Course Corrections

Exploring gentle -- and not so gentle -- corrections

Winnie and Clemmie

My latent interest in Winston Churchill’s leadership during World War II has led me to a place I believe I was headed all along: Churchill’s wife of 57 years, the exquisite, smart, and formidable Clementine.

Several sources quote from a famous letter that “Clemmie” sent to her husband in June of 1940. (Churchill had been Prime Minister for only a month.)

The new Prime Minister had been handed almost unimaginable challenges as he took office. Germany had just invaded Belgium, France, Luxembourg and the Netherlands.

Churchill, in his inimitable way, took charge and immediately invaded all forms of government, running roughshod over every ministry and micromanaging personnel. It’s hard to imagine the stress he was under at the time, but many accounts note the stress he placed upon others.

In short, he became a bit of a monster.

Clementine, who was no pushover herself, took it upon herself to put into writing an extremely effective rebuke. (I think its important to note — for context — that Winston Churchill was badly bullied by both of his parents and throughout his schooling. Sensitive though he was, at times he seems to have taken on some of the characteristics of a bully, himself.)

Here’s Clementine’s letter, which she supposedly wrote, held onto, and then finally decided to deliver to her husband:

27 June 1940

My Darling,

“I hope you will forgive me if I tell you something that I feel you ought to know.

One of the men in your entourage (a devoted friend) has been to me and told me that there is a danger of your being generally disliked by your colleagues and subordinates because of your rough, sarcastic, and overbearing manner. It seems your Private Secretaries have agreed to behave like schoolboys and “take what’s coming to them” and then escape out of your presence shrugging  their shoulders.

Higher up, if an idea is suggested (say at a conference) you are supposed to be so contemptuous that presently no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming. I was astonished and upset because in all these years I have been accustomed to all those who have worked with and under you, loving you. I said this and I was told “No doubt it’s the strain.”

My Darling Winston I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; and you are not so kind as you used to be.

It is for you to give the Orders, and if they are bungled—except for the King, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Speaker—you can sack anyone and everyone. Therefore with this terrific power you must combine urbanity, kindness, and—if possible—Olympic calm. You used to quote, “On ne règne sure les âmes que par le calme” [One reigns over souls only by calm]. I cannot bear that those who serve the country and yourself should not love you as well as as admire and respect you.

Besides you won’t get the best results by irascibility and rudeness. They will breed either dislike or a slave mentality. (Rebellion in war time being out of the question!)

Please forgive your loving, devoted, and watchful

Clemmie

I think this letter is perfect, in so many ways. It is loving, respectful, and extremely frank.

The result? Churchill reportedly took note, and altered his behavior.

[Oh yes … and they won the war.]

Another course correction delivered by an extraordinary woman caught my eye this month.

Before her marriage to George Putnam, the wealthy and erudite publisher — whom she married in 1931 — Amelia Earhart sent her fiancé this letter. It’s a contract of sorts, outlining the conditions she was willing to agree to in marriage, and it is extraordinarily modern and frank.

"There are some things which should be writ before we are married — things we have talked over before — most of them," she began the letter.

You must know again my reluctance to marry, my feelings that I shatter thereby chances in work which means most to me. I feel the move just now as foolish as anything I could do. I know there may be compensations but have no heart to look ahead.

On our life together I want you to understand I shall not hold you to any midaevil code of faithfulness to me nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly. If we can be honest I think the difficulties which arise may be best avoided should you or I become interested deeply (or in passing) in anyone else.

Please let us not interfere with the others' work or play, not let the world see our private joys or disagreements. In this connection I may have to keep some place where I can go to be myself, now and then, for I cannot guarantee to endure at all times the confinements of even an attractive cage.

I must exact a cruel promise and that is if you will let me go in a year if we find no happiness together.

I will try to do my best in every way and give you that part of me you know and seem to want."

Earhart wrote another famous letter to Arthur Sulzberger, publisher of the New York Times, in 1932. This is a no-nonsense corrective — addressing the Times’ insistence on forever referring to her as “Mrs. Putnam.”

Click here to read a charming story about the letter

Every day, in my life and in my work…

I am confronted with opportunities to correct others, and to accept course corrections delivered to me.

[So. Very. Many.]

I’ve grown to believe that when delivering a course correction to a loved one, it is helpful to approach it as “feedback,” as Clementine Churchill does. Her tone is knowing, helpful, frank, and overall extremely respectful. She is telling her husband to BE NICE, by appealing to his ego and his reputation. She is also delivering a humbling blow, by reminding him that with great power comes great responsibility.

