Warren

We don't know Warren Plath very well. After his sister Sylvia's death he refused interviews, even those proposed by his own daughters. At Aurelia's memorial service he spoke not at all, thinking someone might capitalize on whatever he said. Warren was within his rights. He was the one who had to see his dead sister in her coffin and face her husband, who had treated her badly.

We've been so blinded by Sylvia that we forgot her brother Warren, raised alongside of Sylvia and cared for just as much.

From what Aurelia Plath wrote we learn that Warren could be irritable and hated to be told what to do; rather, one should ask him to do things. After learning from his wonderfully detailed obituary that teenage Warren had been a "candy striper" (hospital volunteer), I saw that when in summer 1953 Aurelia suggested Sylvia try the same, she was holding up Warren as a model, and most likely that happened more than once.

Sylvia was in New York at Mademoiselle and couldn't attend Warren's June graduation from Phillips Exeter. But the Boston Globe preserved it all (15 June 1953):

Which one is the little angel?

Warren J. Plath, son of Mrs. Aurelia S. Plath of Wellesley, won the Faculty Prize for General Excellence awarded to the senior "who is recognized on the grounds of scholarship and general character as holding the first rank." Among the Greater Boston boys who won college scholarships were: Harvard National Scholarship, Warren J. Plath of Wellesley; Harvard Competitive Prize Scholarship, Earl J. Silbert of Brookline; Teschemacher Scholarship to Harvard, Warren J. Plath of Wellesley. . .

After those awards, Warren graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in 1957 and got his Ph.D. at Harvard, too, although in 1959 when Sylvia whined to her psychiatrist that Warren was at Harvard but she was not, his path through grad school had been interrupted by a Fulbright year at the University of Bonn, where he learned to speak German.

Sylvia's original "rival," Warren was perceived as such even as their mother was nursing him. To my surprise I realized that the authentic part of Sylvia's memoir "Ocean 1212-W" was the toddler narrator's violent jealousy and hatred of the new baby about to displace her as the center of her family's attention. That mattered an awful lot to her, although it happens to eldest children every day. The memoir says she sought from the ocean a sign of her "specialness." In real life the ocean did not give one. But her memoir delivers to her a wooden carving of a "sacred baboon" which to me sounds rather comical.

Displaced she was. The story "Among the Bumblebees," which Sylvia wrote in college, describes her family life after Warren was born. "Warren" in the story, as in life, was blond and angel-faced. (Sylvia, frankly, was not as cute.) At a family supper, "Alice," age five or six, feeling jealous, quietly kicks "Warren" in the shins, making him cry. Then:

 

"Good lord, doesn't he do anything but cry?" Alice's father scowled, lifting his head, and making a scornful mouth. Alice glared at Warren in safe contempt.

"He is tired," her mother said, with a hurt, reproving look at Alice. Bending over the table, she stroked Warren's yellow hair. "He hasn't been well, poor baby. You know that." . . . The light made a luminous halo of his soft hair. Mother murmured little crooning noises to quiet him and said, "There, there, angel, it is all right now. It is all right."

 

With elaborate and passive-aggressive cooing and care, Mother takes Warren upstairs and Alice bonds with her father, who saw her kick her brother and tacitly approved; they have both felt deprived of the mother's attention. [1] This "pacifist" household loaded Sylvia Plath's emotional toolbox with propensities to punish, control, compete, and claim the center of attention. We know little about young Warren's emotions except that he had a short fuse and rigid habits. He grew up to be a computer genius.

Warren was smarter than Sylvia, proven at age 2-1/2 when he bested her storytelling with his own. In college the memory still stung; she wrote about it. [2] Aurelia Plath in her Letters Home preface soft-pedals her children's sibling rivalry, saying only “[t]here were many times when each made the other miserable; and Sylvia, as the older, was the more dominant and the more culpable.” That the conflict-avoidant Aurelia even mentioned their conflict means it was much worse than she said. Sylvia's Dr. Beuscher, paraphrasing Sylvia's case notes to a biographer, said that Sylvia's teasing "went beyond normal." Picking on or even hitting a new sibling is normal. But Sylvia had tried to choke Warren and stuff cloth down his throat. [3] No surprise, then, that Aurelia wrote of 1938-39, "Warren develops many allergies, food, grasses, pollen, etc. He has two serious bouts with bronchial pneumonia and an asthmatic condition develops." [4] Warren had asthma attacks well into his teens.

