past them in real life. However, I think the reason that I keep running into this problem, not seeing what Fitzgerald saw, has to do with the fact that these buildings aren’t usually eighty-five years old. I never did find the sun when taking pictures at Columbus Circle and part of the reason was that the Time Warner building sat in my way, the other was my ignorance. The same goes for the “all-night restaurants” (page 103) on Forty-second Street that Edith saw. Instead of seeing what Edith saw, at Forty-second Street I was looking at the “commingled blur of lights” (page 103) from all the excessively gaudy advertisements for electronics, fashion, and alcohol.
As far as Delmonico’s goes I didn’t find a “heavy tomb-like building” (page 118) at or around Forty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue. The closet thing I found was the Brooks Brothers store and I deleted the photo. The “two-story, comparatively old building on Forty-fourth” (page 103) that houses the Trumpet was an easier find. I’ll be honest, as of now I don’t know if this building is the same building that Fitzgerald refers to but it is the closet thing I’ll find. I mean it’s a two-story building on Forty-fourth Street, how much closer can I get?

“Over on Sixth Avenue the elevated, a flare of fire, roared across the street between the glimmering parallels of light at the station and streaked along into the crisp dark. But at Forty-fourth Street it was very quiet” (page 103).

I believe Fitzgerald is referring to Els, but at this point I don’t know if any Els actually ever existed at Sixth Avenue. Of course, today there are no longer any elevated trains along Sixth Avenue or at least none that I saw. At this point I am unsure whether or not “May Day” is a beautiful lie. I’m sure some research would help but I have yet to make it to the New York Public Library.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.

May Day 04/05/2006 - Key and Rose

“About nine o'clock of the same night two human beings came out of a cheap restaurant in Sixth Avenue” (page 74).

Fitzgerald never says what cross-street Key and Rose exit at Sixth Avenue, so I put it at Forty-fourth Street for no other reason than because I can. I probably could have picked a better cross-street; nothing is really going on there. I didn’t find any “cheap restaurants” (page 74) either.


There is nothing really visually spectacular about the remainder of Key and Rose’s journey to Delmonico’s aside from stopping at “a shoddy tablecloth restaurant between Fifth Avenue and Broadway” (page 78). I am using the Flatiron Building[1] as a visual reference for their walk. Although, Fitzgerald never actually mentions the Flatiron there is a pretty good chance that the two soldiers strolled past the building while looking for Key’s brother George.

[1] Originally named the Fuller Building, the Flatiron Building was completed in 1902 by Daniel Burnham (New York Times).
Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.

May Day 04/05/2006 - Hotels (Part 2)

“Arm in arm they sallied out the door, and turning east in Forty-fourth Street set out for the Commodore” (page 122).

Commodore

Before I go on to the Commodore, there is an interesting article that I should make note of at The City Review. It goes into great detail about the “Terminal City” that once surrounded Grand Central Station.

“The 16-story Ritz Carlton, whose chef for a while was Escoffier, was the most luxurious, followed by the Biltmore, then the Roosevelt and finally the Commodore, which was the largest with about 2,000 rooms” (Horsley).

However, the majority of the piece focuses on the one remaining hotel from the “Terminal City” era the Roosevelt hotel.

I had trouble describing why I thought the Bank of America Plaza was so utterly tedious. It’s this mirror shit that really puts me off. Every other building has the same fucking thing. The Commodore, which is now the Grand Hyatt, is no exception.

"What ruined the ambiance was the rebuilding of the Commodore Hotel into the New York Grand Hyatt by Donald Trump and Hyatt Hotels. Its reflective-glass facade broke the teeth of the complex's smile" (Horsley).

I would kill for a metaphor like that. Not only does the guy come up with this great image of a cracked glass smile but he also rips on Donald Trump all within two sentences.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.
Horsley, Carter B. “The Roosevelt Hotel”. The Midtown Book. http://www.thecityreview.com/roose.html
The picture is from, http://www.rosshorwood.com/RailSiteLinksFiles/HotelCommodore.jpg

May Day 04/05/2006 - Hotels (Part 1)

“Five minutes later, arm in arm, they left the Commodore and made their way through a curious, staring crowd along Forty-second Street, and up Vanderbilt Avenue to the Biltmore” (page 122).


