posts. Stanley was bright and quick with numbers. But he struggled in his assignments. He agonized over decisions; underlings, sometimes frustrated by weeks’ delay in the most routine deliberations, circumvented him and complained about his behavior to his brothers. Judging from the numerous psychiatric reports written during Stanley’s forty-one years of mental illness, he suffered partly from what we now call an obsessive-compulsive disorder. His McLean write-up notes that “he kept six or eight different weights of underwear and he had a certain range of temperature for each set, and every morning it was almost impossible for him to decide what the temperature was going to be and which set of underclothing would be the proper one.”
Tall, handsome, and athletic, the young Stanley McCormick never felt particularly well. Working for the fast-growing family harvester business overwhelmed him. More than once, a family doctor diagnosed “nervous prostration,” and Stanley even bought a 45,000-acre ranch in New Mexico to serve as a sanctuary from the press of worldly concerns. One day in the summer of 1903, he reported looking at his face in a mirror and seeing only a blank. The next day, motoring through the ocean-side town of Beverly Farms on Massachusetts’s swank North Shore, he happened upon his childhood acquaintance, Katharine Dexter.
Katharine, who, like Stanley, was twenty-eight years old, was not the same little girl he had known in dancing school sixteen years before. The daughter of a prominent Chicago lawyer, she was attractive, self-possessed, and about to enter her senior year at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Because of the many hurdles placed before the handful of women at MIT, Katharine took eight years to get her degree. Stanley wooed her assiduously,
if unconventionally. He was in one of his socialist phases and wanted to discuss the plight of the working class during their dates. Katharine, one of the wealthiest and most socially conscious women of her generation, was bored to tears. Worse still, he discussed his own failings in intimate detail. During one of their secret engagements, he confessed that he was a compulsive masturbator and had even made a leather harness that he wore at night to keep his hands away from his genitals. Although Katharine appreciated Stanley’s intelligence and love of the arts, the confessional, self-deprecating Stanley was more than she could stand. She wanted a real courtship—flowers, trips to the theater, fun! In the words of Stanley’s patient history, Katharine was “a girl who preferred light to shadows.” After her senior year, she fled to her family’s chateau in Switzerland—once occupied by Voltaire and by Napoleon’s brother Joseph Bonaparte—to be rid of Stanley. Incredibly, Stanley accosted her on the wharf in New York and told her that a leading urologist had given his genitalia a clean bill of health. Katharine sailed alone.
Stanley pursued her to Europe, and the rest is psychiatric history. He was handsome, temporarily clear-minded, and in love with her; Katharine capitulated. Against the better judgment of both families—Nettie, informed by telegram, flopped on her bed and wept for days—Katharine and Stanley married in Geneva in September 1904. Although the honeymoon lasted for nine months, the marriage was never consummated. (The presence of their respective mothers during parts of the trip could not have helped.) Most nights, Stanley refused to come to bed, scribbling letters until dawn. When he tried to make love with Katharine, he failed, blaming either his youthful masturbation or a sexual encounter he may or may not have had with a Parisian prostitute several years earlier.
After the marriage, the couple lived apart, with Stanley working for Harvester in Chicago and Katharine living in Boston. In 1906, Stanley’s dysfunctions came to the fore. He was forced to resign
from the family company and rejoined his wife at her
Tall, handsome, and athletic, the young Stanley McCormick never felt particularly well. Working for the fast-growing family harvester business overwhelmed him. More than once, a family doctor diagnosed “nervous prostration,” and Stanley even bought a 45,000-acre ranch in New Mexico to serve as a sanctuary from the press of worldly concerns. One day in the summer of 1903, he reported looking at his face in a mirror and seeing only a blank. The next day, motoring through the ocean-side town of Beverly Farms on Massachusetts’s swank North Shore, he happened upon his childhood acquaintance, Katharine Dexter.
Katharine, who, like Stanley, was twenty-eight years old, was not the same little girl he had known in dancing school sixteen years before. The daughter of a prominent Chicago lawyer, she was attractive, self-possessed, and about to enter her senior year at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Because of the many hurdles placed before the handful of women at MIT, Katharine took eight years to get her degree. Stanley wooed her assiduously,
if unconventionally. He was in one of his socialist phases and wanted to discuss the plight of the working class during their dates. Katharine, one of the wealthiest and most socially conscious women of her generation, was bored to tears. Worse still, he discussed his own failings in intimate detail. During one of their secret engagements, he confessed that he was a compulsive masturbator and had even made a leather harness that he wore at night to keep his hands away from his genitals. Although Katharine appreciated Stanley’s intelligence and love of the arts, the confessional, self-deprecating Stanley was more than she could stand. She wanted a real courtship—flowers, trips to the theater, fun! In the words of Stanley’s patient history, Katharine was “a girl who preferred light to shadows.” After her senior year, she fled to her family’s chateau in Switzerland—once occupied by Voltaire and by Napoleon’s brother Joseph Bonaparte—to be rid of Stanley. Incredibly, Stanley accosted her on the wharf in New York and told her that a leading urologist had given his genitalia a clean bill of health. Katharine sailed alone.
Stanley pursued her to Europe, and the rest is psychiatric history. He was handsome, temporarily clear-minded, and in love with her; Katharine capitulated. Against the better judgment of both families—Nettie, informed by telegram, flopped on her bed and wept for days—Katharine and Stanley married in Geneva in September 1904. Although the honeymoon lasted for nine months, the marriage was never consummated. (The presence of their respective mothers during parts of the trip could not have helped.) Most nights, Stanley refused to come to bed, scribbling letters until dawn. When he tried to make love with Katharine, he failed, blaming either his youthful masturbation or a sexual encounter he may or may not have had with a Parisian prostitute several years earlier.
After the marriage, the couple lived apart, with Stanley working for Harvester in Chicago and Katharine living in Boston. In 1906, Stanley’s dysfunctions came to the fore. He was forced to resign
from the family company and rejoined his wife at her
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