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Authors: Marja Mills
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century.”
Nelle Harper, he said, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt much of the time. She liked to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and took the bus there. Tom and Nelle would take a bus to the casinos of Atlantic City as well. They both loved a gambling trip, and they’d indulge on the Mississippi River, too. In Atlantic City, they played the machines, met up for lunch, went back to their favorite machines, and hoped they could find each other before it was time to go home.
Once, they located each other right before the bus would have left without them.
“Thank God,” Nelle told him. “I thought I was going to have to call Alice and tell her I’d lost you.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Tom told her. “I didn’t want to have to make that call to Alice.”
Tom and I looked up from our conversation and saw that we were the last ones in the restaurant. They needed to close.
“I hope we can talk some more, by phone and when I come back,” I told him.
“Definitely,” he said. “See that you hurry back.”
By the time he dropped me off at the motel, went home, answered e-mails, and wrote in his journal, it was past midnight.
After I began work on this book, he gave me permission to read and quote from his journals. That night, he sat at his kitchen table and wrote the day’s entry in his slim, hardcover journal. Two rows of the journals, with “Record” embossed in red on the covers, resided in one of his many bookcases.
“Took a package to Harper Lee that had been delivered to me,” he wrote of that day. “We talked for a while about the Chicago Tribune reporter and what she would like me to say and not say. To my astonishment, NHL spent two hours with the lady—not in an interview but in a visit. I’ve never known her to give a reporter the time of day.”
Of that evening he wrote, “I hope she does a good job with this series of articles, because NHL has put lots of trust in her integrity. I would hate to see NHL wounded by any of this.”
Nelle asked that Tom not reveal when she was in New York versus Monroeville and that he not disclose the restaurants and other spots where journalists or tourists might find her.
This was becoming a different story than my editors and I firstenvisioned. It was unprecedented for Alice and Tom to say this much on the record about Harper Lee. With the author’s trusted circle usually unwilling to talk, Tom pointed out, “Those who know don’t speak and those who speak don’t know.”
As far as I could tell, two better sources of insight into the author’s life didn’t exist. Alice was as much mother as sister. She had vivid memories of Nelle Harper when she was the age of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, about six. The attorney knew their father, the model for Atticus, better than anyone and shared her home with Nelle Harper part of each year. For forty years, she had been deeply involved in handling her affairs.
Tom Butts, meanwhile, knew Nelle Harper in the way almost no one else did: He spent time with her in both Monroeville and Manhattan. Few, if any, of Nelle’s Manhattan friends spent time with her Monroeville circle and vice versa. Tom knew her in both contexts.
My editors agreed it was worth delaying the story to take up the Lees on their invitation to return. I could fly South again in a week or so, and research a longer profile of Harper Lee. One Book, One Chicago would continue into October. We had a little time.
I told the Lees and Reverend Butts I would be in touch about a possible date to return, and Terrence and I made our way back to Chicago.
Chapter Six
B ack in Chicago, Terrence and I were surprised when photos of Nelle being inducted into the Alabama Academy of Honor went out on the wire. He had suggested staying on to photograph her at that Montgomery ceremony, since she did not want him to photograph her in Monroeville, as he had done with Alice and the other interviewees. It was no surprise she would not want
Nelle Harper, he said, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt much of the time. She liked to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and took the bus there. Tom and Nelle would take a bus to the casinos of Atlantic City as well. They both loved a gambling trip, and they’d indulge on the Mississippi River, too. In Atlantic City, they played the machines, met up for lunch, went back to their favorite machines, and hoped they could find each other before it was time to go home.
Once, they located each other right before the bus would have left without them.
“Thank God,” Nelle told him. “I thought I was going to have to call Alice and tell her I’d lost you.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Tom told her. “I didn’t want to have to make that call to Alice.”
Tom and I looked up from our conversation and saw that we were the last ones in the restaurant. They needed to close.
“I hope we can talk some more, by phone and when I come back,” I told him.
“Definitely,” he said. “See that you hurry back.”
By the time he dropped me off at the motel, went home, answered e-mails, and wrote in his journal, it was past midnight.
After I began work on this book, he gave me permission to read and quote from his journals. That night, he sat at his kitchen table and wrote the day’s entry in his slim, hardcover journal. Two rows of the journals, with “Record” embossed in red on the covers, resided in one of his many bookcases.
“Took a package to Harper Lee that had been delivered to me,” he wrote of that day. “We talked for a while about the Chicago Tribune reporter and what she would like me to say and not say. To my astonishment, NHL spent two hours with the lady—not in an interview but in a visit. I’ve never known her to give a reporter the time of day.”
Of that evening he wrote, “I hope she does a good job with this series of articles, because NHL has put lots of trust in her integrity. I would hate to see NHL wounded by any of this.”
Nelle asked that Tom not reveal when she was in New York versus Monroeville and that he not disclose the restaurants and other spots where journalists or tourists might find her.
This was becoming a different story than my editors and I firstenvisioned. It was unprecedented for Alice and Tom to say this much on the record about Harper Lee. With the author’s trusted circle usually unwilling to talk, Tom pointed out, “Those who know don’t speak and those who speak don’t know.”
As far as I could tell, two better sources of insight into the author’s life didn’t exist. Alice was as much mother as sister. She had vivid memories of Nelle Harper when she was the age of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, about six. The attorney knew their father, the model for Atticus, better than anyone and shared her home with Nelle Harper part of each year. For forty years, she had been deeply involved in handling her affairs.
Tom Butts, meanwhile, knew Nelle Harper in the way almost no one else did: He spent time with her in both Monroeville and Manhattan. Few, if any, of Nelle’s Manhattan friends spent time with her Monroeville circle and vice versa. Tom knew her in both contexts.
My editors agreed it was worth delaying the story to take up the Lees on their invitation to return. I could fly South again in a week or so, and research a longer profile of Harper Lee. One Book, One Chicago would continue into October. We had a little time.
I told the Lees and Reverend Butts I would be in touch about a possible date to return, and Terrence and I made our way back to Chicago.
Chapter Six
B ack in Chicago, Terrence and I were surprised when photos of Nelle being inducted into the Alabama Academy of Honor went out on the wire. He had suggested staying on to photograph her at that Montgomery ceremony, since she did not want him to photograph her in Monroeville, as he had done with Alice and the other interviewees. It was no surprise she would not want
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