Garland in His Own Time: A Biographical Chronicle of His Life, Drawn from Recollections, Interviews, and Memoirs by Family, Friends, and Associates

[Letter about Garland and His Brother, 1950]

[192] X [Letter about Garland and His Brother, 1950] Alice Field Garland Alice Field Garland (1882–?) was the second wife of Franklin Garland. I have retained her idiosyncrasies in grammar and punctuation but have replaced her affinity for the dash with commas and periods. Alice Field Garland to Eldon Hill, 11 May 1950 . . . I wish I could tell you something you have not already been told of Hamlin, the most outstanding thing I seen in him was his great love for his own. I think it would be hard to find two brothers so bound together with the bonds of love as these two men. And in some ways they are quite alike. They both detested all things common—all things coarse. They hated to see women smoke, drink, or swear. Slacks, shorts were most disgusting. They always spoke of girls wearing shorts as “diapers” to the amusement of my sister-in-law and myself. I suppose my husband wrote you of their child-hood and of the time they kept the house in New York. My husband was “Cook.” They entertained Eugene Field (who was my distant cousin), Stephen Crane and many others who later became famous. I think they were very happy. Hamlin was a different type to my husband. There was times when he was moody and unhappy—he didn’t talk of certain things that was close to his heart. It was hard to get him to say anything about “Alice” his boyhood sweetheart—and after he was gone we could never find out her last name. She was a bankers daughter and that is all we could find. He said very little about her to his wife, but I think he loved this girl very tenderly, and her death affected his life.1 There was another thing we tried to find out but failed—we found a copy of a letter he wrote one of the Howells, in which he said that he was getting his final business in shape—that he had his warning. Just what this warn- [193] ing was no one knew—he did not tell his wife, but what ever it was it was quite correct for he only lived a short time after that—he seemed well—but he often spoke of passing on, and he said he was ready.2 The last time I saw him we were over there for lunch. After we had eaten he said we would go see the news reel. When it was over he told his Sec. to drive us to the Park (he could never drive) which she did. At a certain point he told her to stop. It was a most beautiful afternoon, the grass looked like green velvet, the birds were singing in the trees, flowers were everywhere. He looked over this scene like he was looking at a strange place he had never seen before, then he said “it’s very beautiful,” it looks like England. He sighed deeply and said drive home. When we got there it was rather late so we told him we would not go in, as there were lots of steps and we were rather tired [so] we thanked him. He said come again soon. As he went through the gate he looked back and waved us a salute. The breeze lifted his heavy white hair. I never saw him again [for] he had a stroke the next night. I remembered his upraised hand, his lovely smile—I wanted to keep that memory. My husband looked in on him once after he was stricken, but that is all. My husband was a different type. He was more McClintock, he was more like his Mother who laughed and sang her way through life. He didn’t write, but he built character [and] he was sent for when there was trouble. He talked to wayward children, he joined broken homes. While he never had money like H. he helped all who called on him regardless of creed or color. When I was a bride he told me to feed who ever came to the door. He gave freely of his talent for benefits. He had staged pageants and plays to help Churches of [all] kinds and the American Legion. He sang nicely and enjoyed singing—he was the most graceful dancer—he could entertain anyone anywhere, any length of time without the least effort. However he never seemed to care for praise or honor—he...