Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind (12 page)

Amazingly, Mitchell's position did not seem to trouble anyone at Macmillan. Perhaps they assumed she would change her mind. Or they might have been too distracted to focus on Mitchell's case of the nerves. Other pressing issues required their immediate attention.

4
A Book with Definite Possibilities

A
s spring 1936 approached, Macmillan realized it had made a mistake in not acquiring the motion picture rights to
Gone With the Wind
. That first letter of interest from Samuel Goldwyn had been followed by similar letters from other studios, as well as inquiries from a host of literary agents who handled movie rights. All were eager to learn more about Macmillan's hot new release. The level of activity signaled a potential goldmine for Margaret Mitchell but, alas, not for Macmillan. Yet, the firm saw value in Hollywood's interest. If Mitchell sold the movie rights to a major studio, Macmillan would benefit from publicity surrounding the deal.

In the midst of Mitchell reviewing the galleys and signing the endpapers, Lois Cole began nudging the author to sell her movie rights. When Cole first presented the idea, the author dismissed it as ridiculous: “I can't imagine the movies buying it anyway. I don't see how it could possibly be made into a movie unless the entire book was scrapped and Shirley Temple cast as ‘Bonnie,' Mae West as ‘Belle,' and Stepin Fetchit as ‘Uncle Peter.' ”
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Creating a manageable screenplay out of such a long story with so many characters seemed an impossible task. She was certain no studio would make an offer once its producers read the entire book. And if someone were crazy enough to try, she was not so sure she wanted to sell. Could a movie preserve the historical authenticity of the story over which she had agonized so long? Mitchell doubted it but promised to keep an open mind. She understood the value of a movie contract and wanted her book to have the best chance of success.

Macmillan had no in-house staff with the experience to negotiate movie contracts, so it suggested Mitchell hire an agent to broker a deal. One candidate Cole had worked with in the past was Annie Laurie Williams, whom the editor described to Mitchell as a girl from Texas who had made a name for herself in the big city.
²
The agent was a former vaudeville performer and bit player in silent movies, who, when stardom did not call, worked as a features writer and movie reviewer for the
New York Morning
Telegraph
. Hoping to capitalize on her show business connections, she opened a literary agency in 1929. Standing four feet ten inches tall—an inch shorter than Mitchell—with blonde hair and a penchant for elegant designer clothes, Williams was widely known for her striking looks, spunky personality, and shrewd skills. Mae West with a steel-trap mind is how one client described her.
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Williams had already expressed an interest in
Gone With the
Wind
. Being a Southerner, she told Cole, it would break her heart if she lost out on the chance to sell Mitchell's story to Hollywood.
⁴
Even before reading a word of the book, Williams had sung its praises to several studios and was likely responsible for them already having reached out to Macmillan.

On paper, Williams seemed like a good match for Mitchell—a petite, Southern female with plenty of gumption. Also in her favor, she worked closely with Elizabeth Otis, a friend of Cole's. Yet, Cole hesitated to recommend Williams to Mitchell. She saw Williams as pushy, and it irritated her that Williams was acting as if she already had the job.
⁵
Although Cole did not want to offend Otis, she presented other options for Mitchell's consideration, including Ann Watkins, a grande dame of the agency business who had been in the field since 1910, and Leland Hayward, a former movie producer known for his Hollywood connections. Cole encouraged Mitchell to pick whomever she deemed best but urged her to make a decision quickly so the galleys could be distributed to film producers as soon as possible. She also asked that Mitchell keep the publisher posted on details of the negotiations. Macmillan intended it to be a big book and wanted to make sure Mitchell earned a big price for the movie rights.
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Still reviewing the galleys at that point, Mitchell had little time to focus on selecting a movie agent. She contacted both Williams and Watkins, saying she would get back to them when she finished editing. “I am as nearly insane as a person can get and still remain at liberty,” she explained.
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To Cole, Mitchell expressed no preference between the two women and said she would be glad to retain Williams if it would “ease you out of any embarrassment, great or small.”
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She assured Cole there would be no hard feelings if Williams failed to sell the rights; Mitchell did not expect any offers. Again, Cole told Mitchell to pick whomever she liked best and not to worry about offending Otis. “I don't give a damn about [Williams], and I can get out of anything,” the editor wrote. Cole wished that she could say for sure who the best agent would be for she thought the book had “definite movie possibilities.”
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With each passing day, the possibilities looked rosier. The April 4, 1936, issue of
Publishers Weekly
referenced
Gone With the Wind
in its “Forecast for Buyers,” a list of noteworthy upcoming titles. By the second week of April, Cole told Mitchell producers and agents were pursuing the book “with their tongues hanging out.”
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Interest reached such a fever pitch that Harold Latham began to think Macmillan should sell the rights for Mitchell itself rather than having her go through an agent. He was about to embark on another scouting trip out West and would be in Los Angeles. Maybe he could negotiate a sale to one of the studios in person. With him acting on Mitchell's behalf, Macmillan would earn the agent's commission—typically 10 percent of the selling price—and make up some of the loss of having let Mitchell keep the movie rights. On April 9, Cole reversed course and told the author that Latham might be able to handle things. “Don't do anything yet,” she advised, telling the author to stall if any agents wrote to her directly.

