Sunday, November 24, 2019

Edward Field Interview: Reflections on his partner Neil Derrick, January 21, 2019

(Neil Derrick in the 1960's)

In 1959, the poet Edward Field was working as a temp typist at an advertising agency in Manhattan. The manager sat down next to him a muscular, handsome young man with fair hair named Neil Derrick. “You two should get along,” she said.

We talked all day,” said Edward. “She separated us the next day, but by then it was too late.” A few weeks later, Edward moved into Neil’s Hell’s Kitchen apartment. Thus began a relationship that spanned 58 years until Neil’s death on January 4th, 2018

I met with Edward in his spartan apartment in Westbeth, the artists’ housing in the West Village, where he has lived since 1972. We discussed Edward’s relationship with Neil, Neil’s writing and his work writing pornography for Grove Press and other publishers.  

Edward spoke of their tumultuous break up in the late 1960’s at the height of Gay Liberation and their reunion that was provoked by Neil’s brain tumor and post-surgical blindness.

During the last four decades of their relationship, Edward and Neil traveled to Morocco and developed a routine where they lived in Paris, Berlin and London on a regular basis. Together, they also wrote the novel “Village,” a saga about a multigenerational family in Greenwich Village.

DYLAN FOLEY: We are near the first anniversary on Neil’s death.

EDWARD FIELD: Yes, he died on January 4, 2018.

DF: You’ve had diarrhea recently?

EF: I’m pretty sure it started because of Neil’s anniversary.

DF: Do you think that it was stress related?

EF: I’m sure. There is nothing in my life that would give me diarrhea except that. I am of the generation that believed in psychosomaticailments. That’s old-fashioned psychology, but if you believe it, it’s true.

DF: Could we start from the beginning? How did you meet Neil?

EF: I was working as a temporary typist. You could make a living, you could live on what you made as a temporary typist. Rents were low, food was so cheap, restaurants even. I was an actor, and my acting teacher said, “If you want to be an actor, learn to type.” Well, I already knew how, but I didn’t want to be a typist. I did it anyway. I was working at an advertising agency in the typing pool.  The first day, the supervisor brought over a young man and sat him down at the work station next to me. “I think you guys will get along well.” Indeed, we didn’t stop talking all day. The next day, she moved me to the back, so we weren’t together, but it was too late.

DF: What was Neil’s family background?

EF: He grew up on a ranch in the Central Valley of California.

DF: What was his childhood like?

EF: He has a sister, Diane.  They’re WASPs. The mother was Canadian, so there was an overlay of Canadian gentility to the ranch and the cowboy image. I always felt because of the Canadian connection, they had a respect for the monarchy.

DF: Do you know if Neil had a happy childhood?

EF: He didn’t complain. He had his mother’s attitude towards his father. She thought the father, a ranch manager, was a boor because she was so genteel. I don’t really know much about his childhood, except he was adored. He was such a cute kid. Growing up in a conventional environment, he always looked with wonder at the New York experience, growing up like I did.

DF: What was Neil’s birth year?

EF: ’31. I was born in ’24. There is seven years difference.

DF: Was Neil drafted?

EF: He was drafted for the Korean War. He spent two years at the U.S. SHAEP headquarters, outside Paris, the big joint-military headquarters. He was first stationed in Chicago as an army clerk and saw a notice of a vacancy at SHAEP, applied, and went to Paris for the rest of his service.

(Edward Field and Neil Derrick)

DF: How did Neil wind up in New York?

EF: Neil was studying journalism at Berkeley, with his junior year at Exeter College in England. When he graduated from Berkeley, he came straight to New York where his sister was living. When I met him, he had just come back from his sister’s wedding in California. I’ve always thought that as significant, that he was free to make a relationship because she had.

DF: What kind of jobs did Neil have?