The siblings sometimes played nicely, but where did Sylvia learn to ridicule and kick shins and bite people, and to cut her brother's neck with an ice skate, and think to strangle him? She hadn't yet seen any wartime movie newsreels. Television did not exist. I hate to think the model for such behavior was her family. We will never know how Warren recalled Sylvia's teasing, which persisted until he grew taller than she.

Eventually Sylvia came to love and confide in her brother because as well as being taller he had mastered fields of knowledge not her own. Warren was a dutiful son who kindly helped Aurelia edit Letters Home and when he had his own family saw his mother three times a year. He was no fan of the older Aurelia. When she sent Warren letters he had his wife Margaret answer them.

[1] On a carbon copy of this story kept in the Plath archive at Smith College, Aurelia Plath wrote in Gregg shorthand "realistic."

[2] Composition written in German for a Smith College German course, 1955; read it in English here.

[3] Audio recording and written notes c. 1970 by Harriet Rosenstein of Ruth Beuscher reading case notes from a February 1959 session with Sylvia Plath, Emory.

[4] "Chronology" document by Aurelia Plath, Smith College Special Collections.

Otto's Gangrene

The Plath family doctor brought surgeon Halsey B. Loder to the Plaths' house in Winthrop to examine Otto Plath's gangrenous foot. Gangrene is rotting flesh and looks and smells like it, and hurts so terribly that patients can't bear the weight of a bedsheet. Dr. Loder told Otto's wife Aurelia that to save Otto's life he needed his leg amputated from the thigh.

Aurelia Plath's Letters Home narrative of Otto's decline describes a textbook case of untreated diabetes, two or three miserable years start to finish. Their children barely knew a healthy father. All the same Otto, a biologist, refused to see any doctor until his toes turned gray and black. The amputation was performed at Boston's Deaconess Hospital on October 12, 1940.

Halsey Beach Loder (1884-1966) was a "society surgeon" held in the highest esteem among New England physicians and patients. A visiting and consulting surgeon at nearly every Boston-area hospital, Loder was an employee of none: He was his own boss, in 1939 working 42 weeks. [1] Otto had the best available care. Yet three weeks after surgery Otto had not yet gone home. On Nov. 5 Loder phoned Aurelia to say Otto had died. Then Aurelia had to pay the medical bill and funeral expenses. [2]

Before Otto left home for the surgery, seven-year-old Sylvia Plath made two haunting pencil drawings of her sick father at home in his bed. Each image centers on Otto Plath's dreadfully swollen foot sticking up from his cover sheet. Sylvia drew the same scene twice and one is more finished. Bonham's auctioned and sold those drawings, not to me, so view them here. 

Aurelia captioned and dated the drawings (October 7, 1940) and in one of them, traced over Sylvia's outline of Otto's affected foot.

It was Dr. Loder who had said to Aurelia, "How could such a brilliant man be so stupid."

[Photo] The Boston American, Sept. 18, 1926, p. 2. Caption: "Dr. Loder is the surgeon who amputated the leg of Mrs. Pauline LeRoy French, New York and Newport society leader."

[1] U.S. federal census 1940, Mass., Suffolk, Boston, 15-213.

[2] Aurelia Plath to Linda Wagner-Martin, 27 March 1988: “I set aside the $2,000 out of the $5,000 (which was all the insurance [Otto] had) and the private room, the nurse, the operation fee (which Dr. Loder made very modest)”. $2,000 in 1940 equals $45,000 in 2024.

Guest Posts Wanted

I am inviting guest posts about or related to Aurelia Plath and Sylvia, around 800 words or less. Negative or positive, all points of view should be evidence-based and not rants (Sylvia's rants about Aurelia are enough).

New-book excerpts, if about Aurelia or about Sylvia's family, are fine. Those with something new to say or show about Aurelia Plath's life or her context, or about mother and daughter, or with suggestions for future AureliaPlath.info posts, please email Microsoft Word documents to platheducational@gmail.com. Thank you!

The 1950 Censu$ and the Panic of '52

Recently made public, t

Sylvia's high-school yearbook photo, 1950

he 1950 U.S. census tells us more about the Plath household than I thought, slightly altering the overall picture.

Head of household Aurelia Plath, "associate professor" (although her title was assistant professor) stated she worked 25 hours a week, 36 weeks a year, for an annual income of $3,200.

