I Am Scout (25 page)

The first act unfolded under trees by the side of the courthouse, where mockingbirds can be heard singing in the branches. When Atticus raised a rifle to shoot an imaginary mad dog in the distance, the children in the audience gleefully covered their ears.
Bang
! echoed off the storefronts on the square. For the scene when Atticus defies a lynch mob bent on kidnapping his client, the courthouse's side door doubled as the entrance to the jailhouse. Across the street was the actual jail Nelle had in mind.

During intermission, the actor playing the sheriff called the names of
12
white males in the audience for jury duty—the only citizens eligible to serve under the laws of Alabama in the
1930
s. Coolers heaped with ice offered drinks and snacks during the break to combat the weather that, as early as May, is already muggy.

Once inside the courthouse for the start of the second act, the audience settled into the pewlike benches. Up in the “colored” gallery, members of a local black church sat and watched, a poignant reminder of how things once were. In the jury box, a dozen white men prepared to hear the case.

Everyone knew the trial's outcome, although in the stuffy courtroom built in
1903
, with one ceiling fan turning tiredly high above, there was a sense that the sins of history could be reversed if only the jury would find Tom Robinson not guilty. When the foreman led the jury back into the courtroom, Robinson was again convicted for a crime he hadn't committed.

The play was such a success—both in attendance and for the boost it gave civic pride—that the following year,
1991
, the Monroe County Heritage Museums hired a director to capitalize further on Monroeville's link with
To Kill a Mockingbird.
In light of such a tribute to the novel and its creator, few could have anticipated that it would be the start of an uneasy relationship between Nelle and the town.

*   *   *

As the annual performances of
To Kill a Mockingbird
in Monroeville became more popular, and the Monroe County Heritage Museums tended to put more emphasis on Monroeville's link to Harper Lee, the author was not pleased to see that her birthplace was getting on the
Mockingbird
bandwagon, so to speak. For her, this meant more requests for autographs, more fan mail, and more occasions when strangers would quiz her about the book. At a Christmas party one year in Monroeville, an out-of-towner began chatting her up about
To Kill a Mockingbird.
She turned and walked out.
16

By now Nelle was in her
70
s and weary of the attention connected with her novel. She had put that far behind her, along with the film. She rebuffed attempts by Mary Badham, the child actor who played Scout, to communicate with her. “Mary acts like that book is the Bible,” Nelle mentioned to Kathy McCoy, the former director of the Monroe County Heritage Museums.
17
According to a terse note in the museums' archives, “G.P. [Gregory Peck] told M.B. not to try to contact N.L.” Not even invitations to receive honors could induce Nelle to depart from her well-worn path. Twice, Huntingdon College in the
1990
s asked her to attend graduation. She never replied.
18
The University of Alabama succeeded in awarding her an honorary degree in
1993
(perhaps the appeal for Nelle was closure after never having graduated), but all she would say to the audience was “Thank you.”

The distance she felt from her only novel was unmistakable in a foreword to the
35
th anniversary edition in
1993
. “Please spare
Mockingbird
an Introduction,” she wrote.

As a reader I loathe Introductions. To novels, I associate Introductions with long-gone authors and works that are being brought back into print after decades of internment. Although
Mockingbird
will be
35
this year, it has never been out of print and I am still alive, although very quiet. Introductions inhibit pleasure, they kill the joy of anticipation, they frustrate curiosity. The only good thing about Introductions is that in some cases they delay the dose to come.
Mockingbird
still says what it has to say; it has managed to survive without preamble.

With dismay, she watched the transformation of Monroeville into the “Literary Capital of Alabama.” After volunteers had finished painting
12
-foot-high outdoor murals of scenes from the novel, Nelle pronounced them “graffiti.” When a television crew asked to film portions of the play and interview the actors, she responded through her agent, “Not just no, but
hell
no.”
19

According to Reverend Thomas Butts, one of her closest friends and the retired minister for Monroeville's First Methodist Church, “She isn't too happy about any of it.” Apparently her friend and counselor was referring to the rise of
Mockingbird
tourism in Monroeville, which as of
2005
brings in about
25
,
000
visitors annually. Said Reverend Butts, her attitude is a combination of wanting privacy and resenting people looking to profit, without permission, from her or her book.

“She would give you the shirt off her back,” added the reverend's wife, “but do not try to take it without permission.”
20

Going ahead without permission caused the most serious showdown between Nelle and the Monroe County Heritage Museums. It was over a cookbook.

Calpurnia's Cookbook,
named for the Finches' cook and housekeeper, was the typical kind of recipe collection assembled by churches to raise money. Only, in this case, the idea was that profits from the sale would support the museums. When Nelle got wind that one of her characters' names would soon be appearing beside
To Kill a Mockingbird
pens, coffee mugs, and T-shirts in the courthouse museum gift shop, she threatened to sue. The entire printing of the cookbook, several thousand copies, had to be pulped.