EF: He worked as an editorial assistant for trade magazines. When we got together, he got a job at the Museum of Modern Art. He, too, wanted to be a writer. Of course, I encouraged him.  I didn’t have a book yet, but I had been published a lot.  Though I was in the poetry world, and he wanted to write fiction.

DF: What year did you meet?

EF: It was ’59.

DF: Where were you living then?

EF: When I met Neil, I had been living on Central Park West with an actor I had performed with the summer before. I had been the leading man in a summer theater company outside Pittsburgh. I had a very good if short acting career. I played big roles and knew what it meant to stand on the stage before an audience.

(Edward and Neil in the aughts)

DF: Was Neil’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen?

EF: Yes. I moved in there very quickly.

DF: The situation was not ideal?

EF: It was a railroad flat with the toilet in the hall. The rent was $42 a month and it was on West 47thStreet between 8thand 9thAvenues. The police station was right across the street, so it was very safe.
We were once going to the Apollo Theatre on 42ndStreet. When we had sat down to watch the movie a police officer came over and called us out and put us up against the wall. Then drove us to the police station. We learned that a police officer from out of town had been walking behind us and heard us talking about the murder of a woman upstate, like we knew something about it. We did not. After two hours of questioning, a top detective came in and said, “If you know anything about this, come back and tell us. We are going to keep an eye on you.”

DF: Did you move because of your neighbor?

EF: We called her the Widow Murphy. She had a big family and a lot of parties. It was pretty noisy.  So we moved into Alfred Chester’s loft in the South Village. I knew him from NYU. We then found a furnished apartment. We went from place to place. You could do it back then. We finally found an apartment.

DF: Could you describe Neil physically?

EF: He had a wonderfully athletic body, though he wasn’t an athlete. He just grew up on a ranch and rode horses. And he did exercises regularly. One shoulder was short, because his shoulder blade had been broken at birth and he had an operation to repair it. But he had terrific posture, a beautifully straight spine, and was very attractive. 

DF: You were together through the ‘60’s?

EF: Yes, then he started having seizures, epileptic seizures.

DF: Was Neil sleeping with other men?

EF: Not much. Being from the east, I'd had a wild sex life. He really didn’t. Then, after we were together about 10 years, I woke up one night and he was having a grand mal seizure next to me! And they kept happening. A brain scan showed nothing, no cause for the seizures.

Eventually, the seizures were controlled with pills, anti-seizure pills. The medication worked. Having had a lot of psychotherapy myself, I asked him if he had any idea what was causing the seizures? He confessed that he was very frustrated. Especially with gay liberation breaking out all over, all around us in the Village was a sexual frenzy. It was freedom, freedom. Everybody was screwing around. He had never done that and I had.

Also, in 1963, my first book was published, “Stand Up, Friend, with Me.” It was very successful. Wherever we went, people would scream, “Edward Field, the poet.” And Neil, this gorgeous guy I was with, was ignored. That was a factor.

I told him, okay, do what you have to do, and I'll get out of your way. I am going to go to Afghanistan. You're free.

I went to Afghanistan and when I came back, he was living in Chicago and then London. Finally, he came home and we were living in the same apartment, which was impossible. 

DF: Were you still broken up at this point?

EF: We were. Essentially, I had to find a place of my own. (Chuckles) He was not going to find the place. I went to Westbeth. I said to the manager, “I can’t stay in New York if I don’t get an apartment here.” The manager said, “That’s what we are here for, to keep artists in the city,” and gave me a studio.

DF: Did you have any understanding to get back together after you got back from Afghanistan?

EF: No, that was the end. Of course, I was still madly in love with him.This is hard for me to tell…(Edward’s voice cracks and he starts to tear up. It’s okay, he said, I’m a crier.) Then he started having blackouts. And a doctor looked in his eyes and said, “You have a brain tumor. I can see it.” I think there was pressure on the optic nerve which showed in his eyes.