Cole need not have worried. The agency issue was the last thing on Mitchell's mind after she finished reviewing the galleys and signing the endpapers. The author was focused on getting her health in order. She continued to suffer chronic back pain and was treating it by applying icepacks and wearing a brace; with rest, she hoped to avoid an expensive surgery her doctor had recommended. On April 11, she had the growth removed from her finger and was relieved to be on the mend three days later. As for the movie rights, she told Cole it would be “perfectly marvelous” if Latham sold the rights for her. Knowing how busy he would be on his trip, Mitchell appreciated him offering to try. “I swear you Macmillanses are the nicest people.”
¹¹

The first printing of
Gone With the Wind
came off the presses in early April—10,245 copies, including overruns. Commensurate with Cole's promise that the book would have a quality appearance, Macmillan invested in a substantial weight paper and used a generously sized typeface. Bound in Confederate gray cloth with blue lettering, the 1,037-page book weighed nearly three pounds. Although Mitchell had thought her story would work best in two volumes, Macmillan decided on a single book because it was cheaper to produce and might appeal to a broader audience. Other economies were made as well. There was no attached ribbon bookmarker or decorated endpapers, two add-ons the company had considered but rejected because of the cost.
¹²

The dust jacket focused on the book's title, presenting the words “Gone,” “With,” and “Wind” in tall, dark brown capital letters filling almost two-thirds of the cover. With the large words set against a yellow background, the book had the feel of a miniature billboard announcing its contents. The bold appearance led one commentator to remark that Macmillan must have wanted to make certain the words were readable from a great distance in stores and even in the arms of pedestrians walking down the street.
¹³
The publisher included only one pictorial element on the front, a small scene by George Carlson of a Southern belle and two gentlemen under the title. The yet-to-be-famous author's name appeared in a narrow green bar along the bottom. As a signal that Macmillan was offering readers a historical story with a modern edge, it presented all the words in a vintagelooking typeface set against a series of Art Deco–style graduated stripes.
¹⁴

Another significant feature was the dedication page. Mitchell paid tribute to her husband, John R. Marsh, in succinct terms: “To J.R.M.” The brevity of the sentiment might seem impersonal or inadequate given the amount of work he had done on the manuscript, but to those who knew the couple, it was in perfect keeping with their relationship. A family friend described the inscription years later: “If it had been as flowery as the inscription which precedes the Sonnets of Shakespeare it could no more clearly have conveyed the completeness of the bond between Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell and John Robert Marsh.”
¹⁵
Public professions of love and gratitude were not the Marsh way. As would become clear in the coming months, they were a private couple who preferred to keep personal matters between themselves. Ironically, this most personal of sentiments almost did not make it into the book. The previous fall, the dedication page had been inadvertently omitted from the book's mock-up that had been sent to Mitchell for approval. She noticed its absence but almost let it go, assuming dedication pages were not included at that stage. Only as an afterthought did the Marshes mention the omission to Cole, who acknowledged the error.
¹⁶
Cole directed the production department to correct what would have been an embarrassing oversight: “You will be sure it is not left out, won't you? There would be trouble—that is the lady's husband.”
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Ironically, one of the most significant components of the book in years to come would be a feature that many readers ignore—the copyright page. All books published in the United States contain a statement indicating the year the volume is published and registered for copyright protection with the Library of Congress. Macmillan went further in its books and, for the sake of historical reference, identified the month of publication in addition to the year so book dealers and collectors easily could identify first editions.
¹⁸
For
Gone With the Wind
, the first printing bore the notation “Printed May, 1936,” a reference to the book's scheduled release date. Including that one extra word would turn out to be a costly and potentially catastrophic mistake, though it would be several years before the full effects were realized.

On April 15, Macmillan received the news that Cole had been waiting for: the Book-of-the-Month Club wanted
Gone With the Wind
and would make the novel available to its readers that summer, although it had not yet decided which month.
¹⁹
The club offered Macmillan ten thousand dollars for the right to publish fifty thousand copies using Macmillan's printing plates, with a royalty of twenty cents per copy on club sales beyond the initial order. There was just one catch. Macmillan would have to delay publication of the book until the club could fit the novel into its calendar of releases. A standard condition of all club contracts, this provision ensured club members received the latest releases within a week of their appearance in bookstores.
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