giftofthemagi - The Monday Morning Memo

Henry was a drinker, a free spirit and a notorious procrastinator, but so famous that all was tolerated. He had promised a Christmas story to the New York Sunday World, for which they had set aside the center of the magazine section.

When no story arrived, the newspaper’s desperate illustrator was sent to Henry’s apartment to beg for some hint of what to do. Henry told him to draw a poorly furnished room: “…On the bed, a man and a girl are sitting side by side. They are talking about Christmas. The man has a watch fob in his hand. He is playing with it while he is thinking. The girl’s principal feature is the long beautiful hair that is hanging down her back. That’s all I can think of for now….”

The illustrations were done and sent to press, but still no story. More begging messengers were sent to Henry’s apartment, to be told that he was “empty as a brass drum.” At the eleventh hour and facing disaster — a magazine with blank center pages, except for some mysterious drawings — the editor sent a final plea. Henry poured scotches for the reporter who delivered it, and for himself: “I’ve thought of an idea but I need a living model. I’m going to write a story about you and your wife…. I think that you two are the kind who would make sacrifices for each other. Now stay on the sofa and don’t interrupt.” Several drinks and three hours later, Henry finished “The Gift of the Magi,” and the editor had it set in type by evening.

From O. Henry: The Legendary Life of William S. Porter, by Richard O’Connor

“Finally when we were eating the cherry tart and had one last carafe of wine, he said, “You know I never slept with anyone except Zelda.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I thought I had told you.”

“No, you told me a lot of things but not that.”

“That is what I have to ask you about.”

“Good. Go on.”

Zelda said that the way I was built I could never make any woman happy and that was what upset her originally. She said it was a matter of measurements. I have never felt the same since she said that and I have to know truly.”

“Come out to the office,” I said.

“Where is the office?”

“Le water,” I said.

We came back into the room and sat down at the table.

“You’re perfectly fine,” I said. “You are O.K. There’s nothing wrong with you. You look at yourself from above and you look foreshortened. Go over to the Louvre and look at the people in the statues and then go home and look at yourself in the mirror in profile.

“Those statues may not be accurate.”

“They are pretty good. Most people would settle for them.”

“But why would she say it?”

“To put you out of business. That’s the oldest way of putting people out of business in the world. Scott, you asked me to tell you the truth and I can tell you a lot more but this is the absolute truth and all you need. You could have gone to see a doctor.”

“I didn’t want to. I wanted you to tell me truly.”

“Now do you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Come on over to the Louvre,” I said. “It’s just down the street and across the river.”

We went over to the Louvre and he looked at the statues but still he was doubtful about himself.

“It is not basically a question of the size in repose,” I said. “It is the size that it becomes. It is also a question of angle.”

I explained to him about using a pillow and a few other things that might be useful for him to know.

“There is one girl,” he said, “who has been very nice to me, but after what Zelda said –”

“Forget what Zelda said,” I told him. “Zelda is crazy. There’s nothing wrong with you. Just have confidence and do what the girl wants. Zelda just wants to destroy you.”

“You don’t know anything about Zelda.”

“All right,” I said. “Let it go at that. But you came to lunch to ask me a question and I’ve tried to give you an honest answer.”

But still he was doubtful.

“

- F. Scott Fitzgerald to Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway, p. 126