He had an operation and lost most of his sight. After going through a blind training program in West Haven, he tried living alone. I was now at Westbeth and he was on Perry Street in our apartment there. But it was too difficult. He was even robbed. The police station had said that people should register their electronic equipment with the police, so he brought in a sheet listing all his blind equipment—talking book machines and recorders. The neighbors said that men came down loaded with suitcases one day. All his stuff was taken away. It’s hard not to believe that it didn’t have a connection to the police.

DF: Neil lost 98 percent of his sight?

EF: He had two percent peripheral vision. He couldn’t go on living by himself. I was going over and cooking for him. This was not romance. 

This was really love. I loved him. He finally moved in with me here in Westbeth. I moved into Westbeth in 1972. And we lived together for 46 more years. We were together for 58 years all together.

Neil had another brain tumor at one point, and I took him to Johns Hopkins for pinpoint radiation. They targeted the tumor and burned it out, but it killed the hearing in that ear.

There could have been another tumor. In the last year of his life, he lost the rest of his sight and then his hearing.

I figure we had a terrific life together. Whenever I could, I would connect him with sex. Not me. I never found anybody else. We went to baths in Europe. In the steam room I would take his hands and put them on someone. That’s what they were there for.

DF: You guys stopped sleeping with each other?

EF: No more. We never had sex again [after we got back together]. It was just not on. We had stopped. Somehow, the break up of two years…I got the message. It was all right. I’m okay.

Can I tell about my private life? Because he was always walking around naked, it was gorgeous. I had living porn all the time and I whacked off over him constantly. I really had a very good sex life, I figure. 

DF: You did not have sex together again?

EF: No. No more.

DF: Neil lost interest in you?

EF: He really didn’t have an interest in me. You see, I was family. When you become family, it’s devastating to your sex life.

DF: What was Neil’s writing career like?

EF: He was not unsuccessful. When he was sighted. Did you ever see his books? [Edward pulls out a stack of 1960’s pulp paperbacks.] He had a half dozen soft-porn novels published, one by Grove Press, “Sticky Fingers.” I think the Stones took their album title from it. It’s about a lady who can’t stop fooling around with her pussy. All of his books are fun.

When he lost his sight, he said, “I can’t write anymore.” I said, “Well, let’s see.” I was going to Yaddo for a month or two. Before I went away, I plotted with him a novel, chapter by chapter. I went to Yaddo and he had written the whole novel by the time I came back. He was a typist. But he couldn’t revise what he wrote.

I helped him rewrite the novel and he called it “The Potency Clinic.” We published it ourselves. A Berlin publisher found it in a gay bookstore and published it as “Die Potenz Klinik.” It was in print for several editions in Germany.

(The German edition of The Potency Clinic)

An editor friend, Bob Wyatt, said, “You know that proposal you sent me about four generations of a family in Greenwich Village? We like it. Could you write a synopsis and I'll submit it to the board.” We'd never proposed anything like it to him, but we put together an outline. Two pages. And he gave us a contract for “Village,” by Bruce Elliot, which we wrote together.

DF: How did your temperaments work together?
EF: We fought. We fought over every line. At the end, it was all right. It was just part of the process. We wrote “Village” here and in Europe, in The Hague, over the winter, in my brother-in-law’s house while he was working in Berlin. We wrote a quarter of the book there in 1980.  We delivered it on time and the book came out in 1982.

DF: You were obsessed with rewriting the book in the aughts?

EF: A small press wanted to reprint it, so we revised it. Neil was not happy that the small press published it with our names on it. He was obsessed with privacy. I always felt it was part of being a WASP. He didn’t want his name on anything. He used Bruce Eliot, a pseudonym. Also, Anita Parker. He had a lot of pseudonyms for his porno books. “Sticky Fingers” was written under the name Eleanor Bartlett.

DF: I find it interesting that Neil was a gay man writing about heterosexual sex.

EF:  I helped him with a lot of the sex scenes. He did some gay sex, too. “The Potency Clinic” was gay, and “Inferno of Women” had lesbian sex.

