Nana Howard: A Gay Triptych

By Robert Hurst

A saga of three generations of a wealthy Main Line Family rent by religious strife and sexuality. The whole orchestrated by a resourceful and at times vengeful matriarch. A must read for all you with bossy Nanas and secrets.

Robert Hurst's last novel was Audley's End

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796098310

Book preview

Chapter I

April 1961

The black Cadillac Fleetwood drove slowly up the drive, past the stone house, and parked in front of the three-car garage. An old battered Ford Coupe sat running by the side entrance. Thomas Howard hoisted his tall, lanky frame out of the Cadillac, gathering his leather briefcase from the back seat, and walked toward the coupe. He looked around with some satisfaction at his home. The weeping figs had started to bloom; and although a slight chill lingered in the air, winter had clearly ended. This spring was the second they had lived in this house, a sign that he had achieved his most significant goals. The coupe in his opinion ruined the view. Just then, a black woman dressed in a maid’s uniform exited the side door and walked toward the Ford.

Good evening, Mista Howard, she said in a clearly obsequious tone.

Good evening, Susie, he said, a hint of criticism in his voice, although not stridency. Going home a bit early?

My husband’s new night job starts earlier than his last one. But I’m goin’ to make arrangements for someone else to drive me home. Don’t you worry.

Howard just smiled at her and walked into his house. He placed his briefcase in his study off the entrance hall and entered the living room. His wife, meticulously dressed in a pale green Chanel jacket and skirt, sat on the floral sofa with a drink in her hand. She sat upright, almost rigidly, with her legs crossed at the ankles, knees tightly locked, her black heels slightly extended, an appropriate bearing she had learned at Miss Porters. Her husband briefly kissed her.

What about dinner, Frances? he asked in an unmistakably irritated tone.

Now don’t worry. Susie said she would sort this out in a day or so. She can’t help it if her husband got reassigned. Anyhow, dinner is ready, and if you look, there is a pitcher of martinis on the cart. You know how loyal Susie has always been. Her husband poured his martini in a crystal glass and sat across from his wife, trying to forget the pressures of the day.

Frances Howard had probably only known two black persons directly in her entire life. Clearly, she shared all the prejudices of her peers about those unfamiliar and threatening black people. That is, except for Susie and Marie, her two maids. Like everyone else on the Main Line, Frances possessed her share of hatreds. Catholics hated Protestants and Jews. Protestants hated Catholic and Jews. They all hated blacks. Rarely overtly expressed, it was always understood. Probably most of these people only vaguely acknowledged these feelings, and they never uttered or thought the word hate. Frances differed somewhat. Although a Catholic, she hated Protestants, Jews, and most other Catholics: Irish, Italian, and Polish. What did you expect? They’re Italians. She firmly asserted, however, that she was not at all bigoted like so many of her Main Line neighbors. The Howards had come from a long line of prominent English Catholics. They descended directly from the Dukes of Norfolk, two of whom had been executed for their religion. Very proud of his lineage, Thomas even had Tiffany engrave a signet ring with the Howard coat of arms, which he always sported. Although Frances herself was not a Howard, she had married into the family and acquired all the airs and prejudices of the family. And her own pedigree rivaled that of her husband’s.

Limits did exist to Frances’s prejudices. She loved having the roast beef, coleslaw, and Russian dressing sandwich at Hymie’s in Merion Station. She could never finish it though and so hid the leftover at the back of the refrigerator for the next day. Thomas had much stronger views about Jews; accordingly, she kept him in the dark about her secret adventures. To make matters worse, she often met for lunch a Jewish friend she had made, a fellow axillary board member of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. At times, Frances imagined herself a person of mystery.

Thomas poured another drink and walked through the French doors onto the terrace. He had neither removed his suit jacket nor loosened his tie. He would remain formally attired in his business clothes until he retired for the night as if he expected a client might knock on his front door, and he needed to appear suitably sartorial. Again, he looked around his domain with unmitigated pride. A curved stone balustrade separated the terrace from the long stretch of lawn; an iron fence then protected the estate from Spring Mill Road. His legal practice had afforded him the means to enjoy these surrounding; he wore them regally. The night air, however, had become decidedly chillier, driving him indoors. Frances could hear her husband approaching the living room by the authoritative sound of his footsteps on the oak floor interspersed by quiet when he walked on the oriental carpets.

Frances remained seated in her accustomed spot when he entered the room again. Where is Charlotte? Thomas inquired.

