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  Sometimes I try to put myself in another’s place, and I am frightened when I find I am almost succeeding. How awful to be anyone but I. I have a terrible egotism. I love my flesh, my face, my limbs with overwhelming devotion. I know that I am “too tall” and have a fat nose, and yet I pose and prink before the mirror, seeing more and more how lovely I am … I have erected in my mind an image of myself—idealistic and beautiful. Is not that image, free from blemish, the true self—the true perfection? Am I wrong when this image insinuates itself between me and the merciless mirror? (Oh, even now I glance back on what I have just written—how foolish it sounds, how overdramatic.)

  Never, never, never will I reach the perfection I long for with all my soul—my paintings, my poems, my stories—all poor, poor reflections … for I have been too thoroughly conditioned to the conventional surroundings of this community … my vanity desires luxuries which I can never have….

  I am continually more aware of the power which chance plays in my life…. There will come a time when I must face myself at last. Even now I dread the big choices which loom up in my life—what college? What career? I am afraid. I feel uncertain. What is best for me? What do I want? I do not know. I love freedom. I deplore constrictions and limitations…. I am not as wise as I have thought. I can now see, as from a valley, the roads lying open for me, but I cannot see the end—the consequences….

  Oh, I love now, with all my fears and forebodings, for now I still am not completely molded. My life is still just beginning. I am strong. I long for a cause to devote my energies to….

  A fragment from Sylvia’s high school diary

  * Clark University Press, Worcester, Massachusetts, 1935.

  * John Langdon-Davies, A Short History of Women (New York: Viking Press, 1927), p. ix.

  † Ibid., pp. 381–382.

  PART ONE

  September 27, 1950–June 1953

  Sylvia’s letters from Smith show the effort of a conscientious student striving for high grades, partly to satisfy herself and build up her own image and partly to prove herself worthy of the generous financial aid she was receiving from various sources: the Olive Higgins Prouty Fund, the Nielson scholarship, and the Smith Club in Wellesley. Added to this effort was her need to project the image of the “all-around” person; i.e., the student who not only did well scholastically but was socially acceptable to both sexes, and the service-oriented person who made a contribution to her peer group and the community. To all this, Sylvia added her own burning desire: to develop creatively in her chosen field—writing—and to win recognition there. The pressure that developed from her involvement in all these areas was periodically overwhelming, both physically and psychically.

  {First letter written from Smith}

  SMITH COLLEGE

  NORTHAMPTON, MASS.

  SEPTEMBER 27, 1950

  Dearest Mummy,

  Well, only five minutes till midnight, so I thought I’d spend them writing my first letter to my favorite person. If my printing’s crooked, it’s only because I drank too much apple cider tonight.

  Even though I don’t have much finery adorning my room yet, it seems that it’s pretty much home. Tangible things can be awfully friendly at times. Even though I’ve only been here since three, an awful lot seems to have happened. I kind of like getting a quiet first acquaintance with my room and the girls.

  I feel that I’ve wandered into a New York apartment by mistake … the maple on my desk feels like velvet. I love my room and am going to have a terrific time decorating it.

  I lay down for half an hour and listened to the clock. I think I’m going to like it—the ticking is so rhythmic and self-assured that it’s like the beat of someone’s heart—so-o-o it stays on the bureau.

  … After our little get-together, at which a delightful extrovert freshman from Kansas kept us in hysterics, we three freshmen sat and talked. After which I left them in their room on the first floor, drifted into conversation with Ann [Davidow] on the second, and finally arrived here at 11:30. Girls are a new world for me. I should have some fascinating times learning about the creatures. Gosh, to live in a house with 48 kids my own age—what a life! There are (don’t faint) 600 in my class. Mrs. Shakespeare [the house mother] is very sweet. In fact, I like everything….

  Love, Sivvy*

  SEPTEMBER 28, 1950

  Dear Mummy,

  … so far, I’ve gotten along with everyone in the house. It’s good to see more faces familiar to me. I love my room, my location, and am firmly convinced that the whole episode here is up to me. I have no excuse for not getting along in all respects. Just to find a balance is the first problem.

  We had our college assembly this morning. I never came so close to crying since I’ve been here when I saw the professors, resplendent with colors, medals, and emblems, march across the stage and heard adorable Mr. Wright’s stimulating address. I still can’t believe I’m a SMITH GIRL! …

  The whole house is just the friendliest conglomeration of people imaginable. Gerry—one gorgeous creature—just got a picture and writeup in Flair as representative of Eastern Women’s Colleges. People are always talking about Europe and New York. Lisa told me about how good it is not to work too hard, but to allot time for “playing with the kids in the house.” Seems she’s done a neat job of adjusting. I hope I can really get to know her sometime. She has quite a friendly attitude, and I could talk to her about almost anything.

