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In the galleries: Marlon Brando’s little black book

Inside cover of Marlon Brando's address book, which he lost during a 1949 production of 'A Streetcar Named Desire.'
Inside cover of Marlon Brando's address book, which he lost during a 1949 production of 'A Streetcar Named Desire.'
“On bended knee I beg you to return this. I lost eight others already and if I lose this I’ll just drop dead!”

These are Marlon Brando’s words inscribed on the flyleaf of his address book, which was later dropped on the stage of the Barrymore Theatre in New York City during the 1949 run of A Streetcar Named Desire. Brando’s portrayal of the rugged and aggressive Stanley Kowalski in the play stands as the defining performance against which all subsequent actors of the part are judged.

In 1947, Brando auditioned for role. His audition was persuasive, and Tennessee Williams agreed to his casting on the spot. Williams wrote effusively to Audrey Wood about Brando’s performance: “I can’t tell you what a relief it is that we have found such a God-sent Stanley in the person of Brando. . . A new value came out of Brando’s reading. . . He seemed to have already created a dimensional character, of the sort that the war has produced among young veterans. This is a value beyond any that [John] Garfield could have contributed, and in addition to his gifts as an actor he has great physical appeal and sensuality, at least as much as Burt Lancaster.”

Unfortunately for Brando, the misplaced address book was never returned. Instead, it was found (and kept) by the play’s production manager, Robert Downing, and arrived at the Ransom Center as part of Downing’s papers in 1962. Thankfully, Brando survived the loss and continued acting, utilizing his masculine persona and notorious mumbling diction, making a profound impact upon the film industry.

His impact was so significant, in fact, that in responding in 2009 to a reporter’s question “What does ‘Brando’ really mean?” the movie producer of A Streetcar Named Desire and Brando trustee Mike Medavoy answered: “He represents the traditional male, in some ways rebellious, but not all the way.”

Marlon Brando’s little black book is on display through July 31 in the Ransom Center’s current exhibition, Becoming Tennessee Williams.

In the Galleries: "Lark and Termite"

'Lark And Termite' by Jayne Anne Phillips
'Lark And Termite' by Jayne Anne Phillips
Born in West Virginia in 1952, writer Jayne Anne Phillips published her first story collection in 1976. The publication of Black Tickets in 1979 prompted Nobel Laureate Nadine Gordimer to call Phillips “the best short story writer since Eudora Welty.” Phillips’s subsequent publications, which have been praised for their poetic prose and in-depth examinations of war and family dynamics, have continued to garner critical acclaim and major literary prizes, including her most recent novel, Lark and Termite, which was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2009. Materials related to Phillips and Lark and Termite are highlighted in the Ransom Center’s exhibition Culture Unbound: Collecting in the Twenty-First Century.

Lark and Termite explores the effects of the Korean War on a soldier and his family back home in West Virginia. Termite, the disabled son of the soldier, and Lark, his half sister and caretaker, are the central characters of the novel. The novel shifts between narrators, settings, and time.

Inspired by a series of investigative news articles published in 1999 about the No Gun Ri Massacre during the Korean War, Phillips incorporates the incident into the plot of Lark and Termite. During the massacre, an unknown number of Korean refugees were strafed from the air by machine guns at close range by U.S. soldiers. The bridge where the massacre occurred is the setting of critical scenes in the novel, and bridges and trains bear strong symbolism throughout the story. Phillips kept news clippings about the incident in her files related to the novel, and one clipping that includes an image of the bridge is displayed in the exhibition.

Further significance of trains and tunnels are found throughout the novel. Displayed in the exhibition is a typescript page from a section of the book narrated by Termite, which demonstrates the boy’s attraction to trains and bridges. Termite spends much of his time in a rail yard tunnel listening to the roar of the trains overhead.

Listen to Jayne Anne Phillips read two selections from Lark and Termite.

Photo Friday

Each Friday, the Ransom Center shares photos from throughout the week that highlight a range of activities and collection holdings. We hope you enjoy these photos that reveal some of the everyday happenings at the Center.

