and Esmond snatched success from the jaws of that anecdote. They knew how to frame a good yarn, and they had friends in the press. A New York gossip column called “Only Human” reported: “If we had such an introduction to England on our first trip over, we’d brew a horrible curse
upon the country. But not these two. We’ve never seen two such healthy-minded gloriously happy people.” Or so they may have seemed to avid newshounds, but the Romillys were fed up with New York. Their next feature would announce, “Young English Adventurers Make a Door to Door Tour of Washington,” in which Decca records Esmond’s “disturbingly successful” career as a salesman for Silkform stockings. With the instant authority of his British accent and deportment imported from Wellington school parades, Esmond would bring the full force of his charm to bear upon an unsuspecting housewife in some prosperous Washington neighborhood. Only a week or so into Esmond’s new career, both felt they had to make a supreme effort not to be seduced by the prospect of bigger and bigger commissions. Esmond wasn’t actually making much money, but the promise of an elevated income from a job to which he was naturally suited was a temptation they had to escape before it was too late. At the end of two weeks, feeling inundated by Silkform mailings—which steadily trumpeted new products, praised Esmond’s talents, and promised more and bigger rewards—they set out for the open road.
During their brief spell in Washington, the couple had reconnected with Eugene and Agnes Meyer and their daughter Kay. In Washington that autumn, the talk at dinner parties was of movies, novels, fashion, and who was having affairs, but world politics was the main discourse. What would it take to move the United States away from neutrality toward a more confirmed antifascist position, and under what circumstances would the United States enter the war? Decca was worried about her brother, Tom, now an officer in the army, and sister Unity’s still ambiguous whereabouts.
THE HEADLINE OF the Washington Post final installment reads: “Young Esmond Romilly Tries His Hand at Being a Waiter—Is Fired After Two Days.” An apparent failure at waiting on people, Esmond tried for a position with a little more panache. He had purchased a used tuxedo in a thrift store and considered working as a maître d’. New Orleans seemed to offer a range of possibilities in the field, so he and Decca procured a used car and
headed south. Then, somewhere in Georgia, they missed the turn meant to take them west and just kept driving to Miami.
Decca didn’t enjoy the journey as much as she had imagined she might. She found the Southerners she met (friends of friends and others from the list of contacts) “snobbish,” and far too indifferent to the poverty of their neighbors. Driving through South Carolina, she and Esmond passed the dilapidated roadside shacks of poor tenant farmers. These she compared to “old, broken-down chicken houses. We couldn’t believe people actually lived in them till we saw inside.”
Southern Florida offered an immediate contrast, but Decca didn’t take to it, either. Miami struck her as garish and greedy. Working as a salesclerk at the costume jewelry counter of a drug store, her impatience increased.
I had plenty of opportunities to observe the Miamians. They struck me as a humorless, suspicious, narrow minded lot. It was our first experience of a Southern American town. The Negroes lived like a band of ghosts in miserable shacks on the outskirts, their very existence ignored for the most part by the whites. The verbal fire of my co-workers in the drugstore was reserved for use against the Jewish tourists, on whose money the town grew fat, and whose patronage paid their salaries. Many of those with whom we came in contact exhibited a sort of smarmy bonhomie, reminiscent of sugary German gemutlichkeit , a front behind which lurked the foulest
upon the country. But not these two. We’ve never seen two such healthy-minded gloriously happy people.” Or so they may have seemed to avid newshounds, but the Romillys were fed up with New York. Their next feature would announce, “Young English Adventurers Make a Door to Door Tour of Washington,” in which Decca records Esmond’s “disturbingly successful” career as a salesman for Silkform stockings. With the instant authority of his British accent and deportment imported from Wellington school parades, Esmond would bring the full force of his charm to bear upon an unsuspecting housewife in some prosperous Washington neighborhood. Only a week or so into Esmond’s new career, both felt they had to make a supreme effort not to be seduced by the prospect of bigger and bigger commissions. Esmond wasn’t actually making much money, but the promise of an elevated income from a job to which he was naturally suited was a temptation they had to escape before it was too late. At the end of two weeks, feeling inundated by Silkform mailings—which steadily trumpeted new products, praised Esmond’s talents, and promised more and bigger rewards—they set out for the open road.
During their brief spell in Washington, the couple had reconnected with Eugene and Agnes Meyer and their daughter Kay. In Washington that autumn, the talk at dinner parties was of movies, novels, fashion, and who was having affairs, but world politics was the main discourse. What would it take to move the United States away from neutrality toward a more confirmed antifascist position, and under what circumstances would the United States enter the war? Decca was worried about her brother, Tom, now an officer in the army, and sister Unity’s still ambiguous whereabouts.
THE HEADLINE OF the Washington Post final installment reads: “Young Esmond Romilly Tries His Hand at Being a Waiter—Is Fired After Two Days.” An apparent failure at waiting on people, Esmond tried for a position with a little more panache. He had purchased a used tuxedo in a thrift store and considered working as a maître d’. New Orleans seemed to offer a range of possibilities in the field, so he and Decca procured a used car and
headed south. Then, somewhere in Georgia, they missed the turn meant to take them west and just kept driving to Miami.
Decca didn’t enjoy the journey as much as she had imagined she might. She found the Southerners she met (friends of friends and others from the list of contacts) “snobbish,” and far too indifferent to the poverty of their neighbors. Driving through South Carolina, she and Esmond passed the dilapidated roadside shacks of poor tenant farmers. These she compared to “old, broken-down chicken houses. We couldn’t believe people actually lived in them till we saw inside.”
Southern Florida offered an immediate contrast, but Decca didn’t take to it, either. Miami struck her as garish and greedy. Working as a salesclerk at the costume jewelry counter of a drug store, her impatience increased.
I had plenty of opportunities to observe the Miamians. They struck me as a humorless, suspicious, narrow minded lot. It was our first experience of a Southern American town. The Negroes lived like a band of ghosts in miserable shacks on the outskirts, their very existence ignored for the most part by the whites. The verbal fire of my co-workers in the drugstore was reserved for use against the Jewish tourists, on whose money the town grew fat, and whose patronage paid their salaries. Many of those with whom we came in contact exhibited a sort of smarmy bonhomie, reminiscent of sugary German gemutlichkeit , a front behind which lurked the foulest
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