Editor’s Blog
Jim (Sr.) and Celeste Whitehead

The only thing I’ve done in modern times worth mentioning was to edit and produce the second edition of Jim Whitehead’s splendid book about the Reeves Collection of Chinese export porcelain, which came to the university in our sophomore year: A Fragile Union: The Story of Louise Herreshoff. (Actually, the book is largely about the bizarre couple who accumulated the porcelain.)

You may remember Mr. Whitehead as the successor to Mr. Mattingly, the treasurer in the Gaines era who was said to buy himself a new Cadillac whenever the ashtray got filled up in the old one.

Celeste Whitehead; our classmate Jim Jr.; former W&L treasurer James Whitehead Sr. — February 23, 2008

Mr. Whitehead is also the father of our classmate, Jim Jr., who is now disabled as the result of a stroke he suffered in 1990. Jim Jr. lives comfortably and well cared-for in Lynchburg in a verrry upscale residential care facility.

Back in the day, the Whiteheads lived on South Main Street, in a mansion named Stonegate. The best-ever Stonegate story happened when Jessie Ball DuPont, after whom the art building was named, visited. The Whiteheads had just moved in and hadn’t renovated yet, so the bathrooms still had those old-fashioned commodes with the water tank up by the ceiling, run by gravity when you flushed. The Whiteheads had a black-tie banquet in Mrs. DuPont’s honor, and eventually she went into the washroom and pulled the chain – and because of a plumbing malfunction got twenty gallons of water dumped on her head. Ever the lady, she patted herself off as best she could, and emerged – still wearing her hat; it was a formal event – and everyone pretended that nothing ever happened.

I heard that story but didn’t witness it. The one to which I can attest occurred in 1976 when I worked at W&L and Miss Ruth Parmly was the Whiteheads’ dinner guest. Miss Parmly had given one of the largest gifts ever, and New Science was being renamed for her father. (About time. It was 16 years old.) The Whiteheads had a black-tie affair in her honor, and when dinner was over everyone retired to the parlor, and Mr. Whitehead ceremoniously brought out a bottle of genuine Napolean brandy and said, “Miss Parmly, would you do us the honor of sampling this century-old nectar?” Whereupon she, 70 years old (if a day) and in a formal gown, said, “Nah, I’d rather have a bottle of beer.” Without missing a beat, Celeste Whitehead swept out into the kitchen. All they had was warm, cheap beer from East Lex (and the only reason they had that was because I had brought it over a week or two ago for myself). Mrs. W. popped a can and poured it into a glass, got two ice cubes and put them in a baggie, which she swirled gently in the glass, and within minutes served a refreshing, cool Pabst Blue Ribbon to Miss Parmly, who was completely happy.

Lexington society looked down on me a little bit less after that.

Back to Fragile Union. For goodness’ sake, read it. Tom Wolfe wrote the introduction and has become its biggest champion; he says he wishes he had invented its narrative structure. He also says that Charles Dickens would have envied the characters and Edith Wharton its plot – a plot that’s 100-percent true. (Baby hijacked by a spinster aunt; not just one romance between first cousins but two; diabolically switched place-cards at a crucial banquet – you name it. In the movie Peter Sellers and Alice Kramden would have to play the roles.)