Amelia Earhart’s letters simply chart her course. They are corrective notifications, written by a woman who is asserting her right to live her life in her own way. Even in marriage, she was declaring her right to fly solo, while granting her future husband the right to do the same.

In my advice column, I often encourage people to simply state what they want. This is extremely hard for many of us to do, especially when we are asking someone else to behave differently. And yet … if we aren’t brave enough to correct our own course, we will never be able to expect it of someone else.

[Aaaaaand…. if you’re intrigued by Amelia Earhart (who isn’t?!), should your course correction ever lead you to Kansas, Contributor Laura Lorson sends this helpful postcard]:

Laura Writes:

“While we're on the subject of Amelia Earhart, please allow me to mention that Amelia was a native of Atchison, Kansas, about 50 miles north of Kansas City, and that Atchison is very, very proud of its native daughter. A museum dedicated to Earhart's life is set to open in April of this year. There's also a museum at her childhood home that you can tour. Each July, there's a festival celebrating her life and accomplishments. 

A sculpture of Earhart was added to National Statuary Hall in the U.S. Capitol in 2022. Then-Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi read from a poem written about Earhart at the dedication. 

Atchison's a lovely little town, with surprising attractions including the International Forest of Friendship, St. Benedict's Abbey, and the Muchnic Art Gallery.

I hope you'll drop by if you're in the area -- it's a lovely place. “

DEPARTMENTS

RJ Savage’s JUNK FOOD: Stuff I consume to feel better

Reality Bites

I moved back to my hometown after college. I was proud of my diploma-certified language and film know-how, but in 2008 the economy was such that a brand-new grad securing a job – any job – was more important than aspiring to a ‘career.’ Once upon a time I’d had it all mapped out, from the entry level up to my name on a masthead, but my route hadn’t accounted for a recession, so I felt a little lost.  

The working model for post-college aimlessness and ennui was, of course, The Graduate. Mike Nichols’ 1967 send-up of prescribed proto adulthood had seemed absurd to me until, well, I graduated. And not just the scuba gear, or the Alfa Romeo, or the plastics. Dustin Hoffman’s aimlessness had felt over-the-top, aggressive, and Katherine Ross’s lack of agency, disturbing. Of course, the final shot that lingers on their faces as they are drained of all enthusiasm and verve, is what tips the whole narrative on its ear by showing the despair and disappointment that can accompany having to answer the question, What now?

The screenplay, however, does not end with this moment. Sure, they’re on the bus having busted-up the Southern California cookie-cutter wedding, but there is no mention, no hint that their escape is anything other than happy. The story goes that on set that day, Mike Nichols was berating Hoffman and Ross at the top of his lungs because they were only going to get one take of the shot, which left the actors feeling emotionally drained. The cameraman was equally unnerved by Nichols as he didn’t dare stop rolling and caught the expression from two actors just as they stopped acting. When Nichols saw the moment later in the editing room he realized this was what the movie was about.

I was frustrated and embarrassed by my situation post-graduation; it felt like I was losing before I even understood the game. But to make ends meet I’d gotten a job as a shopgirl in a charismatic antique store that I loved. Still, I had a nagging suspicion that my enthusiasm for a low responsibility job surrounded by cast-off stuff, was just a band-aid for feeling like a disappointment.

But imagine The Graduate without the final shot. Imagine these two young people flailing for the whole movie and then being rewarded with a saccharine send-off that Love Conquers All. Barf. It would have made the movie stylish, but forgettable. Lucky for us, Nichols saw the potential and made a last minute course correction.

Lucky for me, I learned to move confidently in my redrawn trajectory. My ambivalence over my stint as shopgirl was put to rest the day my boss leaned in close and, with an impish smile, said, “I’ve got one word for you… Just one little word: Bakelite.” If he could riff, then so could I. 

[Railey Jane Savage is the author of A Century of Swindles. Find more of her essays, books, art, and cats at raileyjane.com.]

{Emily Mason (whose “Targeted Upsell” warns us of the latest crazy product the Internet is trying to foist upon her) is taking a break this week. She’ll be back for our next issue.}

*** Thank you so much for subscribing to this FREE newsletter, which flies into your in-box on a semi-regular basis. The work you read here is often on a theme reflecting my own quirky interests and curiosities. Contributors Railey Jane Savage, Laura Lorson, and Emily Mason always offer thoughtful and funny takes on the theme.

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Love,

Amy