Real Lace (29 page)

Those who considered themselves the First Irish Families were determined to see to it that this sort of thing should not happen to them. Furthermore, the tenacity with which the Irish clung to the letter of their faith set them, they believed, above all other Catholics. To be an Irish Catholic (or, as some preferred, “Catholic Irish”) was in itself a mark of social and religious superiority. Second in importance to the Irish Catholics came the German Catholics, and after the Germans came the English, though there were not too many of them. Much further down the ladder came the French, Italian, Belgian, Spanish, Portuguese, and all other kinds of Catholics—simply because the Catholics of these countries were not as conscientious about their religion. In the North Central states, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and the Dakotas, where so many Scandinavian families settled, the Swedish and Norwegian Catholics are regarded as decidedly lower-class. This is particularly apparent in the pronounced rivalry between Minnesota's Twin Cities—Irish Catholic St. Paul and Scandinavian Minneapolis. F. Scott Fitzgerald (Irish Catholic) was always proud that his family had been from St. Paul, and not from socially inferior Minneapolis across the river.

It was considered “best” for an Irish Catholic to marry another Irish Catholic, but marriage to a German Catholic was acceptable and a number of such marriages took place. William F. Buckley, Sr.'s marriage to the former Aloise Steiner joined him with a German Catholic family from the south. Horace Flanigan's son John, whose sister Peggy married Murray McDonnell, married Carlota Busch, of the long-prominent Anheuser-Busch brewing family in St. Louis, and Robert F. Kennedy married Ethel Skakel, German Catholic. Uncle Tom Murray might have been aghast when his niece Jeanne eloped and was married—not by a priest but by a justice of the peace—to a divorced Protestant. But he would have
not been much happier if she had married an Italian Catholic, because the Italians were not “good Catholics.”

When Uncle Tom Murray instructed his family never to receive Jeanne Murray after her marriage to Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, it was simply because, to him, no marriage existed. Jeanne might call herself “Mrs. Vanderbilt,” but she was in fact living in sin. When young Bob Cuddihy married a divorced woman out of the Church, his sister Mary Jane MacGuire, who loved him more than any of her brothers, tearfully told him over the telephone that she could not invite him to a large family Thanksgiving gathering at her house in Rye. What kind of an example would it set for her children if, by including him, she appeared to approve of his sinful relationship? Bob, who had a famous temper, did not lose it, but merely said quietly, “I understand.”

Because of the purity of their faith, the wealthy Irish Catholics saw no reason why they should not be accepted by the highest of high Protestant society, particularly when they had no intention of going so far as to marry into it. And such social institutions as the
Social Register
seem to have agreed with them. Early in their rise to affluence, the little black and red book began listing such New York families as the Murrays, McDonnells, Cuddihys, and Graces, and, in San Francisco, the Mackays, Fairs, and Floods (though the first San Francisco Flood had been a bartender, and his wife a chambermaid). At the same time, there are very few Italian names in the
Social Registers
of American cities, and even fewer Jewish ones. But this may be because the Jewish upper crust has tended to regard non-Jewish society as frivolous and self-indulgent. Not so the Irish Catholics.

Perhaps another reason why the First Irish Families have cared so deeply about society is that, in the early days following their arrival in the United States, the Irish were so widely employed as servants in the households of the rich and well-placed. The Irish cook or parlor maid could observe and learn at firsthand the
manners, inflections, and tastes of her mistress, and the Irish chauffeur, gardener, or valet could observe his master's ways. The Irish were quick studies in these matters, and were determined that, if perhaps not they, then at least their children should acquire every attribute of the American upper classes. Even back home in Ireland, though they had not been able to rise, the poorest Irish tenant farmer and his wife could watch—and someday hope to imitate—the ways of the gentry and the manners of their English landlords. In Ireland today, the upper-class Irish accent (not a brogue) is considered the purest spoken English in the world. Hence Will Buckley's preoccupation with his children's diction (it had to be perfect), and Anna Murray McDonnell's daily inspection of her children's clothes before they set off to school. Hence James Francis McDonnell's motto: “Always go First Class.” The map of the world that hung in the McDonnell dining room was not so much to teach the children geography as it was a reminder that travel is a social tool. When one traveled, one stayed at the best hotels. The grand manner, the children learned, got one wherever one wanted to go. The H. Lester Cuddihys, scheduled to travel to Europe on a North German Lloyd liner, discovered on their day of departure that labor trouble at the pier would mean that they would not be permitted to board the ship. Mr. Cuddihy drew himself up and announced to the passenger agent, “I am Mr. North German Lloyd.” The party was ushered aboard. Not that some of the Irish families weren't naive when they traveled. Uncle Ennis McQuail, who was married to Auntie Katherine Murray, arrived in Paris for his first visit and exclaimed wonderingly, “Even the children here speak French!”