Sylvia and Warren Plath, teenagers, were counted as students. Their live-in "Grampy," Frank Schober, Sr., 69, worked 48 hours a week at the Brookline Country Club, earning $3000 a year.

Those were modest salaries, but in 2023 terms, the five-member Plath household in 1950 earned a tidy $75,000. Yet the two breadwinners seem to have kept their money separate, or nearly. When Grampy retired around November 1952, Aurelia went into crisis mode and took on weekend jobs tutoring and babysitting (Sylvia to Aurelia, Nov. 5 and 11, 1952). Sylvia wrote Warren in May 1953 that financially their mother "was really down to rock bottom" and despite poor health intended to teach summer school. Sylvia wanted to write anything at all that might help her pay her own way and felt increasingly depressed that summer when she produced nothing.

In the 1950 census "Grammy," Aurelia's mother and Frank's wife, is not listed although she lived until 1956. In a much later letter (Jan. 16, 1960) Sylvia mentions Aurelia and Aurelia's sister, Aunt Dot, having clashed over "Grampy's money," suggesting that Grampy and his wife had saved some or all of his earnings for retirement: enough for their daughters to fight over.

This Famous Plath Happy-Family Photo

I finally read Otto Plath’s book Bumblebees and Their Ways (1934), by a bee geek who spent the 1920s digging up and micromanaging 225 colonies of bees, observing their eating, breeding, and warring and compiling his discoveries. The first 131 pages are prose; the other 70, taxonomy. Otto got stung enough to put him into bed. His introduction says, “It is my ambition and hope to continue the investigations of the past thirteen summers by devoting at least three months each year to the study of bumblebees in various parts of the world.”

Three months per year? One wonders: with or minus the new wife and baby acquired in 1932? Finishing the manuscript – a dissertation he and Aurelia rewrote for lay readers -- got Otto promoted to full professor of biology. Aurelia Plath later wrote about the book: “Won my husband recognition and lost him money.” But before the book was published they hoped it might make them rich.

So the family celebrated in July 1933, taking the only known photo of Sylvia Plath with both her parents and the only one of Aurelia with Otto. They’re on a hillside in the Arnold Arboretum, the park where Otto spent the Jazz Age observing bees and was still not over it. (His book says observations continued until October 1933.) I wonder if Otto’s research dream, deferred for lack of funds or excess of human baggage, ultimately made his life seem not worth living.

On this clearly sunny and hot day in Boston, Aurelia is wearing a fur piece over her shoulder. A wintertime photo shows her with a fur scarf – fur was fashionable – but this more substantial piece resembles a wrap or collar. Puzzling over fur in July I have imagined it was Otto’s thank-you for the year and a half he browbeat Aurelia and yelled while they edited the book that ate their marriage (“My, how he lit into me” when she used too many adjectives, she said). Aurelia called this “too academic an atmosphere” for infant Sylvia and brought in her own parents to supply love and laughter [Letters Home, 13]. The other photo from that day shows Aurelia looking much happier posed with her mother and Sylvia, with no fur unless it’s beneath Aurelia’s hat. I don’t want to read too much into Sylvia’s expressions.

Aurelia Schober, Sylvia Plath, Aurelia Plath

Leaving 26 Elmwood Road

In 1983, six years after selling Sylvia’s letters and juvenilia, Aurelia Plath at 26 Elmwood Road in Wellesley still had “oceans of papers, out-of-print magazines, clippings of reviews, letters”; “dozens of boxes of family pictures; my notebooks (travel, journals)”; “four three-drawer filing cabinets, three desks, an eight-drawer bureau of papers.” While paging through these, she uncovered yet more. [1]

Age 77, after 40 years in that house Aurelia had to sell it and move to an apartment. She wanted the papers by and about Sylvia to go to the Sylvia Plath archive at Smith College’s library—donated, to get a tax break. Yet the prospect of sorting them was overwhelming.

That summer she told this to Wellesley neighbor and friend Dr. Richard Larschan, who volunteered his help. I asked Dr. Larschan where in the house Aurelia had kept all the papers and memorabilia so vital to Plath studies now.

“I only know that when we were sorting, Aurelia kept it in two walk-in closets in the room where her parents had slept,” he remembered. Self-described “pack rat” Aurelia “kept everything she touched in meticulous order—hundreds of letters neatly organized according to correspondent, and tied with ribbons.”

