Butterfly in the Typewriter (21 page)

Later in the letter he reiterates,

Toole's concern reflects his mother's two faces in regards to finances. She confided her financial woes to her son. But with friends and strangers, she did her best to convey a sense of financial security. After all, her Creole lineage—the aristocratic roots of New Orleans—influenced her sensibility of money and lifestyle. She was far too proud and too private to appear in need. Such behavior was not unusual, especially
in Uptown New Orleans. But it puts in relief the discrepancy between their means and their persistence in living in Uptown, which created a recurring burden on Toole, both financially and psychologically. Toole pursued his own life goals, but his mother rang the fiscal alarm, and he felt compelled to aid his parents. And to an army investigator sent to verify income and living condition to determine government subsidy, their Uptown neighborhood would appear far from desperate. His mother would have to discard the mask of prosperity and be as honest with the investigator as she was with her son.

Whatever his parents received, it was much more than what Toole pocketed in Puerto Rico. And Thelma always delighted in windfall income. In an undated letter to her son, written sometime in the summer, Thelma exclaims, “Your check arrived and awaits you and me! Ah, delightful and sustainable income! Ah, boost to my economic status!” Such comments illustrate the emphasis, and thereby pressure on Toole to help the ailing family household. But for the time being, his contribution sustained them for another summer season. And while it took some maneuvering, it left him with enough money for his immediate needs in Puerto Rico. In the midst of this lonely summer, he may have seen the likely future now more clearly. This is the first documented instance where Toole, then only twenty-four years old, sent money home to help his parents who were well into their sixties.

Through a combination of factors—the weather, loneliness, and the financial struggles of his parents—his perception of Puerto Rico changed. He consistently offered despairing views on the people and culture of Puerto Rico, but in his letters from the summer of 1962, he becomes harshly critical and bigoted. He declared Puerto Ricans too salacious and too boisterous. Of course, these same characteristics intrigued him in the personalities of downtown New Orleanians. But Toole's heightened antipathy toward Puerto Rico in the summer of 1962 seems symptomatic of his loneliness. In a letter to his parents on July 5, he tells of his Independence Day celebration, one that highlights his deplorable characterization of Puerto Ricans, along with his own sense of alienation:

Toole overlooks the beauty of the sea or the ease of a day at the beach. Instead, he spends his time recounting the Puerto Ricans he deemed unsophisticated and uncouth. Indeed, his sense of superiority could lead him to some lamentable judgments. But tellingly, Toole mentions no friends, no beach companion. It appears he is alone on the Fourth of July, in a foreign place, watching families talking and playing with one another as they enjoy their holiday. His disdain for them cloaks his loneliness. From the perspective of the Puerto Ricans, Toole must have seemed the odd character on the beach that day.

It might be easier to forgive Toole for his deplorable statements if they came in an isolated incident. But throughout his letters in the summer of 1962, he consistently depicts Puerto Ricans as unintelligent and uncivilized. Offering his parents “insight” into Puerto Rican life he writes,

He snubs his nose at Puerto Ricans again five days later when he writes, “Puerto Ricans often pass out or suffer from closed stomachs whenever their diet is changed from rice and beans and dried salt
codfish.” His cruel statements are difficult to justify, and seem pointless to defend. But they do not spring from hate.

By all accounts, Toole was courteous toward the people of Puerto Rico. In fact, he appears sympathetic to their plight when he writes in April of 1963 that the excessive money spent at Fort Buchanan would be better appropriated to “welfare programs here on the island.” He also cared deeply for his students, who were all Puerto Rican. In his letter of commendation in February of 1963, his Puerto Rican commander writes, “Your success was due . . . to the interest which you took in individual students, the understanding and patience which you exercised.” Such a description of Toole personally invested in the well being of the Puerto Rican trainees contradicts the supercilious posture he strikes in his letters.

Thus, his comments about Puerto Ricans seem less like intimate confidences to his parents and friends, and more like written performances. Toole adopts a narrative voice in the letters to his parents, not necessarily representative of his behavior or expression, but rather in the spirit of crafting an entertaining letter. He may have derived such a voice from his favorite writer Evelyn Waugh, who made famously racist remarks in his travel writings, which served as the workshop for his novels. In
Waugh in Abyssinia
, Waugh comments, “The essence of the offence was that the Abyssinians, in spite of being by any possible standard an inferior race, persisted in behaving as superiors.” Replace “Abyssinians” with “Puerto Ricans” and the same statement would fit into any number of Toole's letters. Toole most likely encountered Waugh's sentiments on the native in the novel
Black Mischief
. Therein, a white Englishman aids the king of the small African nation of Azania. But he finds that the corrupt native conduct precludes them from any hope of progression. As he attempts to uplift the native race, the white “savior” is reduced to cannibalism. Similarly, Toole adopts the voice of a European colonizer, sometimes weary of “native nonsense” and sometimes amused by “native ways.”