She’s in her room, completing a writing assignment. She’ll be down for dinner. I heard from Ann today. Ann was completing her freshman year at Gwynedd Mercy. She has decided to major in English. She loves the introductory course she’s taking and resolved that is what she wants to do. That did not seem to faze Thomas since he did not regard his daughters’ educational choices as particularly important, just as long as they made good marriages. Ann, at first, aspired to become a nurse. For that reason, she selected Gwynedd Mercy over Rosemont College. She wanted to be useful; her mother wanted her to have a good marriage, so her first choice of a major did seem a hindrance. Ann soon discovered her aptitude did not run in the sciences, that she flourished in liberal arts courses. She decided to be useful in some other way. To Thomas, his son’s prospects continued the overriding concern that demanded scrupulous attention. His wife could look after his daughters.

Thomas opened the Bulletin, scanning the headlines. Kennedy had gathered together a cabinet filled with exceptionally bright men. Thomas was pleased by what he saw as the direction of the new government. The Howards had both been very enthusiastic about the possibility of the first Catholic president, and Thomas had donated generously. The failure to receive an invitation to the inaugural irritated him; he even regarded it as an affront.

Looking over the top of the paper, he asked, Have you heard from Franklin?

Oh yes, I forgot to mention. He’s taking a course on constitutional history this semester. He thought it might help with his law school applications.

Thomas was not at all sure what might help with Franklin. Of his three children, Franklin remained the big disappointment. They had invested large sums to put him through private school and had pulled lots of strings to get him accepted at Princeton. While Thomas had his sights on Harvard or Yale for his son’s law degree, in all probability, he would have to pull strings again just to get Franklin into Penn. Even that seemed remote. Although he bore the first name of the Howards’ beloved president, he certainly lacked the hoped-for qualities of the thirty-second president. His father knew for certain that if his Franklin contracted polio, he would never have risen out of his bed. Franklin had none of the family drive; he seemed to take it for granted that his family’s connections would get him through. He certainly did not possess the academic abilities of his two sisters, a fact his father regarded as a mistake of nature. Franklin also had a stubborn streak, although in many ways, he inherited that from his father. For that reason, they often butted heads.

He says he plans to come home next weekend. I think even though he’s a junior, he still gets homesick.

Thomas just huffed in annoyance.

John and Helen wanted to meet us at the Cricket Club Saturday. We have nothing else on, so I agreed. I enjoy their company. The Howards had been probably the first Catholic family to be invited to join the Merion Cricket Club. Thomas’s law practice had become so successful that the membership committee had difficulty ignoring his friends’ urgings for admission. Moreover, Philadelphia Catholics had gained a good deal of respectability. After all, Grace Kelly was now a princess; and her brother had won fame in sculling competitions, even though their father had a somewhat tarnished reputation in Philadelphia politics, at least according to the Republicans. Finally, the nation now had its first Catholic president. Nevertheless, Frances did hear one member mutter to another, Next, they’ll be letting Jews and queers into the club.

Frances went into the kitchen to put together the dinner that Susie had so carefully prepared. Thomas continued to read his paper until interrupted by his daughter Charlotte.

Hi, Pops! she exclaimed. Charlotte, clearly the most precocious of his children, was bright, beautiful, and energetic. Her father adored her, and she returned the compliment.

How goes it, precious? Thomas rarely abandoned the formal unless conversing with his youngest.

I have this research paper due next week on how accurate Shakespeare’s history plays are. I’m supposed to look at the plays and then research what was actually happening at the time. What a bore!

It sounds fascinating to me. What say I take you to the Bryn Mawr library and we can get some books out? It will be like detective work.

Well, I guess that might be fun. Charlotte could persuade her father to do just about anything, just the opposite of Franklin’s relationship with his father. She had so easily accomplished her goal: receiving his help to finish her homework.

The Howards maintained dinner as a formal affair. They ate in the dining room with all the appropriate place settings, not the ones used for company but the everyday crystal and china. Once at the shore house, young Franklin came to the dinner table barefoot, dressed in a tie shirt and bathing suit. His mother refused to serve him dinner until he returned in trousers and a collared shirt. Thomas sat at the head of the table in much the same way he sat at the top of the conference table at his office. When the entire family assembled, he would circumnavigate the table, interrogating each one in turn. With only Charlotte and his wife present, he assumed a less ceremonial air. In fact, Frances actually started the conversation.

I attended the board meeting today at the art museum. The board to which she referred was not the principle board peopled exclusively with important Philadelphia men, but a subsidiary board akin to the women’s auxiliary. We have been asked to make arrangements to receive a major donation of impressionist art. I think there is at least one Monet and a Van Gogh. We’re arranging a large reception to announce the gift. Although self-taught, Frances did know a great deal about art; given the chance, she could have taught an introductory course on art history. She passed this knowledge and an appreciation of art to her children. Thomas knew instantly that he had to stroke another check. Yet he did not mind, since it certainly made his wife happy and enhanced her sense of being a responsible citizen, even though the women’s committee had no real influence other than to bring in those checks their husbands signed. Later, Thomas would write some very large checks for original works of art that would grace their home.

