A Life of Privilege, Mostly

Rating:
Summary: "Funny names belong to the past" - Wolcott Gibbs (p.177)
Review: As the split screen cover photos suggest, Gardner Botsford ('is this a real name?' asks my wife) chronicles two sides of his extraordinary life. First, "the feel of fear" as an infantryman entering World War II at Omaha Beach on D-Day and his surviving countless adventures as the Allies drive to Berlin. Liberation of Paris, the surrender of an entire town to him personally, meeting Patton...one begins to think he is an erudite Forrest Gump - he is simply everywhere at the important moment. Second, his colorful career in journalism, from covering death-row executions in Florida as a young beat reporter through his long career at the center of the literary world as editor of The New Yorker.

"'Before I blow out your brains' - what a way to talk! What melodrama! What had happened to me?" As a GI, Botsford wrestles in Europe with the demons of war...perhaps solid preparation for future traumas he would witness at home in New York. Booze, mental depression and suicide were to elite wordsmiths what heroin became to jazz musicians, and Botsford's life is touched repeatedly by the loss of his colleagues.

One expects chapters upon chapter of WASPy high society lifestyles, but Botsford indulges the reader only with a taste of his pre-war jaunts through Hotchkiss, Yale and the Ubangi Club. Neysa McMein, famous socialite and illustrator, (but not Botsford's mother as indicated in the PW review posted here) is featured: a fellow native of Quincy, Illinois, Neysa introduces the author's parents to New York. Alexander Wolcott, Genet (Janet Flanner), Wolcott Gibbs, AJ Leibling, and scores of famous New Yorker writers and editors are recounted. Naturally, Ross and Shawn, the great legends of the magazine serve as bookends to the Botsford career. But you don't have to be a great student of The New Yorker to appreciate this memoir.

Maeve Brennan's insouciant letter detailing a Christmas in the Hamptons ("It will be a long day before I have 'house guests' again.") is a scream, and worth the price of the book alone. You'll also enjoy Wolcott Gibbs' 10 general rules for editing New Yorker writers. Equally amusing is Gibbs' editorial answer to a book publisher in Chicago with six accompanying notes ("#4. 'For it was apple-blossom time in Normandy' is, I'm afraid, arch at best, and the ragtime beat is not appealing to the ear.")

Mr. Botsford's keen sense of humor echoes throughout the memoir. He constantly watches for those taking themselves too seriously, and finds a treasure trove of these unfortunates in the US Army, in American politics, and in the editorial corridors of New York City. Even his best friend before the war, Bill Verity, (aka, Monsieur Calvini) does not escape his wit...alas "he took up the corporate ladder, became more stone-minded, was appointed as Ronald Reagan's Secretary of Commerce - he was lost forever." Those who are too officious find little room in the privileged life of Gardner Botsford. Thank you, Robert, this was a treat.

Rating:
Summary: It will leave you weak with laughter
Review: As the split screen cover photos suggest, Gardner Botsford (`is this a real name?' asks my wife) chronicles two sides of his extraordinary life. First, "the feel of fear" as an infantryman entering World War II at Omaha Beach on D-Day and his surviving countless adventures as the Allies drive to Berlin. Liberation of Paris, the surrender of an entire town to him personally, meeting Patton...one begins to think he is an erudite Forrest Gump - he is simply everywhere at the important moment. Second, his colorful career in journalism, from covering death-row executions in Florida as a young beat reporter through his long career at the center of the literary world as editor of The New Yorker.

"`Before I blow out your brains' - what a way to talk! What melodrama! What had happened to me?" As a GI, Botsford wrestles in Europe with the demons of war...perhaps solid preparation for future traumas he would witness at home in New York. Booze, mental depression and suicide were to elite wordsmiths what heroin became to jazz musicians, and Botsford's life is touched repeatedly by the loss of his colleagues.

One expects chapters upon chapter of WASPy high society lifestyles, but Botsford indulges the reader only with a taste of his pre-war jaunts through Hotchkiss, Yale and the Ubangi Club. Neysa McMein, famous socialite and illustrator, (but not Botsford's mother as indicated in the PW review posted here) is featured: a fellow native of Quincy, Illinois, Neysa introduces the author's parents to New York. Alexander Wolcott, Genet (Janet Flanner), Wolcott Gibbs, AJ Leibling, and scores of famous New Yorker writers and editors are recounted. Naturally, Ross and Shawn, the great legends of the magazine serve as bookends to the Botsford career. But you don't have to be a great student of The New Yorker to appreciate this memoir.

Maeve Brennan's insouciant letter detailing a Christmas in the Hamptons ("It will be a long day before I have `house guests' again.") is a scream, and worth the price of the book alone. You'll also enjoy Wolcott Gibbs' 10 general rules for editing New Yorker writers. Equally amusing is Gibbs' editorial answer to a book publisher in Chicago with six accompanying notes ("#4. `For it was apple-blossom time in Normandy' is, I'm afraid, arch at best, and the ragtime beat is not appealing to the ear.")

Mr. Botsford's keen sense of humor echoes throughout the memoir. He constantly watches for those taking themselves too seriously, and finds a treasure trove of these unfortunates in the US Army, in American politics, and in the editorial corridors of New York City. Even his best friend before the war, Bill Verity, (aka, Monsieur Calvini) does not escape his wit...alas "he took up the corporate ladder, became more stone-minded, was appointed as Ronald Reagan's Secretary of Commerce - he was lost forever." Those who are too officious find little room in the privileged life of Gardner Botsford. Thank you, Robert, this was a treat.

Rating:
Summary: It will leave you weak with laughter
Review: The two photographs on the cover of Gardner Botsford's extraordinary memoir explain the "Mostly" in the title: While the book gives a funny, detailed description of life in the top tier of New York society, it also takes the reader into the not-so-funny life of a young soldier who fought in the bloodiest battles of World War II. The war parts are without self-pity. The privilege parts are similarly cheerful and accepting. The author, a former top editor at the New Yorker Magazine, also gives a backstage view of some of the power struggles he witnessed there. And some of his delicious anecdotes about famous New Yorker writers leave the reader weak with laughter. This is a book to relish and buy many copies of for all your friends and relatives.

Rating:
Summary: A LIFE OF PRIVILEGE IS A PRIVILEGE TO READ
Review: This glimpse into the life of a gentleman is riveting. Mr. Botsford relinquishes a life to the reader of a time gone by, when a gentleman was something people aspired to be. From true gentility to personal heroism and adventure during the war, each page brings you deeper into the life of a fascinating man. This is the kind of tale that people used to sit around a cozy fire to share, when television was science fiction and storytelling was not a lost art. Mr. Botsford makes you nostalgic for that kind of entertainment, and glad that you can still find it if you know where to look. So turn off the TV and pick up "A Life of Privilege, Mostly", you'll be glad you did!

Rating:
Summary: A LIFE OF PRIVILEGE IS A PRIVILEGE TO READ
Review: This glimpse into the life of a gentleman is riveting. Mr. Botsford relinquishes a life to the reader of a time gone by, when a gentleman was something people aspired to be. From true gentility to personal heroism and adventure during the war, each page brings you deeper into the life of a fascinating man. This is the kind of tale that people used to sit around a cozy fire to share, when television was science fiction and storytelling was not a lost art. Mr. Botsford makes you nostalgic for that kind of entertainment, and glad that you can still find it if you know where to look. So turn off the TV and pick up "A Life of Privilege, Mostly", you'll be glad you did!