The Biltmore

The Biltmore was an upscale chain of hotels that tried to evoke the “Vanderbilt family’s Biltmore Estate”[1] name. Designed by the architectural firm of Warren and Wetmore, the red granite New York Biltmore was founded by John McEntee Bowman.[2]

“When demolition began on the Biltmore Hotel in 1981, representatives of the Landmarks Conservancy, a private group, sought a court order restraining further demolition until the city's Landmarks and Preservation Commission had a chance to determine whether the Biltmore - with its gilt clock, Palm Court, and ballroom-should be designated a landmark. The Commission declined to give the Biltmore landmark status, but the developers did settle with the conservancy for $500,000. Today, the former Biltmore serves as the Bank of America's eastern headquarters - without the ballroom or Palm Court” (http://www.nysun.com/article/7221).

Bank Of America Plaza is an incredibly banal building. The block that once housed the exquisite Biltmore has turned itself into such a dull, grey piece of shit but then again it is a bank.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.
The picture is from, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biltmore_Hotel
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biltmore_Hotel
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Biltmore_Hotel

May Day 04/05/2006 - Nothing Spectacular

“Fifty-third Street was a bus with a dark, bobbed-hair beauty atop; Fifty-second was a street cleaner who dodged, escaped, and sent up a yell of, "Look where you're aimin' ! " in a pained and grieved voice. At Fiftieth Street a group of men on a very white sidewalk in front of a very white building turned to stare after them, and shouted:
"Some party, boys!"
At Forty-ninth Street Peter turned to Dean. "Beautiful morning," he said gravely, squinting up his owlish eyes” (page 118).

Once I had exhausted the possibilities at Columbus Circle, I strolled down Broadway to get some shots of Peter and Dean’s cab ride. Nothing too spectacular. I was looking for cheap hotels too but the only thing I came by with was The Ameritania next to the Ed Sullivan Theatre and it just looked cheap. For all I know that place is expensive as shit and come to think of it Sterrett was in a small hotel off of Sixth Avenue. I wasn’t even in the neighborhood.

“In a bedroom of a small hotel just off Sixth Avenue Gordon Sterrett awoke with a pain in the back of his head and a sick throbbing in all his veins” (page 124).




Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.

May Day 04/05/2006 - Through the Looking Glass

“Dawn had come up in Columbus Circle, magical, breathless dawn” (Page 116).

A man with a missing tooth harassed me for money while I took photos with a borrowed camera. He needed to get a bus ticket back to upstate New York and insisted that while he told the story that I feel the gigantic bump on his head. It was a pretty good story and by good I mean it was an excellent piece of bullshittery. I never did find out where he got that nasty bump on his head though. However, I did find out that he made eighteen hundred dollars a week.
I tried getting some photos of Columbus Circle looking at the sunrise through windows at the Time Warner building however; it was never as spectacular as Fitzgerald described it,

“The great plate-glass front had turned to a deep creamy blue, the color of a Maxfield Parrish moonlight -- a blue that seemed to press close upon the pane as if to crowd its way into the restaurant” (page 116).

I never found the sun either.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.