DF: Was that based on the Women’s House of Detention on Greenwich Street. How was it?

EF:  It’s fun to read. All his books are fun. And on line they are now selling for quite a lot. 

Friday, November 8, 2019

Keeping the Archive Alive: Gloria McDarrah, widow of photographer Fred McDarrah

Gloria McDarrah is an editor and former teacher, and the widow of the legendary Village Voice photographer Fred McDarrah. July 2014.

I met with Gloria McDarrah in July 2014, in her sunny coop in the West Village. McDarrah is the widow of Fred McDarrah, who for four decades was the main photographer for the Village Voice and was one of the first major chroniclers of the Beats and the mid-20th century counterculture in Greenwich Village. For years, he travelled from parties to poetry readings and demonstrations, photographing and documenting the major historical and literary events in Greenwich Village before many other observers knew the value of them.

The gracious McDarrah showed me around her extensive and well-ordered archive of Fred McDarrah’s 250,000 photos. Fred’s homemade notation system allows her to find the right contact sheet in a few minutes, whether you want to find the poet Ted Joans or the Beatnik Riot in Washington Square Park.

Fred McDarrah was born in Brooklyn and served in the Pacific as a paratrooper during World War II. He photographed the American occupation of Japan while in the Army. He joined the Voice as an adman, but became the newspaper’s first staff photographer, where his mailbox said “McPhoto.” For many years, in addition to a small salary, Fred McDarrah was only paid $5 per photo. As a consolation, the first Voice editor Dan Wolf told him that he owned the copyright, which has continued to bring in revenue for his heirs.

Gloria McDarrah worked as an editor and taught in the New York City public schools for a time. Gloria collaborated with Fred on several of his photo books, including The Artist’s World in Pictures and The Beat Generation. She manages Fred McDarrah’s extensive archive of more than 250,000 photos.

Gloria McDarragh was born in the Bronx as Gloria Schoffel. She was raised in Lebanon, Pa., and has lived in New York since 1953. Gloria and Fred McDarrah were married in november 1960.

In 2018, Gloria McDarrah was instrumental in publishing New York Scenes, a glorious retrospective book of Fred McDarrah’s  coverage of New York’s political, cultural and art scenes from the 1950’s to the ‘70’s.

Dylan Foley: You met Fred McDarrah when he went for a job interview?

Gloria McDarrah: He had sent in a resume with a photograph. This was the Metropolitan Sunday newspapers, in the promotions department. His sister had gone to Penn State. We were sorority sisters. They had hired me to be a secretary. My skills were minimal, but I was willing.

DF: Fred took the famous April 21, 1966 Sip-In photos, a seminal moment in the Village’s gay liberation movement? [At the legendary “Sip In”, pre-Stonewall gay activists were challenging a local ordinances banning homosexuals from being served in bars. In a comic series of events, the first several bars served the defiant gay activists with no problem, but they were finally refused at Julius,’ a famed gay bar on 10th Street.]

GM: Yes. It was at the Howard Johnson’s was below 8th Street on 6th Avenue. I just thought Julius’ was gay. [Julius’ is a famed gay bar on 11th Street, known for its filthy ceiling.] I haven’t been there in a long time.

DF: It sounds like it was fun.

GM: It was, it was.

DF: How did you and Fred fall into all these different social groups—the writers, the dancers, the painters?

GM: The Village was smaller and everyone knew each other. Fred, among his other unpaid jobs, was the doorman at the Artists’ Club, where all the Abstract Expressionists hung out. …as did people like John Cage and Morty Feldman. They were interested in each others’ work, whether they were dancers like Eric Hawkins or actors like Judith Malina and Julian Beck. Everyone seemed to know each other. It was a much more cohesive place. People would call Fred. This was when he was associated with the Village Voice. He was there for 40 years. They wanted him to come take their picture, but Fred had a lot of freedom. He had an authority problem. Nobody could tell him what to do with his photographs. He took what he wanted to take. He was interested in the arts. He wanted to document his times. He was basically a journalist. He originally wanted to be a writer, but he loved taking photographs. Somehow, the photos took precedence and that’s what he did. [He started at the Voice as an ad man]. He was paid $5 a photo. He wasn’t paid expenses. We really didn’t have a lot of money.