Mummy, Charlotte interjected, we haven’t been to the museum in ages. Could we go this weekend? I love to see the Rubens painting again. Charlotte, of all the children, was the most enthusiastic about art. Unfortunately, the painting Charlotte adored the most, Frances thought hideous: Ruben’s ghastly Prometheus Bound. She much preferred the Jan Steen that hung across from it. So while Charlotte gazed in wonder at the bird pecking out Prometheus’s liver, Frances would gladly watch the drunks looking out the window in the Steen painting.

I don’t know why not. That would be fun, her mother replied. She happily encouraged any of her children’s cultural interests.

Don’t forget our dinner engagement Saturday evening. Thomas always seemed to make a cautionary remark.

Oh, we’ll be back in plenty of time. We’ll go in the morning and perhaps have lunch at the restaurant. Then back by three. Looking around the dining room for any objections, she said, It’s settled then.

Charlotte talked a little about her upcoming school project until she realized that she had also planned to go to the library with her father. We can do that after Mass on Sunday, he assured her. Thomas himself never discussed his own work. He strived meticulously to separate the realm of office and the domain of home; as was often the case he would engage with his family at dinner and then disappear into his study, the door shut, to review some briefs before retiring for the night. The other family members knew not to disturb him, even his wife.

Frances cleared the table and set the dirty dishes in the sink for Susie to clean in the morning. She then resumed her book, while Charlotte returned to her room to finish her homework. The house was still. No television or radio disturbed the peace, although sometimes Frances would put on a record—Brahms was her favorite—and play it softly. Even when the children were quite young, the house reverberated with quiet.

Thomas read over the briefs and jotted down a few notes. He then leaned back in his chair and looked with satisfaction around him. His study was beautifully appointed with a large collection of fine books lining the shelves. One should note, however, that Frances read most of them and not her husband. He regarded the view of the expansive lawn outside his window and proudly thought that of all the mansions along Spring Mill Road, his was probably the largest. Things had not always been this comfortable. His own father had lost just about everything in the stock market crash, and they had been forced to sell their home in Ardmore and move into a rather squalid row house in Narberth. At that time, Thomas had sworn that he would return triumphantly to respectability, and he did, although with a good deal of government support. After he had attended Penn State, majoring in political science, he had fought in the war and received through the GI Bill tuition money to attend law school at Penn, focusing primarily on real estate law. In a remarkable short time, he had made his fortune and moved to Villanova. He never forgot, though, how he had been able to achieve this success. He remained committed to the Democratic Party unlike others of his peers who once they had made some money deserted to the Republicans. Just like he penned checks for the art museum when Frances asked, he also contributed rather generously to the Democrats, something that would have horrified most of his neighbors.

Fortuna also played a significant role in Thomas’s success. Once he graduated from Penn, he received an offer at Rydley-Smith LLC on the recommendation of his tax professor. Thomas accepted the position gratefully; he often feared after law school he would have to survive as an ambulance chaser. He had been there less than a year, undertaking a variety of legal responsibilities none of which seemed particularly challenging, when his former real estate professor called him about a possible assignment. Jack Kelly wanted to hire a young man who had majored in real estate law and was also a Catholic. His former professor had recommended Thomas, and the partners at Rydley-Smith were more than happy to gain Kelly’s business. From there, Thomas received jobs from possibly the most powerful institution in Philadelphia: the Catholic Archdiocese. This, in turn, brought further lucrative work. Thomas’s exertions for the Catholic Church brought him money and recognition. Fortunately, perhaps, he died before his business with the church would have focused primarily on sexual assaults.

By this point in his life, Thomas had been married for twelve years and had two children. He met Frances Griffith at Lower Merion High School, and they dated steadily. She lived in Ardmore, and her parents took a liking to him, even though he did not live in a respectable neighborhood. Thomas worked two years before going to college, and during that time, they married. Thomas applied to Penn State and received a scholarship. Their son Franklin proudly named after the former president, appeared after his sophomore year. Both Ann and Charlotte were born following short leaves that Thomas had from the army. All this time, Frances’s family had provided a good deal of financial support. They truly like Thomas, and Mr. Griffith foresaw a brilliant career for the young man. Thomas’s later connection with Kelly clearly confirmed his confidence.

That association brought other opportunities. Jack Kelly owned a low Spanish-style house in Ocean City. He would subsequently build houses for his two children across Wesley Avenue. But in 1954, he told his favorite real estate lawyer that a house was being put on the market a few blocks away from his house. It needed some work, but the price was right. And it’s on a double lot. Keep the neighbors at bay, Jack Kelly plugged. Thomas did not require much of a sales pitch.