A U-Mass. professor of English (now Emeritus), Larschan was the right helper for sifting the goods systematically. He said they met “thrice-weekly [for] two- or three-hour sessions, during which Aurelia and I would evaluate the accumulation of 60-plus years, including things from Sylvia’s childhood like the letter opener she had carved, Sylvia’s Girl Scout uniform, Otto’s doctoral certificate, multiple copies of every newspaper clipping and magazine article Sylvia ever published, hundreds and hundreds of letters from readers of Letters Home, et cetera. I would type a list of things Aurelia would either discard, give to me, or donate to Smith and Indiana University after being evaluated by a rare-book expert.”

This task drained Aurelia emotionally. She wrote a friend, “Have to part with most reminders of my past—it hurts, as you know. (Eyestrain slows me down.)” Not only did her eyes hurt, but “Discarding thousands of pages of correspondence tugs at the heart. So many good people have given of themselves!” She means they threw away the fan letters. On the good side, Larschan and Aurelia developed a bond. Like Sylvia, he had had been a Fulbright fellow. At Exeter University in 1962-63 he had lived only fifteen miles from Ted and Sylvia’s Court Green, although they never met. Larschan admired Aurelia’s independence (“a burden to nobody”) while acknowledging her sometimes cloying sentimentality, rather like his own mother’s.

Sentimentality is of course repellent, but the next time you marvel over the rich resources in Plath archives, thank Sylvia’s sentimental mother.

Smith College received the donation in December 1983. Still, not every notable piece of paper went there. “In 1984,” Larschan said, “Aurelia gave me her correspondence with Olwyn Hughes about publishing (or NOT publishing!) The Bell Jar, which I sold to Smith College. She also gave me duplicate copies of Sylvia’s various publications that I sold privately and are now housed at Emory—along with [Sylvia’s] downstairs neighbor Trevor Thomas’s [self-published memoir] Last Encounters, inscribed to me when I lived in England."

Also withheld from the archives were Aurelia's own notebooks and journals, and photos of family members besides Otto or Sylvia: maybe of sister Dottie or son Warren, and so on. Asked if he saw any packets of Aurelia’s letters to Sylvia, Larschan said he did not.

So the task was completed. “When we were through cataloging and evaluating the materials Aurelia donated to Smith, in 1984 [Smith College] President Jill Ker Conway invited Aurelia and me for lunch, and so I drove us to Northampton,” Larschan said. [2] That lunch was their thank-you.

 

[1] ASP to Mary Ann Montgomery, letters of April 1980 and September 6, 1983, Lilly. ASP to Rose Leiman Goldemberg, postcards June and October 1983, Rose Goldemberg Papers, *T-Mss 2016-003, box 8, folder 1, Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.

[2] Emails, Richard Larschan to the author, December 2 and 4, 2021.

Sylvia Plath's Sacred Baboon

Here's the "sacred baboon" Sylvia Plath found on the beach in Winthrop when she was two and a half years old, and described in her memoir "Ocean 1212-W":

According to "Ocean 1212-W," Sylvia found this "simian Thinker" washed up on the seashore the day her brother was born. She was jealous because she would no longer be her parents' only child. But finding the baboon sculpture on the beach that day was a sign that she was special.

The fact is that Sylvia did not find this sculpture. Her neighbor and playmate David Freeman found it, he said, between the ages of 8 and 14 (before 1946). It had drifted in covered with tar. David's father "figured it belonged to some sailor" and cleaned it. [1] The photograph is courtesy of David's sister Ruth Freeman, via Dr. Richard Larschan.

The ancient Egyptians honored Hamadryas baboons as one of the incarnations of their god of wisdom.  They portrayed these sacred baboons in art and made mummies of them. This particular sculpture was more recent, a remnant of a then-new Western fascination with hominid intelligence and behavior. In the 1920s, U.S. psychobiologist Robert Yerkes adopted chimpanzees, published a book about them titled Almost Human, and founded the first primatology laboratory, at Yale (it's now at Emory). Popular interest, plus the influence of Egyptian art on modern sculpture, culminated in the Baboon Fountain featured at the 1939 New York World's Fair. The photo below shows two of the fountain's five godlike baboon figures, with the fair's iconic Pylon in the background.

[1] Harriet Rosenstein's notes from her interview with David Freeman on 17 July 1974, Emory.