  Love, ME

  SEPTEMBER 29, 1950

  Dear Mummy,

  The most utterly divine thing has happened to me. I was standing innocently in the parlor, having coffee after supper, when a senior said, sotto voce, in my ear, “I have a man all picked out for you.” I just stood there with that “Who, me?” expression, and she proceeded to explain. Seems she met this young guy who lives in Mass, but went to Culver Military Academy. He is a freshman at Amherst this year, tall, cute and—get this—HE WRITES POETRY. I just sat there burbling inarticulately into my coffee. She said he should be around in a few weeks. God, am I thrilled. The hope, even, of getting to know a sensitive guy who isn’t a roughneck makes the whole world swim in pink mist.

  Sylvia’s high school graduation photo, 1950

  The food here is fabulous. I’ve had two helpings of everything since I got here and should gain a lot. I love everybody. If only I can unobtrusively do well in all my courses and get enough sleep, I should be tops. I’m so happy. And this anticipation makes everything super. I keep muttering, “I’M A SMITH GIRL NOW.”

  ME

  SEPTEMBER 30, 1950

  (MIDNIGHT)

  Dear Mummy,

  … my physical exam … consisted in getting swathed in a sheet and passing from one room to another in nudity. I’m so used to hearing, “Drop your sheet,” that I have to watch myself now lest I forget to dress! My height is an even 5’9”; my weight 137; my posture, good; although when my posture picture was taken, I took such pains to get my ears and heels in a straight line that I forgot to tilt up straight. The result was the comment, “You have good alignment, but you are in constant danger of falling on your face.”

  … Then quickly back to the house to pick up the much-awaited mail. There was that lovely letter from you and two from Eddie* [Cohen]! … I’m so pleased with your news; it’s all so happy—especially about Exeter. [Grammy and I had visited her brother, Warren, there.]

  … After supper, we gathered around the piano and sang for a good hour. Never have I felt so happy, standing with a group of girls—with piano, Lisa’s accordion, and two ukuleles—singing my favorite popular songs. It was such a wonderful feeling. No home life could make up for the camaraderie of living with a group of girls. I like them all.

  After singing, two girls from our Annex house came up to my room for the purpose of studying. However we got in the process of learning the Charleston … Ann Davidow stayed to do her Religion homework. We drifted into discussion, and she is the closest girl yet that I’ve wanted for a friend.
She is a free thinker. We discussed God and religion and men. Her parents are Jewish. I find her very attractive—almost as tall as I, freckle-faced, short brown hair and twinkling blue eyes.

  … The sensitive guy I told you about in the card has not yet materialized. I’ll give him a month. I’ve fallen for him already merely because of the poetry angle.

  Love, Sivvy

  OCTOBER 1, 1950

  Dear Mother,

  … Ann Davidow, the lovely Jewish girl I told you about, got me a date from Amherst…. It was a triple date, and when the boys came, I was relieved to see that mine was 6 feet tall, slender, and cleancut…. I don’t know just what chance of fate threw us together, but my first “blind date” sure was lucky…. Bill and I separated from the crowd and went down the hall to his room. It was lovely—a fireplace, records, big leather chairs. And somehow we got to talking very frankly. He surprised me by hitting rather well on a few points of my personality which I usually keep hidden. But there was a sensitivity about him which appealed to me in comparison with the hearty, roughneck, drinking crowd, so I talked quite openly. His manner is somewhat reminiscent of Warren. … He didn’t even approach me, which is another thing in his favor. After we discussed several important things which I don’t exactly recall—something about ego and religious belief—he got up abruptly, and we went to another house to dance. After a few dances, he led me, equally abruptly, out of the house, and, by mutual consent, we walked around the campus. Nothing is as beautiful as a campus at night. Music drifted out from the houses; fog blurred the lights, and from the hill, it looked as if we could step over the edge into nothingness …

  Never, since I have come here, have I been in such an island of inner calm. I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything. We sat and talked out in the cool dark of the steps, and I told him how I felt about being at ease. Seems he felt the same way. So we went home at 12:30 with the others, and I felt very happy. To think that I didn’t have to torture myself by sitting in a smoke-filled room with a painted party smile, watching my date get drunk! This guy was gentle and sweet. He goes out for crew, so I told him all about Warren….

  … Back at Haven [House], we stood for a while outside; the other couples were all coming up the walk, kissing each other regardless of onlookers. So he just smiled and looked at me, saying, “Some people just don’t have any inhibitions,” and kissed the tip of my nose briefly.

  So that was that … said he was glad to know I lived at Haven so he wouldn’t have to go scouting the campus for me.

  Among his various observations: I live “hard,” am dramatic in my manner, talk sometimes like a school girl reporting a theme, and have a Southern accent!

  Don’t mind my rambling. The first college date is a big thing and I really feel a part of life now.

  Love, Sivvy

  OCTOBER 3, 1950

  Dear Mother,

  Just got your Sunday letter this morning, so I thought I’d drop you a line. Your letters are utterly fascinating and they mean so much since I don’t get much mail or have too much time to write coherently …

  I wish I really did have only 18 hours of classes. With 24, I find myself hard pressed. I am enclosing a copy of my schedule, which may enlighten you somewhat. You see, I have six hours in both Art and Botany, which fills it in rather heavily …

  … I am nowhere as physically exhausted as I was at first. In fact, I see a little order in the chaos already. Wait for a few weeks till I build up study habits and sleep habits … Just now I can’t look ahead more than a few hours at a time. But that, I tell myself, is as it should be. Rome was not built in a day, and if I accept confusion as a normal consequence of being uprooted from home environment, I should be able to cope with my problems better.