Clothes came from the best shops in Paris and London. If one bought antique furniture or silver, it had to be of the very best. China was Royal Crown Derby, Rockingham, or
old
Spode. There were George III tea sets and Meissen baskets, linen sheets with hand-embroidered monograms above insets of French lace.

Table manners had to be faultless. The McDonnells had the reputation of setting the most perfect table of all the families, even for a simple lunch. A McDonnell cousin, now married with children of her own, remembers vividly her first meal with the McDonnells as a child. She had been accustomed to taking meals in her family's third-floor nursery dining room, the food sent up on a dumb-waiter, but this was to be a formal lunch with grownups. The first course was grapefruit, and, after spooning out the sections, she picked up the grapefruit and squeezed it. A deathly silence fell across the length of gleaming mahogany as her relatives gazed in horror at what she was doing. To this day, she teaches her children, “It's all right to squeeze grapefruit when you are home, and to pick up a lamb chop with your fingers at the end—but
never
when you are out.”

Perfection was the constant rule. The Murray and McDonnell houses were decorated by McMillen because McMillen was the best society decorator in New York. John Murray Cuddihy's portrait was painted by Robert Henri because he was the best society portraitist around. Cleanliness was stressed almost as much as godliness. Houses were kept scrubbed and polished, and so were bodies. Uncle Joe Murray had a constant fear of germs, and at family birthday parties a separate cake was used for blowing out the candles; then a fresh one was brought in to eat. Uncle Joe dosed himself with drops and pills and remedies so often to ward off colds that when, one winter, he actually came down with pneumonia, one of his sisters commented dryly, “It's about time.”

The rather special social position that the First Irish Families have been able to achieve was demonstrated not long ago by an episode that occurred on the staff of that good gray lady of American publishing, the
New York Times
. The editor of the woman's and society pages, Charlotte Curtis, a graduate of Vassar, had written in a story, “The McDonnells are like the Kennedys. They are rich Irish Catholics, and there are lots of them.” These sentences
caught the eye of Theodore Bernstein, who, as editor of the “bullpen,” acts as the
Times'
s official watchdog and arbiter of taste, style, and decorum, and who is Jewish. Bernstein was offended by the sentences, and in his interoffice bulletin, “Winners & Sinners,” he cited them as an example of impropriety, and warned the staff:

Omit racial, religious, or national designations unless they have some relevance to the news or are part of the biographical aggregate, as in an obit or a “Man in the News.” Perhaps it is a tribute to the Irish that “Irish Catholic” does not seem offensive, but would you write “rich Russian Jews”?

A few days later, Bernstein received a memorandum from his superior, Clifton Daniel, the
Times
managing editor:

I agree with you that it is a tribute to the Irish that “Irish Catholic” does not seem offensive, and I also agree that “rich Russian Jew” might be offensive. But it seems to me that we can certainly say that a family is rich, that it is Russian, and that it is Jewish, if those things are relevant to the news. In fact, I myself have written about such families, and nobody ever questioned the relevance of doing so. But the trick is not to put these facts together in one bunch so that they have a cumulative pejorative aroma.

In a postscript Daniel added, “Since this note was dictated, we have published an obituary of Sean O'Casey, calling him a poor Irish Protestant.” In other words, “bunching” adjectives is vulgar when speaking or writing about Jews, but it is not in the case of the Irish.

