Stirring It Up with Molly Ivins (15 page)

ANCILLARY TO SPEAKING TEXAN
is learning to understand the language of the steel magnolia, and almost all of Molly's female friends in Texas could qualify for magnoliadom.

Since I was an outsider it took me a while to learn how to interpret magnolia-speak, as when you encounter a house where no expense has been spared and good taste has not been allowed to intervene. The appropriate observation is “My goodness, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this,” or “My, my, my, this is
really
something!”

Said with a beatific smile and breathless sigh, its true import comes into focus much later, if ever. Maryln Schwartz, who met Molly when both were on the same Memphis assignment, hails from Mobile, Alabama. An authentic Southern belle, she documented steel magnolias and Southern politesse in her book
A Southern Belle Primer: Or Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be a Kappa Kappa Gamma.

When this gentle spoof on gentility first appeared in 1991, Molly had great fun with it. She would read passages after dinner as she pointed out the use of authentic sterling silver, as prescribed in the
Primer
; or as we were sitting down to dinner and she would call attention to the asparagus tongs; or after dinner, as she would note the appropriate configuration of spoon and fork as we prepared to enjoy dessert.

Maryln's book was a droll, stiletto-sharp send-up of protocols drawn from Atlanta, Charleston, Vicksburg, and, of course, her beloved Mobile. In the South of then and, in some places, now, almost the worst thing you could be called was “tacky.”

The very worst was “
tacky
tacky.”

The
Primer
reveals that Southern belles don't put dark meat in their chicken salad; do take pride in the fact that they have never hired anyone who chews gum; never substitute Miracle Whip for mayonnaise; and always serve deviled eggs on a deviled-egg plate. While they would never, ever participate in a lawsuit of any kind, they would most assuredly know the right person to make a point on their behalf.

Molly, by the way, had her mother's china, sterling silver tea service, a cut-glass iced tea pitcher,
and
a deviled-egg plate. She once had an afternoon tea with perfect cut-out rounds of cucumber, tomato, and egg salad sandwiches on equally perfect cut-out rounds of white bread. Just as I blamed the undue influence of Martha Stewart for Molly's taking to fancy glass bottles to hold dishwashing detergent, I blame Maryln Schwartz for Molly's infatuation with tea sandwiches.

Maryln, an excellent cook whose silver also matched and whose china was well chosen, is possibly among a select few who ever taught Molly how to cook anything, and that's saying something. You see, Southern belles rarely share their recipes. Even more rarely do they tell you
all
of the ingredients—even though they truly cannot give precise measurements.

Maryln and Molly met in Memphis in 1977. Both were among the minuscule number of women covering Elvis's funeral. The female population in the newsroom in those days was relatively small.

(It should be noted that by 1985 an organization called JAWS—the Journalism and Women Symposium—had come into being. Launched at a gathering of fifteen women from varied news backgrounds, it grew over the years to include hundreds of women in media who invited a range of influential women to speak and meet with them. Speakers included women such as Congresswoman Pat Schroeder, children's advocate Marian Wright Edelman, artist Judy Chicago, USAF Brigadier General Wilma Vaught, Pulitzer Prize–winning
New York Times
reporter Nan Robertson, who wrote
The Girls in the Balcony: Women, Men, and
The New York Times. Her book included the lawsuit brought by female employees against the newspaper in 1974. The title refers to the place in the nation's capitol to which women in the Washington Press Corps were relegated. Molly not only spoke to the group; she joined it.)

But back to Elvis: Molly and Maryln had heard of one another but never met. Maryln was writing for the
Dallas Morning News
and Molly was still with the
New York Times
. Molly had been standing behind Maryln in a line circling
the yard where the King lay in repose. They eventually introduced themselves to one another.

“When we finally got through walking around Graceland and looking at Elvis all laid out, we realized we had to find a place to stay,” Maryln said. “There was a Shriners convention in town and every hotel within eighty miles was taken. We paid a cabdriver an enormous amount of money to take us to the Memphis Chamber of Commerce, where we begged and whined and cajoled until they found a room for us at Memphis State University. Actually it was more like a suite. We shared a bathroom, but we each had our own room.

“By the time we got settled, the adrenaline had us both so wired we couldn't think about going to sleep. You have to understand I had never seen a corpse before. Jews don't have open caskets, and we had been going around and around, looking at Elvis in that incredible copper-lined coffin. By the time it got to be evening Molly says, ‘I can't sleep without a beer,' And I said, ‘I can't sleep without a book.' So then we walked around Memphis until we both found what we wanted.”

Their friendship continued long after Molly returned to New York.

“We stayed in touch, and when she knew she was coming to Dallas [to work for the
Dallas Times Herald
], we wanted to remain friends.” But they worked for rival newspapers, so they couldn't talk about what they were working on. They talked about food instead. As it transpired, Molly, being from Texas, was familiar with Cajun food. Maryln, being from Mobile, was all about Creole cooking, the secrets of which she shared with Molly.

Cooking cemented friendship for them—although at one point, Maryln was ready to plant Molly in cement shoes. She recounted the circumstances with feigned indignity: “Anyone from the South will tell you when you are trusted enough to get a recipe, you keep it to yourself. You don't go running all over town telling everybody about it—unless you give credit to the original source. Not Molly. She took my recipes and ran with them. The next thing I knew everyone thought they were HER recipes. I taught her how to make West Indies salad, shrimp boil, and scalloped oysters. And you know what she did? I'll tell you what she did: She had a dinner for Alexis Herman and served MY shrimp boil. Every time I turned around there was Alexis Herman talking about this
fabulous
shrimp boil she'd had at Molly Ivins's house. Harrumph!”

To demonstrate the absence of residual hard feelings, Maryln shared her recipes for West Indies salad and scalloped oysters—with
all
the ingredients, along with permission to share them here.

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