May Day 04/04/2006 - The Trip Up

Just to get to the apartment was a story in and of itself. After stopping for lunch at a local sandwich shop in Delaware (The name of the establishment escapes me at the moment. Their special, as Joel so eloquently put it, was a turkey dinner on a roll.) the three of us continued on to New Jersey. I consider myself a fairly competent driver. I try to maintain my speed and refrain from rubbernecking, especially when a police officer has someone pulled to the side of the road. Not surprisingly this exact situation occurred while I was driving on the Turnpike. I mean I wouldn’t even be telling how great I am behind the wheel if it didn’t. I maintained my speed of seventy-five zooming past the cop and speeder but as I was passing the speeder began to pull away. I thought I was fucked for sure. The cop pulled up behind me with the lights flashing but for some reason I decided it would be best if I kept on zooming. Well, I wasn’t quite zooming at this point, not that seventy-five is that fast any ways. I slowed down to sixty-five. I needed to hear those sirens before I even thought about pulling over. I blame the whole thing on my ignorance. I just didn’t know what to do. I told this to Joel; however he didn’t suggest an alternative. Luckily, the next exit was a scant two miles away. I continued this until the next exit and for some reason the cop turned off his lights and went ahead and got off the Turnpike. Nothing came of it. What I keep on telling myself is that the cop figured that if I pulled over he’d ticket me, if I didn’t, no harm no foul. I continue to thank God for my ignorance. Once we got into the city my ignorance once again played a role in another close call. This time with the N.Y.P.D.
I had gotten the address of where I was staying mixed up and for some reason thought I had to cross the Queensboro Bridge to get to the apartment on Manhattan Island. Don’t Ask. In my infinite wisdom I got Steve, who had been drinking, to drive to Harlem. He was far from being drunk but there were empty beer cans littered across the back floor of my car. We were having a nice tour of the Harlem projects until Steve made a right hand turn on red. Unbeknown to Steve that was illegal. While waiting at the next light a car cut us off. We figured it was another dickhead from New York. We were half right. It was the narcotic officers of the N.Y.P.D. It was a New York City shakedown. These guys were satirizing themselves. Steve used a different word but I can’t spell it for the life of me. One of the officers looked as if he had been hit in the face one too many times, the other was just, I guess normal. We all got out of the car and patted down. Steve and Joel were carrying knives. The cops informed them that carrying knives was a class one misdemeanor. The haggard one made the astute observation that Steve’s knife was “gravity-assisted”. Fucking idiot.

“What are you’s guys lost?”
“Yeah, we’re lost.”
( We were nothing but a bunch of dumb shit tourists.)
“You’s guys knows you’re about seventy blocks from where you need to be?”
“Yeah, we’re lost.”
“So, you’s guys are lost?”
“Yeah, we’re lost.”
“Where are the guns? I knows you’s guys from Virginia like to carry guns.”
“No guns officer. We’re just lost.”
“Open the trunk.”

Once the officer’s saw all the shit I had back there they didn’t even bother searching it. They didn’t even care about the empty beer cans either. Frankly, that is what I was worried about the most but to Steve’s credit he was “more than confident in his sobriety”. He even offered to take a breathalyzer but it never came to that. They told us to get on the FDR and get the fuck out of Harlem.
On our way back to the Upper East Side some piece of shit cabbie hit my car. The asshole was reversing in the middle of the intersection. Fucking moron. I was able to get a good yell at him though which was nice (get some of that aggression out after being pulled by the narcs).
We finally got to my destination and found a parking spot right outside of the building .We couldn’t have gotten a better spot. The next day I got up at dawn and walked to Columbus Circle.

May Day 04/01/2006 - Harrisburg Country Club

"He wanted to see Edith - Edith whom he hadn't met since one romantic night at the Harrisburg Country Club just before he went to France" (page 72).


The Country Club of Harrisburg
Website- http://www.ccharrisburg.com/
Address- 401 Fishing Creek Valley Road
Harrisburg, PA 17112
The Country Club of Harrisburg was founded in 1896, so this is probably the same club mentioned in “May Day”. However, Gordon does refer to it as the Harrisburg Country Club but I think there’s a pretty good chance that these two are one and the same.


Driving up to the club house I passed this pitiful excuse for a pool. I hadn’t thought about it until much later but I swear I’ve been in bigger pools in people’s back yards. Next to the “starter” pool was a well placed mound of dirt. The parking lot was half full; an assortment of high end sedans. The club was generally depressed, depressed that the club that Fitzgerald had so generously described in May Day had been neglected by the very people that pay for it’s upkeep. Harrisburg Country Club has seen better days. The cloudy weather did not help either.
It was a lot smaller than I had imagined. The club only really consisted of one large building in dire need of a paint job, a pool house, and a golf course. The club was so spectacularly normal and dry. Despite some of the club looking like the neglected step child of an Elk lodge; it was situated on a beautiful piece of land. From the golf course I could see the Susquehanna.
The club was just so average. It's just when I read Fitzgerald, I always imagine the most decadent; beautiful ballrooms, stunning women, exquisite food, and dance floors that have been waxed once an hour for an entire day. The only thing that caught my eye was older men giving me the stink eye for taking pictures of their shitty clubhouse. I’m disappointed and amazed. My expectations were sorely disappointed but I continued to be amazed by Fitzgerald’s ability to describe even the biggest pieces of shit in such beautiful, jaw dropping detail.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. “May Day”. Tales of the Jazz Age. First Pine Street Books: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 2003.