Since Thomas did not yet own a home, with some legal maneuvering, he could finance the purchase through a GI loan with no down payment and a very low interest rate. They had lived in a rental property in Narberth since they had married; two years after he began with the law firm, they rented an apartment in Alden Park Manor, just off Fairmount Park. They really could not afford it, but Thomas regarded the prestige of the address would add to his career trajectory. Frances discarded all their old furniture not suitable for the new address. Instead, she purchased good quality used furniture that could pass for family heirlooms.

Their three children also required a proper education—a good Catholic education. The family attended nearby St. Bridget’s Church, and Thomas enrolled their children in the parochial school there. That choice was no accident; it was the church the Kellys attended, and Thomas saw Jack almost every Sunday. They could not, however, afford to send the children to the Ravenhill Academy, where the Kelly children attended. Thomas plotted all his moves with an eye to advancing his career and his worldly wealth. St. Bridget’s school would suffice until he had the financial resources to do something better. He was convinced that his children would not suffer in any appreciable way. Only later did he transfer his children to more prestigious private schools. As a result of his frugality, just ten years after he had completed law school, he could purchase the fine estate on Spring Mill Road in Villanova and own a beach house in Ocean City. And his children had a solid academic background that would serve them well in the future.

Thomas walked out onto the patio overlooking his property again, smiling inwardly with contentment—he rarely smiled outwardly. He had accomplished all this in a remarkably short period. As a Catholic living on the Main Line, he had managed to work his way into the highest levels of society. He had been invited to join the Cricket Club; they were listed in the Blue Book; they had become important figures in the Democratic Party, although that did not carry much cache in Lower Merion. His daughter Ann would clearly marry well and bring him many grandchildren. Charlotte was too young to generate a definitive prognosis—she was somewhat wild in his opinion—but she was bright and energetic. Franklin represented the difficulty. He did not apply himself in high school and only got accepted to Princeton with some assistance from colleagues in the law firm. Thomas had always dreamed that his son would attend Harvard or Yale law, but again, he probably would need to pull strings just to get him into Penn. Nevertheless, a spot would instantly open up at Rydley-Smith once he graduated.

An early April chill brought a nip to the air, and Thomas returned to his library and entered the hall. Frances now sat curled on the sofa in the living room reading, her after-dinner posture; Charlotte should be studying upstairs, but her father decided not to check on her. Instead, he bid good night to his wife and ascended the stairs. He heard his wife following after a short pause. They undressed and clambered into bed. Without failure, they always went to bed together. Frances could take Thomas’s rough edges off once they climbed into bed.

Franklin did come home that weekend, with tales about how his grades had improved, the party he would attend next weekend in New York, and the applications for law school that he had requested. His mother instantly knew that he had something else on his mind. She could read him like one of her novels. The conversation continued in this banal fashion until it appeared Franklin had plucked up his courage.

Hey, I met a really nice girl last week. Her name is Karen.

His mother’s suspicions only swelled. Where does she come from?

She’s from around here. Ambler.

What does her father do? That was really the only thing that mattered to Thomas.

He owns a factory that makes kitchen cabinets. Not a good profession, thought Thomas. Rather too pedestrian.

His mother then asked the big question, They’re Catholic, aren’t they?

Enough of a pause told her they were not. Of course. You don’t think I’d date a Protestant, he lied. He really was not very worried because he never thought the relationship would last to cause any problems.

Frank’s father really did not listen to the ensuing chatter about Karen. He had drawn his own conclusions about the young woman without any further information necessary. The dinner conversation drifted onto other topics, and Karen did not enter the conversation again all weekend.

Sunday at the Howards’ recapitulated the unchanging. They rose late and dressed in appropriate Catholic finery. Frances wore a black mantilla that she had purchased on a trip to Spain. Her daughters sometimes did not wear them with their mother’s blessing. They would climb into the family sedan and drive the short distance to Saint Thomas of Villanova on the university campus. They sat prominently toward the front of the church, although certainly not too obviously conspicuous. Following Mass, they greeted the pastor, who, in turn, bowed slightly—almost imperceptibly—toward Thomas, as befitted a member of the parish council. Then followed lunch at the Cricket Club, where Thomas made a point to chat briefly with other prominent members. Close to finishing lunch, Thomas turned to his son.

Franklin, we’re spending next weekend at the shore, and I want you to bring your entrance essay down so that we can go over it.

Father, I’m sure it is perfectly fine. Also, I have a commitment to go to New York next weekend. I don’t need to rewrite it thirty times. And I don’t even submit my applications until next year. What’s the rush? His tone was somewhat sharper than his father appreciated.

Unfortunately, your grades are not quite stellar enough to guarantee admission. A solid essay certainly might help. And what you’ve shown me is not solid. So you will have to cancel your weekend trip.

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