Certainly, the McDonnells raised no objections to being called rich Irish Catholics. But what they do rather mind is the curious habit of society reporters on the
Times
and other newspapers of dwelling, to excess, on the
size
of their families. Reports of weddings, debuts, and other social activities of the rich Irish are given subtly different treatment in the press, it often seems. In covering a Protestant wedding, for example, it is customary to list the bride's and bridegroom's parents and perhaps grandparents—and,
if there is a distinguished ancestor further back than that, perhaps his name as well. In writing up Catholic weddings, however, society editors seem to enjoy listing not only the couple's direct antecedents, but their aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and cousins by the dozens. This has been going on for some time, as in this 1938 report from the old New York
World-Telegram
on social doings in Southampton:

“Look out for children” signs along the elm-shaded, oiled streets of Southampton might be the clew to the family life that characterizes this peaceful society resort.…

Junior activity could fill a social column, what with James F. MacDonald's [
sic
—editors of 1938 seem not yet to have learned the correct spelling of the McDonnell name] fourteen children (Mrs. MacDonald was Anna Murray), the seven children, including post debutantes Rosamund and Therese
[sic]
, of the Joseph Bradley Murray's; the eleven children of the Thomas E. Murray, Jr.'s; the H. Lester Cuddihys' attractive offspring—Mary Jane—who makes her debut this season; H. Lester, Jr. and John M. Cuddihy, to mention a few. Mrs. Cuddihy is the former Julia Murray. Pat and Jean [
sic
] are the daughters of Mrs. John F. Murray.…

As if the number of Murrays wasn't enough to tax a society editor, there are two Catherines—one, daughter of Mrs. John F. Murray, of Lighthouse Farm; the other, daughter of the James F. MacDonalds, of East Wickapogue Cottage.

Thomas E. Murray 3rd is the son of the Thomas E. Jr.'s, while Thomas E. Murray 2nd, is the son of Mrs. John F. Murray.

There are enough Murray children for a gymkhana all their own.… There are always Murray children taking part in these events at local and national horse shows.…

Reports like this, with their somewhat mocking tone, seem to be making the point that to have many children, which is part of being a good Catholic, is rather vulgar. And, though the above article never says so, the implication is clear enough: These are rich, Irish, baby-having Catholics.

Interestingly enough, in Catholic High Society in New York, at
least two of the grandest
grandes dames
have not been Irish. One was the late Mrs. Robert Louis Hoguet, a woman of imposing social importance in Catholic affairs, and the Hoguets today are still extremely prominent Mrs. Hoguet had a rather shrill speaking voice, and one day when she telephoned Mrs. H. Lester Cuddihy on some matter, Mrs. Cuddihy assumed that it was one of her friends trying to be funny, and she imitated the shrill voice back to her caller. When she realized that it
was
Louise Hoguet, she knew that she had committed a sizable social gaffe. The other lady, still very much around, is Mrs. Christopher Billopp Wyatt, the mother of actress Jane Wyatt. Mrs. Wyatt's full name—Euphemia Van Rensselaer Waddington Wyatt—is the longest name in the
Social Register
. Families like the Hoguets and the Wyatts may consider themselves a little “better” than the Irish families, but they do their best not to let their feelings show.

There are a number of Catholic social institutions in New York. One of these is the annual Alfred E. Smith Memorial Dinner, usually held at the Waldorf-Astoria. A glance at any one of the souvenir programs and seating plans for this event tells an interesting story, and reveals the nature of the Catholic hierarchy in the city. Among the thousands of guests seated in relative anonymity on the main floor of the ballroom at the 1945 event were, for example, people named De Arango, Jacobi, Algase, Calderazzo, Valente, Di Lorenzo, Costelli, Nigro, Bardia, La Rotunda, Mecca, Quaranta, and Borgia. Up on the dais, seated front and center, along with such dignitaries as John D. Rockefeller, Jr. and James V. Forrestal and Archbishop Spellman, were Mrs. James F. McDonnell, Philip A. Murray, Basil Harris (married to a Murray), Thomas E. Murray, Joseph P. Ryan, Joseph P. Kennedy, and John F. Kennedy. Perhaps because they were not Irish, Mr. and Mrs. Robert L. Hoguet were
not
placed on the dais.

Then there is New York's Gotham Ball, an annual event that evolved out of the Gotham Dances, first organized in 1912 for
subdebutantes and preparatory-school boys of “good” Catholic families. The Gotham Ball, usually held at the Plaza, is now New York's leading Catholic debutante affair. The Ball benefits the New York Foundling Hospital, which, though a Catholic charity, cares for abandoned and neglected infants of all religions and races until they can be placed in proper homes. A feature of the Ball has always been the formal presentation of the young ladies to the leading prelate of the New York Archdiocese, currently Terence Cardinal Cooke.