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Marriage is a stupid idea. It seems to me its main purpose is to keep together people who don’t love each other. For people who do love each other are going to keep together anyway!
DESPITE HER CONCERNS, MY GRAND-mother threw herself back into domestic routine. Between July and Christmas of 1925, Rocknoll was nearly complete except for her finishing touches. She found the time to design and plant her new flower garden, arranging favorite springtime colors down the hill beneath an umbrella of green. From a curious child to the woman she had become, Dorothy’s need to root in the earth had never died: She belonged outdoors.
She was pleased with her handiwork. The angular house, with jagged stones jutting out from the exterior wall, was impressive. Mammoth gray boulders lay half-covered in the leafy undergrowth, and just beyond the sloping lawn at the creek’s edge were the towering clusters of ancient oaks. Viewed from a hillside nearby, the artistry of meandering paths and planned gardens could easily conjure up the deliberate casualness of an English country estate.
On December 24, an article in Mid-Week Pictorial glowingly described the interior of the house, accompanied by a portfolio of full-page photographs:
The main part of the rambling low, slate roofed Putnam house, is pink stucco with wings of unusually large native stone. The three interesting guest rooms are on the first floor, but two of them are highly unusual in their decoration. One is an undersea room, its walls representing an under surface sea elevation, gay with tropical fish, corals and seaweeds. It is the work of Donald Blanding of Honolulu. Its twin is a “jungle room” painted by Isabel Cooper, artist of the Beebe scientific expeditions. Its walls picture a vivid jungle scene, with trailing vines and plants and flowers and gay colored birds perched here and there and a huge python winding about the baseboard, partially hidden, fortunately, for “screamish” guests, by the bed.
David decorated his bedroom with nests, arrows, eggs, and snake skins, leaving plenty of room for sporting trophies and ships’ lanterns. The surprise he had saved for his grandparents from the Arcturus voyage was this dedication: “To Grandma and Grandpa Bub.” David Goes Voyaging was the title that appeared on the bright yellow cover of his book about his adventures in the South Seas.
While Dorothy was momentarily satisfied with her grand new home, George was busier than ever publishing books, particularly those by explorers. In 1926, he decided to organize an expedition himself. In his own words, “I practiced what I published. It seemed inappropriate to promote books about exploration without doing a bit of exploration myself. So, I did. And, in the natural course of events, from the vicious circle, books resulted. The whole technique just about approximated continuous motion.”
His Greenland expedition would head north, skirting the barren shores east of Ellesmere Island in search of Arctic specimens for the Museum of Natural History in New York. The previous winter, George and Captain Bob Bartlett, the famous Arctic skipper from Brigus, Newfoundland, had walked on the Putnam estate discussing the possibility of such an expedition. (Captain Bartlett was in command of the Roosevelt in 1909 when Robert Peary reached the North Pole.) The weeks of sorting gear, gathering permits and equipment, refitting the one-hundred-foot Morrissey, charting, and weather-watching became the talk of the coastal town. Of course, David would accompany his father.
Shortly before their departure in June 1926, Dorothy and David had a final talk in the leafy woods behind the house. She needed this time alone with her son. In a few days he would sail with his father toward the Arctic Circle. As they talked of the high seas and frigid nights that lay ahead, Dorothy began to weep. Young David was seldom privy to his mother’s vulnerable side; he leaned across to comfort her, holding her shaking arm. Her fear of losing him seemed unbearable.
My father vividly remembered that day. His mother normally carried an aura of calm about her, never appearing to worry. It was a hint of the stormy times that lay ahead.
During George and David’s absence over the summer of 1926, Dorothy continued to entertain her husband’s business associates. The gatherings usually included the most stimulating and celebrated adventurers of the day. On the morning of one such dinner party, an engraved note was delivered from the Putnam offices, listing the invitees. At the bottom of the card she had drawn a table and carefully placed the location of each guest. Dorothy was at the head of the table, and at the opposite end was Admiral Richard E. Byrd, who had just returned from England after successfully flying to the North Pole with his pilot, Floyd Bennett. Mrs. Robert Peary was seated at Admiral Byrd’s left. Her son, Robert E. Peary, Jr., was currently the chief engineer aboard the Morrissey with George and David.
The Putnams were so well known for entertaining famous adventurers that Will Rogers joked you couldn’t snare an invitation unless you had conquered some uncharted territory. “Dorothy’s parties were memorable and beautifully done,” recalls Nancy Bignell, whose mother was a close friend of the Putnams. “They were not exotic, but suited to the environment. Her table settings were a collection from around the world and the colors represented the colors of various countries. She was an imaginative hostess and insisted that her guests play games she had organized ahead of time. Her large shadow box in the living room would have the latest color-coordinated artistic arrangement. She always entertained with her piano music and sang songs.” Adds Bignell, “She had a good voice, a lower-register contralto. She loved popular and romantic songs. Dorothy was a totally romantic woman.”