“I think it is an attempt to keep the characters from being exploited, as well as herself,” Reverend Butts said. “When people start using the characters from the book, it sort of fragments the book. They're using it to promote their hamburgers or their automobiles or their own [things]. She wants the characters from
To Kill a Mockingbird
to stay back in the '
30
s where they belong. To drag them by the hair on their head into the
21
st Century is to do the characters an injustice.”
21

In the town's defense, the late-
20
th century hadn't been kind to Monroeville. The only major industry, Vanity Fair, a lingerie factory, shut down some years ago, laying off hundreds of workers and pulling the plug on one of Monroe County's main sources of tax revenue. Today, in many ways, Monroeville fits Nelle's description of its alter ego, Maycomb, in the
1930
s. It's “a tired old town,” except for the money spent by tourists on meals, gas, trinkets in the museum gift shop, and tickets to the annual play. Monroeville's hope for a better day partly depends on promoting its most famous resident, Harper Lee—the “golden goose,” some residents call her.
22

*   *   *

Yet Nelle's secluded life and decades-long anonymity continue to exert a fascination for newspaper editors and other media people looking for a good story. Feature stories headlined “What Ever Happened to Harper Lee?” crop up several times a year. As Reverend Butts rightly observed, “Whether she intended to or not, she created a mystique when she withdrew from the public eye like that.”
23

Mostly the reporters who visit Monroeville get a feel for the town and interview a handful of people who knew Nelle. Phone interviews with her are impossible because Alice, still in the role of her sister's manager, politely turns down requests.

On the other hand, some encounters with Nelle have been memorable when pilgrims to Monroeville have behaved with a modicum of respect. Reporter Kathy Kemp took a chance one evening in
1997
and rang the doorbell of the Lees' home.
24
Nelle opened the door.

She was not expecting company. Barefoot, white hair uncombed, the
71
-year-old woman answered the doorbell wearing a long white pajama top and a scowl.

“What is it?” Harper Lee wanted to know.

Staring at her through the storm door were a reporter and a photographer from Birmingham. Miss Lee has a famous dislike for reporters and photographers. We'd been warned, repeatedly, by folks all over town, “Don't even think of trying to do an interview.”

Instead, we thrust forth a copy of “To Kill A Mockingbird” and asked for her autograph.

“Good gosh,” Miss Lee exclaimed, a look of disgust on her face. “It's a little late for this sort of thing, isn't it?”

It wasn't yet
6
p.m. on a balmy Tuesday. Folks on her street in the small southwestern Alabama town of Monroeville were just coming home from work. Televisions blared through open windows. Schoolchildren played in front yards.

We apologized.

“Just a minute then,” she snapped before disappearing into the house. Seconds later, she was back with her fine-point pen and an even more pointed lecture. “I hope you're more polite to other people,” she said as she opened the book to the title page.

“Best wishes, Harper Lee,” she wrote in a neat, modest script.

She handed back the volume. “Next time try to be more thoughtful.”

“Thank you,” we said, frankly terrified. And for the first time since opening the door, Harper Lee smiled. In a voice full of warmth and good cheer, she replied, “You're quite welcome.”

The best kind of interaction tends to occur when Nelle is free to be spontaneous. Then her warmth and generosity, known mainly to close friends and family, become evident.

Nelle applauds as the winner of a
To Kill a Mockingbird
high school essay contest is announced on January 23, 2004, in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. (AP Photo)

At the May 2006 University of Notre Dame commencement, Nelle received an honorary degree. Students held up copies of
To Kill a Mockingbird
provided by the university. (AP Photo)

“One day many years ago when she was signing books at The Magnolia Cottage, a specialty shop in Monroeville,” said Mary Tomlinson,

I was walking in as she was walking out. I told her who I was and that I played volleyball with her at Huntingdon. I told her my name, knowing that she would probably not remember this fledgling freshman. I told her I hoped I could get an autographed copy of her book for my granddaughter. She smiled, patted my hand and said, “Mary, I'm sorry, I actually do not remember you.” Then she added, “But I'll be happy to sign your granddaughter's book.” She waited until I could go inside and purchase it for her signature and a short note. She couldn't have been more tactful or genuine.
25

And she evinces a special affection for young readers, sometimes responding positively to requests to visit local high schools for book-signings or unpublicized appearances. “I was in the National Honor Society at Monroe County High School,” said student Amanda McMillan,

and every year we induct an honorary member at our induction ceremony. My sophomore year it was Alice, Harper Lee's sister, because she's the oldest practicing female attorney in Alabama.

[The adviser] didn't tell us because they didn't think she would say yes. But since she went to high school there, she thought it was super-cool and agreed to it. Our president was there, but he had a leg cast, so I had to hand her the plaque. I was sitting next to Miss Alice, and Harper Lee was on the other side of her.