  Today should have been Mountain Day [a random, beautiful day in October when classes are suspended so that students can go mountain climbing]. The tree outside my window is pure shining gold. Oh, what joy to have no studies and to bike to the mountains!

  Love, Sivvy

  {Postcard}

  OCTOBER 5, 1950

  Dear Mother,

  … If only I don’t appear as stupid to my profs as I do to myself!

  Love, Sivvy

  {Postcard}

  OCTOBER 5, 1950

  Dear Mum,

  Don’t worry that I’m sacrificing valuable time writing to you. These cards take only a sec. Just before I hop to bed, thought I’d send you a snatch of verse.

  Gold leaves shiver

  In this crack of time;

  Yellow flickers

  In the shrill clear sun;

  Light skips and dances,

  Pirouettes;

  While blue above

  Leaps the sheer sky.

  Gold leaves dangle

  In the wind.

  Gold threads snap.

  In giddy whirls

  And sweeps of fancy

  Sunlit leaves plane down.

  Lisping along the street

  In dry and deathless dance,

  The leaves on slipshod feet

  Advance and swirl

  frisk

  dip

  spiral,

  circle

  twirl.

  Brief gold glitters

  In the gutters;

  Flares and flashes

  Husky rushes;

  Brisk wind hushes

  hushes

  hushes.

  And in that moment, silent, cold

  Across the lawn—dull pools of gold.

  OCTOBER 10, 1950

  … As nasty as it is to have a sinus cold at the present moment, I have become philosophical and decided that it is a challenge.

  … It is an Indian summer day—blue-skied, leaves golden, falling. Some girls are studying—some few. So I sit here, sheltered, the sun warming me inside. And life is good. Out of misery comes joy, clear and sweet. I feel that I am learning … I almost welcome this quiet solitude, since I feel still too shaky for much energetic work.

  … I’ve dropped Warren a letter, but haven’t heard from him yet. How I love that boy! Your cards are so sweet and sunny….

  This Austin [the poet?] was a sweet boy, but evidently likes short blondes, so I fear I must either cut myself in two or be sweet to Bill Gallup, who evidently has taken quite a fancy to me. He was talking to some girls over at Amherst about me this Sat. and one of them said later, “My deah, you made a great impression on him.” Naturally, I blushed modestly.

  God, today is lovely! My cold is still runny, but with plenty of sleep and nosedrops I should be well rid of it soon. By the way, do you suck those buffered penicillins or swallow with water? … I don’t want to kill myself by taking them the wrong way!

  Cheerio! Sivvy

  OCTOBER 19, 1950

  … This weekend I went out Saturday with Bill. We doubled with Ann Davidow—that nice girl I told you about. We went over to Amherst as usual. Honestly, I have never seen anything so futile as their system of dating. The boys take their dates up to their rooms, usually to drink. After the first hour, the groups break up, and couples wander from fraternity to fraternity in search of a crowd into which they can merge or a “party” which they can join. It is like wandering from one plush room to another and finding the remains of an evening scattered here and there. I cannot say I give a damn about it. Bill, at least, is very sweet and thoughtful—nowhere as superficial as most of the boys I’ve run into over there. We were both quite tired and not in the mood for any party glitter, so we went to the suite, and I curled up on the red leather couch and dozed while he stretched out in a chair. He had built a fire and put on some good records, so for about two hours I rested, my eyes closed. We didn’t even talk. At least both of us were tired at the same time. I almost have to laugh when I think back on it now. What would my housemates say if they knew what an entertaining evening I spent? I don’t suppose they would realize that I had a better time under the circumstances than I could have had by
straining to achieve a bright, empty smile in a crowd all night.

  Sunday night I did the rather unwise thing of accepting a blind date to Alpha Delta (God, these Greek names are foolish!).

  … My date had pictures and scrapbooks of his girl—a Smith girl spending her junior year abroad—around the room. So I was more or less just a date. It’s funny, but the whole system of weekends seems more intent on saying: “I went to Yale” or “Dartmouth.” That’s enough—you’ve gone somewhere. Why add, “I had a hell of a time. I hated my date.” You see, I don’t think people with ideals like our mutual friends, the Nortons, frequent the bars where I have hitherto made my appearance (drinking Cokes). As for what I wore—my aqua dress Sat., and my red skirt and black jersey last night. This next weekend I have vowed to stay home and sleep and study. I wonder if I will ever meet a congenial boy. Oh, well—

  OCTOBER 19, 1950

  Dear Mum,

  Another mild, orange-gold October day. Just to think I’m almost 18! I get a little frightened when I think of life slipping through my fingers like water—so fast that I have little time to stop running. I have to keep on like the White Queen to stay in the same place.

  Today I have experienced the pin-point arranging of time. I painted my first art assignment … I did it hurriedly—a splashed color impression of Chapel Meeting, but I got a thrill out of thinking how much I may improve.