trying to clean out a closet and came across a cache of sartwelliana, which came to me this way and that, but a lot of which i never looked at. i guess i am particularly interested in my family's writing and newspaper history. my dad franklin jr. was a reporter on the washington star, where i was a copy boy 1980-81, and his dad franklin and his father's brother edward were straight dc newshounds from childhood. here is my father's father's obit.
what a dandy. and were i a 19th century novelist, i'd say his eyes are alight with mischief. some highlights: born july 4, 1900. he wrote 'one of the first' (the star's obit makes it 'the first') nightclub column in the usa, 'man about town,' for the washington post, in the 1920s. i think the photo might be in the white house press room (i still have his credentials), mid 1930s.
(name's on the back)
franklin sr. started in high school as a copy boy for the ap, running errands at the capitol. eventually, chief editorial writer and political columnist at the washington times. then editor of the 'beverage bulletin' and other pr stuff. apparently, my grandmother marge (bennit) sartwell, was the post's film critic. she describes herself in a letter as the drama editor. i knew her but not that.
[that's her on the right; pretty happy-looking bunch, yet formidable. not sure if it's lady journalists or what. they're drinking arrow 77 beer straight outta baltimore and smokin l&m's.]
[the washington times merged with the herald, which was gobbled up by the post, the whole kit and caboodle known even in my toddlerhood as 'the washington post and times-herald.' meanwhile the star gobbled the daily news in my youth, then definitively croaked and left dc a one-paper town; i was on the star in its final days, starting on rock criticism.]
check this masthead, from among franklin sr.'s stuff:
in chevy chase dc, i delivered the evening star for years, and my little brother adam the daily news.
i've still got a few of these sitting around in a box.
franklin died in 1948, ten years before i was born. he was injured in 1922, covering some military event with warren harding for the post. it was always a family myth that harding visited him in the hospital, but i can definitely substantiate that the white house sent flowers. check these out.
and then there's this christmas card, signed by nicholas and alice longworth.
(meanwhile my great grandfather on the completely other side [my mother's mother's father], herman bernstein, a newspaperman in nyc, was writing a campaign bio for hoover.) i have franklin's invitation to the first fdr inaugural. insanely, i ripped the envelope messing with it.
supposedly he died from his injuries; family lore is completely clear that he died of alcoholism. there are a bunch of pretty sad letters between franklin sr and my dad frankie when sr was in the 'sanitarium.' but there is some writing advice.
"There is a great deal of pleasure in writing if you don't fight it." People in my family always found that part easy. i never saw my father more at ease or happier than pecking with his two forefingers at his old royal, a pall mall dangling from his mouth. he used the columbus method, "discover a key and land on it," as do i.
[my father frank with his father frank, griffith stadium, dc, mid-1930s. sammy baugh and walter 'big train' johnson. my father told me that his father told him that he, sr, saw the longest home run ever hit by anyone anywhere: josh gibson for the homestead greys, at griffith.]
in the late 50s/early 60s my dad did humorous features at the star, like re-taking the driver's exam, or being santa claus in a department store. eventually he was a writer/photographer at the national geographic and managing ed at science news; then editor of the defenders of wildlife magazine.
frankie sartwell on the left; must be the newsroom at the star. i assume these are editorial assistants taking copy from reporters, circa mid-to-late-50s.
franklin's brother edward died at 46, my father at 51, my brother adam at 29; that's pretty much all my direct male relatives on my father's side; addiction, really. on the other hand, we report from the front lines.
the end of the star decided me on grad school in philosophy. (i do want to say that working in the newsroom when reagan was shot was about the most exciting thing i ever experienced. our white house person lisa myers called in, and...yikes!). but i always tried to write for newspapers as well, and i still yearn for that newsroom career i never had.
at my father's death in 1980, i was left with his father's three-volume autobiography of h.l. mencken, holy books among my people. and this piece of wisdom from franklin to franklin: "writing is the fine art of applying the seat of your pants to a chair."