He reiterates this colonial perspective in late July when he took a three-day trip to Aruba. He won the all-expense paid trip with his recognition as Antilles Command Soldier of the Month, his first official honor in his military service. His superiors had noticed his remarkable talents as an instructor. Staying at Fort Buchanan and taking on an
administrative role displayed his versatility. His superiors uplifted him, and continued to do so until his discharge.

While in Aruba, Toole explored the island, absorbed the culture, and enjoyed his air-conditioned room. He found it a Caribbean utopia. He writes, “Aruba's bone-white sands . . . and atmosphere of prosperity, cleanliness, and efficiency were a great contrast to Puerto Rico. . . . Every home sparkles; the native population is quiet, well-behaved, courteous, and likable.” Recognizing Aruba as a well-managed Dutch colony, he seems to lament that Puerto Rico lacks an Anglo-hierarchy. After three days, he returned to Fort Buchanan.

And shortly after his return he received news that shocked him. In early August he wandered into the library base and there he saw the headline of a local newspaper:
Muere Actriz Marilyn Monroe.
Ever since high school, Toole had been captivated by Monroe, much like many men and women in the 1950s and early '60s. Before the age of countless sex symbols strewn about cable networks and reality television, she embodied a goddess-like status, garnering the affections and desires of her audiences. Toole's infatuation went far beyond an appreciation. “There was a time, I think, when my interest in her had reached the stage of obsession,” he admits. “I don't imagine that anyone could understand my preoccupation with her.” She was a figure that hypnotized many people, and because, as Toole explains, “Monroe and death are such incongruous partners,” her suicide shook him to the core. He immediately wrote a letter to his parents, discarding wit and sarcasm, and expressing utmost sincerity. He is compelled, in essence, to write her a eulogy:

Toole was not alone in his frightened reaction to her death. It appeared to the rest of the world she had everything one could ever want. She had achieved a dream life, so it seemed, far beyond what most people could imagine for themselves. To learn she took her own life didn't make sense to people at the time, which led many people, including her former husband Joe DiMaggio, to suspect she was actually murdered. By the end of the letter Toole appears to have reverted to his adolescent obsession. He usually signed his letters “Love, Ken”; this letter ends, “Love, Kenny.”

In a rare moment where Toole gushes with heartfelt grief, it is tempting to overindulge in psychoanalysis. Perhaps Marilyn Monroe represented the voluptuous feminine tenderness absent from his mother's affections. Or perhaps he celebrated Monroe as an outlet for his inner femininity—as she is now recognized as an icon of the gay community. Perhaps her alleged suicide frightened him because he, too, entertained self-destruction. Or perhaps, she was only a boyhood fascination, an ideal that he had never overcome, until news of her untimely death forced him to do so. These are all possibilities, but Toole offers no answers. This letter is best understood within the context of his summer. It emerges from the malaise of June and July. It seems one of those personal moments when the trace comforts of adolescence wither under the sobering reality of adulthood and one's own mortality. He, too, was in his prime, yet found himself in stultifying circumstances: his parents were in need of support, and he was bound to an island he began to find repressive.

At last, mid-August brought relief. While the heat and humidity offered no pardon, the instructors returned from Salinas, enlivening the
barracks once again. Toole was promoted to acting Sergeant and Head of Company A, which came with a salary increase of $20 a month and, more importantly, a private room, which he described as “bright, comfortable, airy.” He shook off the melancholy of his summer and took pride in his promotion. He immediately writes to his parents, detailing his success. Now responsible for ensuring the English instructors passed regular inspections, he had the common frustration of middle management in that he now bridged two worlds, with one foot in Company A and the other foot in the world of his superior officers. While caught in the middle, he seemed uniquely adept to the challenges of this role. Company A saw him as competent and fair, someone who worked in their best interests. And his superior officers considered him an effective leader in motivating and coordinating the instructors.

This position also offered Toole a new perspective on Company A and its place in Fort Buchanan. He had regular interaction with his immediate superior Sergeant Jose Ortiz. A native of Puerto Rico, Ortiz had climbed the ranks of the army and showed devotion to his duties. He also displayed contempt for the English instructors. While Toole remained gracious to Ortiz in person, he could not resist detailing the eccentricities of Ortiz in letters to his parents, casting him as the most perverse personality at Fort Buchanan. He writes,

Ortiz became the singular object of Toole's observations over the course of the next few months. And through these letters, he reconstructs Ortiz as a character who never failed to surprise Toole. When high-level inspections came in from the Antilles Command, many of
the sergeants became nervous and unpredictable. When another Puerto Rican sergeant performed a pre-inspection, Toole tells, he “went into a hysterical fit ... and began to throw tables around.” Expecting a similar reaction from Sgt. Ortiz, Toole was amused by his surprisingly calm manner: