The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy

“HAVE A TRY,” she said. “I have announcements for dozens of contests here. I don’t have time to enter them all. Why don’t you try some of them?” She lifted some sheets from the stack of coupons and pages torn from magazines and placed them in front of me. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     “I enter these contests,” she said. She indicated a pile of pages torn from magazines. “They all ask you to do the same thing. They want you to tell them, ‘in your own words,’ or ‘in twenty-five words or less,’ why you like the thing they make, whatever it is. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I BEGAN SPENDING more and more time at the Glynns’, and my time with them began to take on the rhythms of a welcome and happy routine. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

EVENTUALLY, THEY REACHED IRELAND, at that time a haven for scholars, artists, and intellectuals whose homelands had fallen under the control of yahoos, fascists, and philistines. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     He made a gesture for me to follow, and he headed toward his studio. I found that I was full of nervous expectation. When I began to walk, my legs seemed not to recall how it was done. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     Now, however, I had made the bold step. I had already made my qualifying drawing for Andy Glynn, and he had as much as invited me to enroll in the Andy Glynn School of Art. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I FOUND that all the talk about drawing was making me twitchy, eager, and impatient. Earlier that morning, I had found myself awakened by a desire, the way I might have been awakened by the sun. Perhaps desire is too strong a word. I suppose it was just an urge. I wanted to learn to paint . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterl...

     “You misunderstand me, sir,” said the man, the ice in his voice melting. He was a small man with a round face, cherubic cheeks, and a bashful manner. “I’m here to help you.” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ONE MORNING, when the time was right, Andy woke her with an armload of rolls and said, “My darling, it’s time. Today is the day. Hurry. We have to go while it’s still dark.”    Rosetta gathered the few belongings she had with her, and in a moment she was ready to go. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     “He had a pad of paper mounted on a board that he held in the crook of his arm—like this—and in a hole in the board a pot of paint. Black paint. One big brush. And he would make his pictures with big gestures—like this—big swooping gestures. . . .” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ROSETTA GLYNN greeted me at the big wooden door when I returned on Saturday afternoon. She wore a look that I recognized: the look of someone with a story to tell, sizing up her audience with bright, curious eyes. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     “Is this the only color you use—black?” I asked. “It’s charcoal gray,” he corrected me. “And no, it’s not the only color. If you look closely at each of my paintings, you’ll find a little bit of pink in it somewhere.” “Aha!” I said. “I thought so.” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     Margot pointed to a ladder, a jerry-built and flimsy thing, standing away from the comforting solidity of the stone walls, leaning against nothing more than one of the narrow catwalks above. I knew what I had to do: mount the ladder, climb up, make my way across the rickety boards to Mr. Glynn’s side, and make conversation with him. I had to try to win him over. Get full access to The Persona...

THE CARRIAGE HOUSE, the Glynns’ home, had a roof of imbricate tile, like the mansion itself. The walls were made of stone, like those of the mansion. A stone building was an extraordinary thing in Babbington, for the town lay in the alluvial plain laid down by an ancient glacier, a plain of fine grains, silt, and sand. There were no sizable rocks anywhere nearby. Get full access to The Personal Hi...

AN ASIDE on the subject of the compulsion to tell a story. When, as a small child, I couldn’t get to sleep at night, my mother, after she tired of reading to me or just talking with me in the dark, used to tell me, “Make up a story for yourself.” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     First, a prerequisite bit of the history of Babbington. There was a period, from the 1890s until the Great Depression, when Babbington was a resort town, a destination. Easily reached by rail, it drew people from New York for the summer. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

BECAUSE THE SHELL of the mansion survived, the Nevsky place was still the grandest house in town, still the largest and most substantially built, and even if it was uninhabitable, it still was able to play its most important role for Babbingtonians, including me: its role as a narrative device. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterl...

HEARING THE STORY of the fire in the Nevsky mansion from so many sources on so many occasions taught me something about how to shape a story, because I got to see the storytellers at work, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     “I couldn’t help overhearing,” said a voice from behind them.     It was Mr. Locke, the principal of the high school. Joining the group, he moved in behind them, tossed his arms in a comradely way across the shoulders of the Leroy boys, and embraced the entire trio, pressing himself, at the height of the embrace, up against my mother’s teenage bottom. Get full access to The Personal History,...

MY MOTHER felt the chill, and she gave a little shudder, and she linked one arm with Bert’s and the other with Buster’s and drew the boys closer to her. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THE GLYNNS LIVED in what had been the carriage house for what had been the grandest house in Babbington. It was really the only house in Babbington that might reasonably be called grand at all. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

     Mrs. Jerrold said, “Well, what can you expect? He’s an abstractionist, you know.” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

RECALLING, NOW, the stories told about the Glynns then, I think I hear, with my adult’s ear, a tone that I’m certain I never noticed as a boy. The tales of the Glynns and their wacky way of life were told with the tone one might use for a story about a particularly dense pet dog. It was, to be technical, ridiculous. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of...

     “It’s about the Glynns,” said my mother after she’d gotten herself under control. “Mr. and Mrs. Glynn.” . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I KNEW MARGOT AND MARTHA well, but I hardly knew their parents, Andrew and Rosetta, at all. At the time, I wouldn’t have said that, though. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe