61 - Goodbye, Rose

THE PIERRE, New York;  BROWNS
and THE PARK LANE, London

Rose, at home in Pinehurst around 1958

 

        Rose was my British aunt.  She was Frances'  friend and was always an integral part of the family.

Born near London, the youngest of a number of brothers and sisters, Rose left England around the time of the First World War.  She first landed in Canada, served as a nurse in the military,  later settled in or near New York City.

Towards the end of the Second World War she was offered a good job as Head Nurse at Moore County Hospital in Pinehurst.  Whether she knew Frances before or after moving to the Sandhills, I do not know, but they always shared a duplex on Everitt Road for as long as I can remember.

As a child I thought it was somehow wonderful that Rose became such a part of the Pleasants family, but in some ways she must have regretted losing a portion of her own identity and independence in the process.  

With the twins 1953 (Dickie, Rose, Mickie and Frances)

Frances set up her own decorating business around 1950, and when she later opened an upscale gift shop, she talked Rose into leaving her hospital job to run the shop and keep the company books.

During the business'  thriving years, both Frances and Rose lived --if not in splendor-- a life of comfort far surpassing our family's rather humdrum existence three miles away in Aberdeen.  

* * * * * *

Brown's today (photo Rocco Forte Hotels)

   They once spent a month on a buying trip to London in a suite at Brown's Hotel, Frances and Rose.   It was in 1953, the year of  Queen Elizabeth's coronation, and through most of my childhood I always assumed they had actually been invited to the ceremony, which of course was not the case.

Frances mastered the art of understatement.  She never boasted or openly exaggerated, but discreetly insinuated.  So that when she spoke of having gone to London for the coronation, you just naturally assumed she must have had some direct connection with the Queen of England.

Frances in Blowing Rock, summer of 1956 (photo by Rose F.)

 When the retirement years arrived, and some of Frances' poor business decisions and overspending began to take their toll, Rose was left almost without means.  With only a minimal social security retirement and no assets of her own, she then found herself dependent on an increasingly irritable Frances who, encouraged by the ravages of alcohol, became frequently aggressive and unkind to her longstanding friend.

But like my aunt and uncle Martha and Nelson, Frances and Rose always seemed to be surrounded by friends of means and generosity, often ready to extend invitations of great bounty.

The Morlands were such friends. 

By the time Rose reached her seventies she had been diagnosed with a fatal heart malady, and as a seasoned nurse, she had no illusions about her life expectancy.  Gil and Virginia Morland proposed taking her to England for what was tacitly understood to be a last visit.

It was quite a trip.  Two days at the Pierre Hotel in New York before boarding the Queen Mary for Southampton.   In London the three friends stayed at the Morland's favorite hotel, The Park Lane.  No expense was spared, and Rose was thrilled with the attention.  

The day Rose was to visit her last surviving sister in a distant northern suburb, the Morlands arranged for a car with driver.

I cannot claim to have been a fly on the wall, and there are no witnesses to Rose's family reunion.  I can only imagine the impact  when she swept out of the limousine.  She had become increasingly grand as the years went on, though I assume from family conversations that her beginnings were on the modest side.

When Rose died several years later, she was virtually penniless, but she never had to significantly modify her lifestyle.  Frances took charge of her funeral, and she was buried with the rest of the Pleasants family in Aberdeen.  

Rose towards the end of her life

It was about a month later that Frances received a letter from England.  It was from the sister, and she wrote of bereavement for her departed Rosie.   Then in short order she inquired of the "estate."  A second letter soon followed, this one referring  more directly to the "inheritance."   

Frances replied, explaining there was neither estate nor inheritance, that Rose had died with insufficient means to cover her debts.

A London solicitor telephoned at some later point, representing the disappointed sister.   Everyone was ultimately made to understand that there would be no inheritance en route.  

Rose's life appeared (and not just to her sister) to be one of privilege, and in many ways it was.  Born before the turn of the century into a simpler milieu,  the streets of America were still thought to be paved with gold.  To the family remaining in the same London suburb, it must have looked as though Rose had struck it rich.  

But appearances can be deceiving.   Her adopted country certainly  blessed her with many generous friends and even a second family.  But no fortune. 

Aboard the Queen Mary, the captain's reception circa 1966

 Rose's last trip "home" to England (Cunard photo)

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr


[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Rose is mentioned in "A Date With Dephie" Musings and Meanderings No. 17;Rose and Frances were  featured in Hotel Musings No. 4, "A Two-Dollar Hamburger under a Silvery Dome" ; Frances was mentioned in blog No. 51 "A Christmas Gift"  (to access, click on highlighted titles).

60 - Gloria Vanderbilt and Some Tenuous Hotel Connections

HOTEL FOURTEEN, New York City, and INN ON THE BILTMORE ESTATE, Asheville, N.C.

Little Gloria and Mom (Google)

   Gloria Vanderbilt and her tumultuous life have always held a certain fascination for me.

She was called the richest little girl in America during the depression years, and she was probably one of the unhappiest as well.   She began life, carted around by a beautiful, often irresponsible socialite mother from one European grand hotel to another:  summer in Biarritz, winter in Mégeve, a month at the Plaza or the Sherry Netherland in New York, then back to the Ritz in Paris.

The center of one of the highest publicized and most tawdry custody trials of all time, she was ultimately removed from the full-time tutelage of her mother and awarded to the care of an aunt. 

The author of any number of books, many about her life, she has often described what became a childhood rejection of the grand hotel life.  So much so that as a teenager she hated and dreaded the obligatory Sunday lunches at the Sherry Netherlands with her Mother and maternal grandmother, Nanny Morgan (see blog No. 13, "Those silver-spooned children...").

Hotel Fourteen was where Gloria Vanderbilt’s grandmother lived in New York City during the long custody battles and after.  G.V. mentioned it frequently in her first, remarkable  book of memories “Once Upon A Time” (which I highly recommend as a particularly original approach to autobiography ). 

The Fourteen was located at 14 E. 60^th Street, next door to the Pierre, and was operational  until after the Second World War, probably into the Fifties.   It  would have certainly had a certain chic-ness about it, given the location and the clientele, but I have been unable to find much more information.  

I did spot it recently in an old Dominique Dunne novel.  In his roman à clé, “The Two Mrs. Grenvilles,” based on a famous New York society murder of the 1950’s, he described it in its waning post-war days as an address for the assignations of couples looking for a discreet hotel room. 

 I recently looked up the address, and discovered it now houses a Michelin-starred French restaurant, The Rouge Tomate, and Brenda and I and nephew Ryan tried it out on a recent trip to New York. 

The Rouge Tomate (ex-Hotel Fourteen) 2010

A big, sprawling, typically New York brasserie-style restaurant with high ceilings and lots of noise, it was good food and good value at $32 for their three-course lunch menu.

* * * * *

Fantasy oil painting of Biltmore by Thomas Kinkade

  Long before the birth of Gloria Vanderbilt, her great uncle George Washington Vanderbilt built in 1895 a palatial estate in Asheville, North Carolina, known as the Biltmore Estate. 

He died before he ever had a chance to live there, but it remained in the family,  and is still owned and operated by Vanderbilt’s great grandson.  With over 250 rooms, it remains the largest privately owned house in the United States.

Brenda and I stayed at the Biltmore a few years ago on a trip to the North Carolina mountains.

We actually got around to going there in a convoluted manner.  Brenda is very much a plant and garden person; while in South Africa, she had picked up a book on fine gardens throughout the world, which included some particularly impressive photos of the Biltmore Estate.  

I was doing some research on Pinehurst, the beautiful North Carolina village where I was born, and I discovered that the architect who laid out Pinehurst in the 1890’s was the same one who had earlier redesigned Central Park in New York City.  Then, coincidentally while looking a little closer into the Biltmore estate, I learned that Frederick Law Olmsted, who had designed the other two, was equally responsible for the Asheville landmark’s 8,000 acres of landscape gardening.

So when we decided to visit said gardens, and when we discovered the existence of a hotel on the estate, we jumped at the chance of spending a night there. 

Brenda admiring the countryside 2010

I had assumed a little precipitately that the “Inn on the Biltmore Estate” was actually part of the original mansion, which would have been much more interesting.  I only realized upon arrival that the hotel, albeit a handsome building with nice, large, bedrooms and appropriately grand public rooms, was only constructed a handful of years ago.

So not so much a memorable or historic stay, it was more one of convenience and comfort.  The real joy of the hotel was its view, sitting as it is in the middle of some of the spectacular gardens, with the Blue Ridge mountains in the distance. 

In fact, it was a room with a view on a par with some of the world’s finest, of which I have seen a few.

  

Inn on the Biltmore --A room with a knockout view!

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

59 - The Countess, The Majestic and Rome

THE MAJESTIC HOTEL, Rome

Rome, the via Veneto near the U.S. Embassy (photo Philip Greenspun)

     It was my first trip to Rome, part of that long train journey with Ann from Paris to Sicily over Christmas of 1978.

Rome was to be a highlight, because we were to stay in a mansion just off the Borghese Gardens; it belonged to an Italian countess who operated her version of a bed and breakfast.

