A Tree Grows in Brooklyn<\/em><\/a> in 1943.<\/p>\nBut at the time, Smith was a Yale Drama School-educated, struggling playwright, and single mother of two, living in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where the Works Projects Administration had assigned her to work as a play reader for the Federal Theatre Project. Both writers were in difficult stretches of their lives\u2014yet holding fast to their writing ambitions; both would gain substantially from the connection they forged.<\/p>\n
There was good reason for Sigmund to feel comfortable revealing his insecurities to Smith, for she had disclosed her own rejections and jilted dreams: \u201cLike you, I have been disappointed so many times, as far as writing is concerned\u201d Smith wrote to Sigmund, \u201cSo many times, has a book, or a play come right up to the verge of success and then dropped through the vagaries of producer or publisher. So I shall hope for everything… and expect nothing. I have found this to be a good working philosophy.\u201d<\/p>\n
In the same letter, in place of a curriculum vitae, she recounted the major chapters of her life: her education and jobs\u00ad\u00ad\u00ad\u2014even an explanation of her husband\u2019s livelihood. In the next paragraph, Smith added, \u201cI no longer have a husband. The above material was given so that there would be no break in the, I suppose, story of my life.\u201d<\/p>\nIn Jay Sigmund, Smith had caught a reflection of herself, and it wasn\u2019t entirely flattering.<\/span>\nThese facts of her life included financial struggles. The primary caregiver and provider for her daughters, Smith was constantly seeking paid work. She was upfront with Sigmund about her methods: \u201cI earn perhaps five hundred dollars a year by a six week\u2019s concerted drive of writing for the pulp magazines, mostly confession and love story magazines. I only do this when I need money terribly.\u201d For the same reason, Smith had placed an advertisement in\u00a0Writer\u2019s Digest<\/em>\u00a0announcing her editing services.<\/p>\nSigmund had seen the ad, and it had rekindled his hope in a writing dream. He\u2019d already realized a few of his writing dreams, having published his poetry and some short fiction, both of which caught the attention of famous writers, including Carl Sandburg and Sherwood Anderson. But with Smith, Sigmund ventured into new territory: playwriting.<\/p>\n
Their initial correspondence has the fumbling feeling of first dates. \u201cI saw your little ad in the\u00a0Writer\u2019s Digest<\/em>,\u201d Sigmund wrote in his first letter. \u201cI do not know whether you will be interested any in me or whether you have something that will interest me but as a starting place I am submitting three one-act play manuscripts so that you can judge whether or not there is any meeting of minds of the service you have to offer.\u201d<\/p>\nPractical and frank in her correspondence, Smith wasn\u2019t one to waste her time or money. \u201cI received your three plays by mail and what is it you wish me to do with them?\u201d she wrote to Sigmund. Explaining her menu of services and fees, Smith told him, \u201cI shall not do anything with your plays until I hear from you. Let me know whether you want them criticized or returned and if the latter, please send postage.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sigmund mailed his $2.00 along with his request for which of the plays he wanted Smith to read.<\/p>\n
Surprising herself and Sigmund, Smith enjoyed his script more than she expected. It was a \u201cnatural comedy,\u201d Smith assured Sigmund. She explained that \u201cthe play has its faults but they are so minor, merely little odds and ends of technique. The main thing; the thing that cannot be taught is there.\u201d Smith made Sigmund an unusual offer \u201cwhich might not meet your approval.\u201d What she really wanted, she wrote, was to collaborate with him, \u201cthat is to take your play and re-write it as co-author rather than hired writer.\u201d Smith believed that after revising his draft, she could sell it by drawing on her playwriting connections. They would share the proceeds, fifty-fifty.<\/p>\n
The offer delighted Sigmund. What had felt like a dead-end in playwriting, now seemed like it just might sail through. In his response, typed on his Cedar Rapids Life Insurance Company stationary, Sigmund disclosed more about his situation: \u201cYou may guess that my role has been a rather lonely one. From the letterhead you can see that I am a business man, but I have been writing poetry and short stories for years and have published several volumes of each.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sigmund\u2019s life was not actually lonely in the conventional way. That is to say that he led an entirely conventional life: married with children and a profession in which he excelled. Sigmund was fully engaged in the civic and cultural life of Cedar Rapids; he was a friend to painter Grant Wood and to poet Paul Engle, who would establish the Iowa Writer\u2019s Workshop. But Sigmund had difficulty when he reached the revising stage of a piece. And until Smith\u2019s services, Sigmund had not known where to find the support he needed.<\/p>\n
Perhaps his relationship with Smith was helped by its epistolary nature. Sigmund never had to watch the expression on Smith\u2019s face as she read his work or as she told him her feelings about his writing. Sigmund felt free within the confessional of their correspondence to reveal, for instance, that \u201cIf I had a little more faith in my work and would get a little more wrought up over failure it would probably be a good thing, but I\u2019ve had so much joy in my work that nothing else mattered much.\u201d Now, Sigmund admitted to Smith, he was more interested in publication, because he was beginning to think about \u201cpermanent preservation\u201d for some of his writings. With Smith\u2019s co-authorship, Sigmund was able to sell a few of his plays.<\/p>\n