We were living in this tenement at 64 Thompson. We had an opportunity to get this apartment, a middle-income co-op. We couldn’t prove we had enough income. I told Fred that we either take this apartment or I was going home to Pennsylvania. He went to Dan Wolf and said, “My wife is going to leave me.” By this time, Fred was getting $50 a week. Dan doubled his salary, so we could say we were middle-class people and could afford to be considered for the apartment.

We had a chance to buy a 3-story building in Tribeca for $17,000. Who had $17,000?

DF: Did Fred cover the Stonewall Riots?

GM: Howard Smith was there. He called Fred and told him to come over. Lucian Truscott IV was there, too.

DF: The Voice headline after the riots was “Fags get upset.”

GM: Arthur Bell was the first openly gay man at the Voice, and Jill Johnson was gay, as well, but bigotry was rampant.

DF: Reading Fred’s books, could you tell me about the 2-hour poem with Jack Kerouac in 1959?

GM: Typical, the girl was doing the typing. It was all fun. We had some bottles of beer, I am sure.  It was at Fred’s apartment on 14th Street. It was before we had gotten married. Fred had been collecting poems. He had been photographing people for the book, then they gave him poems. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if he even promised them a book.

Kerouac had just come to town. He came with both these guys—Lew Welch and Albert Saijo. Fred wanted Kerouac to give him a poem, and I guess Kerouac said, “We’ll come over and write one right there.” It was almost like a parlor game—half serious and half fun.

Kerouac was drunk. He was their leader. When he wanted something to drink, we went to that bellydancing place, Egyptian Garden.

They wanted to get stoned, but I had to go to work the next day. I worked at the ad place, then I worked at Harper’s Children’s Books. It was a great job. I met Maurice Sendak. He wasn’t gay in those days. People would say they were bisexual. Frank O’Hara’s sister used to be around, Maureen O’Hara.

DF: Do you have any memories of the poet Brigid Murnaghan?

GM: She was very nice looking. She always seemed so spaced out to me. I remember the later years when she was toothless.

DF: Are all of Fred’s 250,000 photos archived?

GM: I take no credit. Fred had the soul of a librarian. He worked late every night.

[We spend about 10 minutes looking at the archive, neat rows of white file cabinets, then index cards indicating the contact sheet number. Gloria deftly finds four contact sheets of Brigid Murnaghan…one of the most famous Fred McDarrah’s photos of Murnaghan was of her holding her infant daughter in front of the old Kettle of Fish bar].

DF: Did Fred really sue Life Magazine?

That was amazing. They used a photograph of his of a demonstration, perhaps an anti-war demonstration. I am not sure. The caption made it seem like the photo was taken by the FBI. Fred blew his stack. He said, “No one will ever speak to me again.” He went to Dan Wolf, his counselor and friend. Dan gave him the name of a lawyer, Howard Ende, from a law firm uptown He took it on and got $10,000 and an apology from Life Magazine.

DF: What were the conditions at the Village Voice?

GM: Fred always complained that he wanted more money, but it was like a family. We were very friendly with each other. Rhoda Wolf is still around. Howard Blum is still around.

Clay Felker wanted to fire Fred. He was such a gutless wonder. They took Fred’s name of off the masthead without saying anything. Fred called Felker up and said, “Are you trying to fire me?” Clay Felker backed down and said, “Oh, no, that was a mistake.”

Mailer wrote a column and hated the typos. Dan always thought that the writers should work for practically nothing. He never cut anything. He would let it run on and on. You never had a jump page at the Voice. It would follow one page after another, until your story was done. That was payment enough. He was helping them get famous.

DF: Did you know the poet Ted Joans?

GM: He died not long ago. He was a very sweet guy. I couldn’t imagine being married to him. He was Mr. Unfaithful. He’d go off to Paris. He had a wife and four kids. I don’t know how they were supported, whether they went home to her family.
He was always bubbling over, the charismatic type.

DF: How did Fred wind up at the Village Voice?

GM: Fred met Dan Wolf because they lived in the same apartment. They lived on 66th or 67th Street. It was a railroad flat and each person had their own room. There was a common kitchen. It was cheap.

DF: How did Fred come up with Rent-a-Beatnik?

GM: We were talking one night and I don’t know how it came to be, but Fred put an ad in the Voice, “for party entertainment, “Rent-a-Beatnik.” There were definitely people who responded. It was definitely a comic stunt. It was not serious. Who would think of such an insane thing? It was a silly idea. Fred didn’t have to pay for the ad. People from all over the suburbs responded. There was one from Sniffin Court, a little mews in Murray Hill. There was a party there. Fred may have charged $100. I have to check his diaries. He went around getting people to come. I would go wearing black stockings. I was obviously fake because I had a job.

DF: Fred was interviewed for Mike Wallace’s “Beat Generation” documentary?

GM: There was media interest in the story. Fred got Ed Fancher to address an auditorium of people in Brooklyn. I don’t know if it was the psychology of being a Beatnik. Fancher has his office on 10th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues. He turned 90 recently.

Lutz money founded the Voice.

When Rupert Murdoch bought the New York Post, the first thing he did was fire Tim McDarrah, who was the union rep. [Tim is Gloria’s elder son, a writer.]

DF: Did having children cramp your night lifestyle?

GM: Not very much. Fred always included us in everything. There’s the famous picture of Andy Warhol holding Patrick  and Patrick’s screaming. I guess he was about two years old.

I was working part time, so Fred was in charge of the kids. He didn’t have a desk at the Voice because he didn’t want anyone to know where he was. He had other fish to fry. You don’t get all that filing done at night. You have to put in other times. When he finally reached the buyout stage in the early 1990s, the Voice wanted to hold on to the copyrights of the photos. Fred blew up. Leonard Stern was the owner. Fred actually pointed out that he had gotten paid 5 dollars a photo for years. Dan Wolf had always told him, “These are your pictures.” He would have that. As it happens, it is a gift that keeps on giving—selling pictures, giving reproduction rights.

DF: Where did Fred obtain that iconic shot of Kerouac with his arms spread?

GM: It was a poetry reading. George Preston, a professor at City College. He would have these readings Sunday night. Somehow or other, Kerouac came to one of these readings. We do it to this day. If someone wants to reproduce a photo, we are very strict. One-time use only. If you get a contract from someone it is all in their favor. Cross it all out and write in what you want. If they want the picture, they’ll do it.

DF: Did you know the dancer Freddy Herko?

GM: Who is Freddy Herko? I’ve gotten requests. I got a six-page list of events at Judson and other places like the Living Theatre. It was from Getty.

DF: Have you heard of the play “Home Movies” by Rosalyn Drexler?

GM: I worked with Sherman Drexler, her husband. I was a teacher for a while at JHS 50 in Brooklyn.

DF: Yes, the painter Sherman Drexler told me that “moving to Newark was the worst decision in my life.”

DF: I’ve always liked the picture of Diane diPrima and LeRoi Jones sitting in the Cedar.

GM: LeRoi was a very self-contained kind of person. Hetty [Cohen, his first wife] was quite different, very warm and would stop and chat. He was very reserved.

DF: What was Fred McDarrah’s style of shooting?

GM: He didn’t like a lot of fuss. He never had a studio where he would shoot people. He was a street photographer. He always called his pictures snapshots.