A blooming Redbud tree in front of the Harry Ransom Center. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
A blooming Redbud tree in front of the Harry Ransom Center. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
John Lahr, Senior Drama Critic of The New Yorker, at work in the Ransom Center's reading room. Lahr presented the Harry Ransom Lecture, 'Tennessee Williams and the Out-Crying Heart,' Thursday evening and is currently working on a biography of Tennessee Williams. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
John Lahr, Senior Drama Critic of The New Yorker, at work in the Ransom Center's reading room. Lahr presented the Harry Ransom Lecture, 'Tennessee Williams and the Out-Crying Heart,' Thursday evening and is currently working on a biography of Tennessee Williams. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Visiting English professor and former Ransom Center fellow Vanessa Guignery was one of the readers at the Poetry on the Plaza event celebrating works in the current exhibition ‘Culture Unbound: Collecting in the Twenty-First Century.’ Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Visiting English professor and former Ransom Center fellow Vanessa Guignery was one of the readers at the Poetry on the Plaza event celebrating works in the current exhibition ‘Culture Unbound: Collecting in the Twenty-First Century.’ Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Undergraduate Student Assistant  Elizabeth Phan, with one of her recent housing projects, was one of 10 finalists for the university’s Student Employee of the Year Award. Phan has worked in the preservation and housing department at the Ransom Center for three years. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Undergraduate Student Assistant Elizabeth Phan, with one of her recent housing projects, was one of 10 finalists for the university’s Student Employee of the Year Award. Phan has worked in the preservation and housing department at the Ransom Center for three years. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.

The Writer’s Project: Searching for something to say

Noah Gordon. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Noah Gordon. Photo by Anthony Maddaloni.
Noah Gordon is a Master of Arts student in English Education at Teachers College, Columbia University. He teaches tenth grade American Literature as a student teacher at LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts. He recently spent time at the Ransom Center gathering materials to use in his classroom with high school sophomores and writes here about that experience.

Your high school English teacher probably wanted only your final draft. Even process-based writing instructors expect the final version to represent the author’s best work: scrubbed of grammatical errors and clunkers, defined and refined in logic and narrative structure. As much as possible, the product should be perfect.

It’s no wonder that writing is so daunting for most students. The only writing that they see covered in red ink is their own. Most of the canonical books they read have been edited and revised until every warty word has been excised, leaving a deceptively smooth, unblemished sheen. But how often do students see the actual process?

Now, with 34 tenth graders coming under my charge, I’m about to teach American Literature. How can I help my future students to make meaningful connections through reading and writing?

I visited the Harry Ransom Center to study how professional writers write and in an attempt to make literature more relevant to my life. My experience led me to wonder what would happen if my students read the day-by-day slog recorded in Steinbeck’s journal while they read The Grapes of Wrath. Could the corrections, carets, and scribbles in Whitman’s proofs of Leaves of Grass bring my students closer to writing their own poetry? I imagine a student reading “Two Minutes,” a short story by 14-year-old Tim O’Brien, and saying, “Well, I could do better than that.”

Reading through Anne Sexton’s teaching materials from Wayland High School, I was struck by how difficult teaching teenagers can be, even for a Pulitzer Prize–winning poet. And yet, thumbing through her students’ poems, I was inspired. It was exhilarating to look at drafts that I wasn’t supposed to see, to gain intimate access to each author’s life and to see the students’ vital search to find their words.

Your high school English teacher also probably wanted your work to appear effortless. But exposing the hard work may be the chief power the Ransom Center holds for students: the archive reveals not just the process, but also the project of writing. Every author’s project begins with finding something worth saying to someone. The Ransom Center is a catalog of each frustrated attempt as accomplished wordsmiths struggled to write precisely what they meant.

This is the spirit that I want to bring to my classroom: that meaningful connection is possible through the reading and writing of words. For our writing to be purposeful, we must find something meaningful to say. We must have a project. What becomes clear after reading the preserved papers is that they were written by human beings for other human beings.

I hope to share with my students what I learned from my week at the Center: that the canon’s authors’ godlike craft comes not solely from the natural ability, but from hard work, and that they, my students, potential authors of great literature, have much to contribute.