Less than six months later, Sigmund would accidentally kill himself during a hunting trip.<\/p>\n
Sigmund\u2019s son wrote to Betty after his father\u2019s death, not realizing it would be \u201cthe hardest letter which I should be called on to write,\u201d for Smith was \u201cso very kind to my father, and helped him so much in his hobby of writing.\u201d Sigmund Jr. asked Smith, \u201cCan you realize the importance which he placed in your kind judgment, and also the fine spirit of cooperation which you lent to make his writing life easier?\u201d The \u201cfine spirit of cooperation\u201d is not usually what writers are known for contributing to the world, but it likely made a big difference in the lives of these two writers.<\/p>\nHaving helped another writer up, it was easier to believe she could lift herself up, too.<\/span>\nSigmund and Smith never met in-person. But their exchanges benefited both writers: Smith revised Sigmund\u2019s plays and helped him sell a few; Smith received much-needed income. Her confidence was bolstered, too. Here was a male writer, a decade older than Smith, who had already achieved success in other genres, trying to find his way in playwriting. Both writers were a little less lonely for the correspondence. Both received some of the feedback for which they hungered, but was so difficult to find.<\/p>\n
A few years after Sigmund\u2019s death, Smith began drafting\u00a0A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, <\/em>the novel which ultimately\u00a0brought Smith fortune and fame and allowed her to establish herself as a writer. Although she was proud of having supported her daughters and herself through her writing even before she sold the novel, Smith had spent those years struggling. \u201cI\u2019d be so glad to concentrate all my abilities, experiences and education on one thing,\u201d she explained to Sigmund in 1937 of her desire to focus on one major writing project \u201cI work hard at even these odds and ends and it would be nice work hard for some one purpose.\u201d<\/p>\nIn her late forties as her first novel was about to be published, Smith seemed to be looking out onto the horizon of possibilities. Playwrighting had been the great dream of Smith\u2019s life for so long\u2014and she had been relatively successful, at least in terms of selling plays and winning prizes. But the money was not sufficient to keep her from feeling like she was always scrambling for work. Novels seemed to offer a more secure path. They would remain her primary genre, with three more following\u00a0A Tree Grows<\/em>.<\/p>\nWhen publication of\u00a0A Tree Grows<\/em>\u00a0was imminent, but her publishers were contemplating a delay, Smith urged them to move as quickly as possible and to enter her novel in the appropriate prizes. \u201cWith so many good men writers tied up in in the War,\u201d Smith pointed out, \u201cI\u2019d never again have so good a chance in competition.\u201d Timing was crucial. Smith was determined not to lose her chance. As she explained to Harper & Row: \u201cI\u2019d like to have the beginnings of an established place in American novel writing so that I could sail on or I\u2019d like to know definitely otherwise so that I could then console myself with a four hundred dollar a week movie job.\u201d Hollywood was calling. But Smith viewed film writing jobs as a second choice.<\/p>\nA Tree Grows In Brooklyn<\/em>\u00a0was a way for Smith to finally declare herself a particular kind of writer: a novelist. But it wasn\u2019t only that. It was her chance to make something of herself after so many years of feeling she was not fully succeeding. A few years earlier, in Jay Sigmund, Smith had caught a reflection of herself, and it wasn\u2019t entirely flattering: a middle-aged writer still trying to really make it. Sigmund had written to her that he knew what it felt like to be a writer always failing by a hair. And Smith had understood him. But she did not want to live there anymore. And the possibility of sailing on into her future as a novelist was now so close at hand, she could practically touch it. Having helped another writer up, it was easier to believe she could lift herself up, too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\u201cI have long felt the need of someone to take hold where I begin to fall down. I know of course that no one can breathe the breath of life into a dead thing, but I have more favorable reviews, letters, etc. on all my work than most writers collect in a lifetime, yet something […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15943,"featured_media":163291,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[43102,43071,43069,6,43092],"tags":[40442,12905,3288,4305,440,23613,9975,93153,1993,22352,93152,105,2741,7802],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Tree_Grows_In_Brooklyn_Hi-Res.jpg","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5rKFr-Ypw","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/232222"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/15943"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=232222"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/232222\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/163291"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=232222"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=232222"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lithub.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=232222"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}