Chapter 4
My father and I attended many fundraisers in those new war days, not because he cared to donate to the Patriotism, but because he wanted to understand those who did. That warm, mid-May night, with the faintest humidity hanging like a canopy over the waterways, I walked into the ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria to a confusion of red, white, and blue while the people, of those who weren’t waltzing across the polished floor, spoke in determined tones about the necessity for loyalty to our country. The dinner was unremarkable, the wines watered, the conversations dull. The men were well-pressed and well-groomed, the women uncomfortable in their profusion of jewels and furs in spring. The women took pride in their charitable works, though I often thought their charitable works were an