The Countess and her chambre d'hôte had been enthusiastically recommended by an American actress I knew back then.  The ex-wife of a French television personality, she had once made a minor movie in Italy with Anita Ekberg, but by the time I knew her she was neither married nor acting.  I don't remember how I met her, but I knew her just long enough to have listened to her glowing picture of the Rome property and its owner, which turned out to be inaccurate on both counts.

The Countess immediately revealed herself as a thoroughly unpleasant lady.  Her house was more than dilapidated, and the quarters reserved for our use, grim.   She lost no time in rudely insisting that we were not to darken any part of the home other than our room.  

The whole affair turned out to be one of those colossal disappointments.   I particularly recall the unhygienic state of the shower.  Not only were the walls peeling big-time, there was no possibility of squeezing out  more than a trickle of water.

I think our room had once been part of the maids' quarters, and it was not at all what I had in mind when deciding to cohabit with the Italian aristocracy.

We wanted to leave as soon as we saw what we were getting into, but the proprietor was uncooperative.  She already had our money, and it was only thanks to Ann's special negotiating skills that we ended up spending just the first night, then collecting a refund for the rest.

At the moment of our departure, the Countess, who spoke little English, called after us, “Good riddance!” Apparently it is an English expression used commonly in Italian, and rarely has an insult been so mutually felt.

Both our unattractive lodgings and witch-like landlady put a damper on that first glimpse of Rome, but we did soldier on, and during our first stroll around the neighborhood I discovered the beautiful Majestic Hotel, not far away at the bottom of the Via Veneto.

The Majestic was no longer one of the very top Roman hotels, but that was hardly what we were looking for anyway and even less what might fit our budget.  It had certainly known its day of glory, however (see following sidebar), and it was still pretty grand, occupying a prime spot on one of the world's most elegant avenues.

We debated as to whether we even dared ask, it seemed so above our means. Ultimately we ventured inside where we were greeted with all the Italian warmth and charm that the Countess so sorely lacked.

It was that off-season part of December, and for whatever reasons, the hotel was almost empty.   We were proposed a rate of about 30-dollars, which was less than the Countess' bed and breakfast package.  Am I exaggerating on the downscale?   It's so long ago, it is hard to tell.   At any rate, coming from our unhappy experience in the Borghese Gardens, it surpassed our wildest dreams.

A suite at the Majestic today ...not quite as I remember from 1978 (photo courtesy of hotel)

It turned out to be a special, sunny room overlooking a little churchyard with gardens tended by an order of friars.   As we were on the way towards uncharted territory in Taormina (see Musing No. 5 "Room Without Bath"), the Majestic's elegant over-sized bathroom was a godsend and more than we ever expected.

Whenever I remember that luxurious stay at the Majestic, I can still smell the marble of the bathroom floor which --then just as now-- conjured up delicious childhood memories of  Grandmother Pleasants' home in Aberdeen.  

Majestic's managing director in 1979

SIDEBAR: more about the Majestic

Unchanged facade of the Majestic today (photo courtesy of hotel)

      

      The Majestic, inaugurated in 1889, was the first hotel built on the street which was to be called the Via Veneto. 

     Designed by Gaetano Koch, known at the end of the 19^th century as the “prince of architects”, the land cut through the Cappuccini friars' gardens.   Considered from the start to be architecturally ahead of its time, the Majestic's design garnered considerable attention, pundits likening its front facade to the rounded silhouette of a grand piano.
 

Marcello Mastroianni on the Via Veneto (Google)

      If the Majestic knew a certain success in its early years, it was not until the end of the First World War and the boom of the 1920’s that its fortunes reached a zenith.  It was during this era of prosperity and flamboyance that the rich and titled and the first movie  stars  turned it into one of Rome’s “in” places to be and to be seen. 

      The Majestic figured prominently in the iconic 1960 Federico Fellini movie “La Dolce Vita.”  The hotel's exterior was seen as a backdrop in several scenes, one with Marcello Mastroianni, highlighting the Via Veneto.  The film made the entire world aware of the street, if not of its first hotel.

Director Fellini on the Via Veneto circa 1960 (Magnum)

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Ann was also mentioned in blog No. 5, "Room Without Bath" Sept. 2012;  No. 20, "Decaffeinated coffee ... in Hungarian?" Jan 2013;  blog No. 33, "Breakfast in the 1970's" April 2013; and No. 58 "Rue des Beaux-Arts:  Oscar Wilde, Francis Bacon and David Hockney" April 2014 (to access, click on highlighted titles).