Meanwhile, the Arctic sailing trip concluded without incident, and the Morrissey and crew returned with the species they had hoped to find. Two baby polar bears were captured alive and brought back for the Bronx Zoo in New York. Walrus, seal, a large white whale, and the fetus of a narwhal were preserved as specimens for the Museum of Natural History. Standing on the dock as the vessel came into view, Dorothy hoped the exuberant crowd would camouflage her growing despair. At the completion of David’s second book, David Goes to Greenland, it was no surprise that it was dedicated: “To My Best Friend who really should have gone to Greenland, MOTHER.”
The Putnams’ Christmas card that year was a line drawing from Greenland at the top of the snow-covered world: George Putnam, with his son David wrapped in seal fur, making tracks across an arching globe. Baby Junie and Mother with a halo placed gently to one side of her head were depicted waiting at home to greet the Arctic travelers:
Yet the Christmas was not as merry as the card suggested. Fifteen years before, when my grandparents married, they each believed they had found the perfect mate. Both were young and highly motivated explorers, drawn to lively and intellectual personalities. But Dorothy had entered into marriage out of touch with her full womanly self. Nor had she experienced the whole range of her abilities. How could her husband not have suspected that she was becoming increasingly frustrated? Whatever purpose she had served at the start of their marriage had dramatically changed, and her need for fulfillment would never be satisfied by a mansion and garden as her husband had believed.
By 1927, my grandmother had begun to question whether her marriage could survive.
The Putnams were spending less time together, and Dorothy made no attempt to overcome the estrangement. The struggle to come to terms with her role as George’s wife, while clinging to the aspirations she still held, was beginning to consume her. It was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the temptations of a more gratifying existence. The first diary entries for the year provide a window into her growing frustrations, and at times, into the depths of her despair:
JANUARY 3, 1927 Married Couples—10 hrs. Out of 24—apart 8 hrs. Sleep 6 hrs. In each others company 6 hrs. × 7 days = 42 hour week. Soon we’ll see each other by appointment only it this goes on. Well it suits me.
JANUARY 11, 1927 Death: These things I invariably thrill over and “sense” completely. Yet before God I am willing to die today—suddenly—“snuffed out”—and “cut off” forever! After a month or two I wonder who would still care!
Yet Dorothy felt the familiar rush of anticipation as she planned another getaway, this time to South America. Among the many friends stopping by to wish her a safe journey was Annie Laurie Jaques. She had brought her beau, whom she had already written to Dorothy about. George Weymouth was a sophomore at Yale University and had been looking forward to meeting the celebrated Putnams for some time. At six feet, he was handsomely athletic and known affectionately as “King” by his brothers.
Weymouth had been raised in a small Pennsylvania town by loving parents, with four brothers and a sister. During the early twenties, the family had fallen on hard times and had gone from fancy cars and private schools to frugal ways and a public education. His mother had persuaded the headmaster of a private day school to accept her five children on scholarships. They had all been taught to appreciate the advantages of a fine education and strongly believed in the work ethic.
That January morning in 1927, Dorothy sat playing her piano next to a towering arrangement of dried flowers with her back to the picture window. It must have appeared an illusion, as though she were playing outside on the wintry terrace. She was so engrossed in her music she did not notice the two visitors as they stood in the hall, listening. It was not unusual for her to continue playing if someone entered the room. But by the time she finished and had lowered her hands to her lap, George Weymouth stood motionless, transfixed by her elegant beauty.
A fire was burning. It suited the day that had begun quite innocently, cold and clear. As the two were formally introduced to each other, Dorothy explained that she was preparing for a trip around South America with her six-year-old son, Junie. Weymouth politely apologized for the interruption and walked toward the piano. Dorothy could feel his eyes on her and she flushed.
It was several days before he returned to New Haven, and he did so hoping he would see Dorothy again. They had enjoyed an instant rapport, and he had not felt like a student in the company of a married woman nineteen years his senior.
In a letter George Weymouth wrote many years later, he recalled that first meeting with Dorothy: “GTW is a sophomore at Yale in love with Annie Laurie Jaques from Lake Forest, Illinois. She was a guest of George Palmer Putnam, and wife, Dorothy, in Rye, New York. Two children: David and George, Jr. During the weekend GTW’s love switched from Annie Laurie to Dorothy Binney Putnam.…”
Dorothy suspected as much.
She was concerned about her own feelings for the young man and whether they were inappropriate. Her passion was evident. “Imagine in a crowd of rather sophisticated, over-busy, sallowish people—a boy, modest, good looking, well built, impressionable, adoring young barbarian. God, what a relief to jaded feelings.” From their first meeting, the young man occupied a constant place in Dorothy’s thoughts and diaries.
