January 19, 1935

Dear Miss Lavinia Charles,

You don't know me, but I know you, ha ha! You _and_ your family, and your ways. Like everybody else who lives in this town, how could I not? I can't pick up the paper without reading in the society column that "Lavinia Charles is home for the holidays from the State Normal School, visiting her mother and father, Henry and Caroline Charles," as if anybody gave a damn, as if nobody else's child had gone off to school and come home to visit, or "Caroline Charles hosted a tea in honor of Miss Claudia Wallis, who will be departing next week to winter on the French Riviera in the company her mother, Mrs. Preston Beauregard Wallis." I can't walk down Main St. without seeing your family's big Packard sweeping by, carrying you all to church, to the Country Club, or out to the covered bridge for a picnic, and all of you inside dressed up to the nines, with hats and jewels and gloves on, looking out at the rest of us passing by on foot like we were savages in Africa. I can't so much as stop by your front gate to look at your flowers without getting a mean look from one of your servants on the porch, who are as haughty and proud as you all, though they are just common dirty negroes, no better than the rest. And until recently I couldn't go in Aubrey's without having your mother sweep in, veiled and bejewelled and grand as the Queen of Sheba, and break ahead of everyone in line with her little breathless "Excuse me." "Excuse me, I simply must get by." "Excuse me, I have business with Mr. Aubrey." "Excuse me, I have a package waiting for me at the counter." Parting the crowds with a little wave of her black gloved hand, as if the rest of us didn't have any reason to be there. As if the rest of us could just _wait_.

But lately it seems as if the queen has fallen from her throne! Now she scurries around town in ragged dresses and sunhats the likes of which I've never seen before--like something the dog got to--running up and down the streets like a "lady of the evening" who didn't manage to get home before dawn. Now if you so much as meet her eye she jerks her head around like a bee stung her. Now she doesn't so much as dare to set foot in Aubrey's or appear at church, too ashamed to show herself before the eyes of God and her neighbors, I guess. I'd be ashamed too, if I had done what she has!

For you see it seems that she's not so discriminating anymore about the company she keeps! Oh no, she's become very democratic! If you're a strapping young buck with strong shoulders and a sunburned neck, slim waist and sturdy muscled thighs, you're in high cotton with her! Oh yes, you can become great friends with her, the closest, most intimate kind, be ye ever so common, be ye lacking in teeth or sense or the ability to read or write, even! If you're handsome enough, you can even get to know her in the Biblical sense!

I guess the queen didn't think anyone would notice. I guess the queen thought that we were all too stupid to see what was going on right before our eyes. I guess she thought if we did see, we'd keep quiet, because everyone who lives in this town knows that it's a law written in stone that one is never to speak a word against the Charles family, oh no, heaven forbid. Heaven forbid one should say the least little unflattering thing about such august pillars of our community, who have given so much money to the church and to the children's home and for the monument for the Civil War dead and for the new fountain in the park. Oh no, we're supposed to keep quiet, smile at you when you pass by, let you break ahead of us in line and look down on us and walk all over us even while you parade your licentiousness and lust and immorality right before our eyes.

Well guess what? I see. I know. And I'm not the only one, believe me. The difference with me is, I'm telling what I've seen. I'm not keeping quiet--at least not for free! Because I don't think that money and position and a front pew in St. James's and a silver tea service and silk and lace should allow you to get away with what the rest of us would be strung up in front of the courthouse for. Because I don't think the best manners and piano lessons and finishing school at Brenau entitle one to engage in behavior that would make a streetwalker blush!

So if I were you, Miss Lavinia, I'd think very carefully about what I've said, very carefully indeed. I'd do more than think. I'd take whatever steps were necessary to preserve the last shred of honor your family possesses, before it's too late. And it soon will be, believe me, if it isn't already, ha ha!

Sincerely,

A concerned citizen!