Dorothy and George Palmer Putnam when they first met on Mt. Whitney (1908).
Putnam with me most of the time—I like him!
Fished down river with G.P. Putnam. Bully trout lunch on a pine island.
Pioneer publisher and mayor of Bend, OR, (1912) on back of a stagecoach.
G.P.P., the consummate reporter, onboard the Binney Yacht Dohema (1913).
Dorothy and her beloved Steinway piano (1915).
Dorothy and David, age 3, visit Rocklyn (1916).
Dorothy and David (1916).
G.P.P. and George “Junie” Junior (1923).
David and Dorothy “always reading” during 1924 Tetons camping trip.
Dorothy and G.P.P. on Yellowstone-Tetons camping trip (1924).
The Temple of Heaven, Peking, China (1924): “Dorothy would rather have discovered local beads or stones than cultured pearls about her neck.”
David and Junie in front of Rocknoll (1925).
The Putnams and Binneys sharing a wedding anniversary, October 26, 1925.
G.P.P. in booknook at Rocknoll (1925).
Capt. Bob Bartlett, David, and G.P.P. aboard the Morrissey prior to the Greenland expedition of 1926.
David with rabbits aboard the Morrissey (1926).
Rocknoll from the bottom of the hillside (1927): A marvelous day—with a thrush singing in the woods.
George Weymouth and Dorothy at Rocknoll, May 19, 1927!
Crew of the Morrissey with G.P.P. on left, Dorothy on right, and G.W. rear center, before the Baffin Land expedition of 1927.
G.W. on whale boat prior to Baffin Land expedition (1927).
G.W. hanging from rope on the Morrissey (1927).
Amelia Earhart on the roof of a Boston hotel before her Atlantic flight on the Friendship (1928).
Dorothy and Junie enroute to Hawaii (1928).
Amelia wearing the wings presented to her as honorary major, 381st Observation Squadron, U.S. Army Reserve (1928).
Lou Gordon, Amelia, Wilmer Stultz, (unidentified woman), Ann Bruce, Dorothy, and G.P.P. (1928): Take off for Boston in a trimotor Ford plane. George and I with Amelia.
Amelia and Dorothy sign the guest book of G. H. Rand’s trimotor Ford, the Rem-Rand (1928).
1928: After dinner Amelia and I drove my new Chrysler ߰75 (actually, the very first one delivered) to see Sam Chapman at Stamford.
Amelia and David at Rocknoll (1928).
Junie, David, Dorothy (wearing the fish necklace), Amelia, and Larry Gould at Rocknoll (1928).
Amelia and Junie at Rocknoll (1928).
Mary Binney Davey, Dorothy, Amelia, (Sam Chapman?), G.P.P., and Junie (1928).
David, Amelia, and Dorothy at Manursing Island Club (1928).
August 1928: Took my first flight in a small plane in Amelia’s “Avro Avian.”
Amelia, G.P.P., and Clarence Chamberlain at Rocknoll cookout (1928).
Dorothy, G.W., and Amelia at Rocknoll (1928).
TAT flight arrival in Los Angeles with Amelia, Dorothy, Dan Schaeffer, Betty Brainerd, Anne Lindbergh, and Col. Charles Lindbergh (1929): 10 hours of sheer beauty. Painted desert, sun, parched desert, wind-carved mountains, great rocks and ranges. 8,000 to 11,000 ft elevation.
Dorothy and Amelia after TAT flight (1929): Everyone thrilled, and tremendous crowd at arrival, L.A., photos, etc.
The following week, after an early breakfast with several of George’s business associates, Dorothy bundled up for a walk outside. The ground was covered with a blanket of snow—“A light drift of snowflakes, and everything seems to he whispering.” There were no traces of leaves, but the sloping hill and the giant boulders kept her from view as she wandered out of sight. It was a crystal blue day, with layers of ice wrapping the branches, transparent in the sparkling sun. A spot nearest the creek facing the morning light was the place she loved to visit.
There came a sharp crack from above, as if a branch had been snapped in two. Startled, Dorothy turned around. Following in her footprints, George Weymouth had approached cautiously. They had both anticipated this reunion, and the mutual attraction was impossible to deny.
George had thought of nothing but Dorothy since that day in the house watching her play the piano, and he wasn’t certain how she would respond to his returning so soon. At first, like two old friends who had nothing in particular to say, they tried to exchange polite greetings, masking their longing for one another. Later, in the midst of preparing to leave for South America, her diaries exposed her temptation: “Love—Why is it there are so many men who consider love outside the bonds of matrimony the privilege of the male only? There are so many. And equally wrong are those who believe when you’re away from husband you must crave some male indulgence. Rot! Vacation!” Once again, she would turn to the sea to provide answers to her growing dilemma.