Parties

I've been reading Anne Roiphe's Art and Madness: A Memoir of Lust without Reason. Among other things, I've been struck by her descriptions of the parties she attended in the fifties and sixties: much drinking, posturing, and sexual competition, especially among the men. For a time she was convinced that alcohol was a necessary fuel for artists -- a view still often endorsed by such practitioners -- and that parties were competitions. Of course, this was New York, and these were some pretty high powered practitioners: George Plimpton, Norman Mailer, Peter Matthiessen, Terry Southern.

I used to go to parties, not so high powered, but similar affairs. Like Roiphe, I could name names, mostly academics, a few rather famous writers. One star professor who was being courted by my graduate department endeared himself by making a pass at my wife. Later she said he was cute but much too short. On another occasion a well known writer of science fiction invited one of our students to fly back to California with him. I was told she accepted. We also thought that alcohol fueled art and creativity. When I was in graduate school parties were the release mechanism. After much work came hard play, which meant hard drinking, often in the presence of our professors, who were themselves practiced drinkers. Some graduate students had to be helped home and put to bed. By then I was married, and knew better than to allow myself such liberties. My wife was indulgent, but she also drew clear lines. Even so, such parties could be entertaining. Sometimes the conversation was actually very witty and engaging. You could learn a lot about your colleagues watching them cope with alcohol and competing for attention with one another.

Roiphe also writes of sexual competition, and we saw some of that as well. Students sometimes paired off, but so too did some of our professors. Watching a world famous scholar wooing a young assistant professor in our department was great entertainment for the graduate students. It was amusing to think that there might be a much softer side to him. As he lightly placed his hand on her thigh, I wondered if he realized or cared that he was the source of entertainment for his graduate students even as we feared his judgement of our desperate attempts to impress him either at the party or the next day in the seminar room. Alcohol fuels desire as well as art.

Later, I attended many faculty parties. These too were often hard drinking affairs. I had developed a taste for scotch whisky. I actually liked it, especially the smoky and peaty varieties. But with experience I learned to alternate a really nice drink of scotch with large glasses of carbonated water. Club soda was as good a social lubricant as alcohol, but less dangerous. The main thing was to have a glass of something in your hand at all times, otherwise someone would be sure to offer you another drink. One of my colleagues prided himself on the generosity of his drinks, large glasses with lots of booze, not too much ice.

Parties were fun when we were younger. As my wife says, there was always the chance of meeting someone interesting, or discovering that someone we knew only slightly was more amusing than we had realized. Less desirable was being the object of amusement, which happened on a few occasions. For a time while I was teaching I was called upon to mix with some of our community's social elite. I never felt completely at ease in these circumstances, and often took one of my younger colleagues along for companionship and moral support. He was more sophisticated than I and usually mixed well, but as the evenings wore on he sometimes spoke truth to power, which was not always what they wanted to hear. Once, when one of our well meaning hosts misquoted Shakespeare to him, he burst out laughing and said something like, "better stick to stocks and leave Shakespeare to us." It made a great story later, but was not the right approach to endearing the college to the community.

For a brief time, after leaving academe and moving to Washington, we went to a variety of parties. Some were merely extensions of faculty parties, since my agency was populated with former academics, many of whom were already old friends. On these occasions we would eat and drink and share stories, mostly about work and the people we knew in common. There were also the more professional parties at the various Washington institutions such as the Folger Library, the Library of Congress, and assorted associations and organizations. At these I was generally on my best behavior, drinking only white wine or club soda, and watching the time as I tried to gauge the most opportune moment to slip away, having made an appearance and having made sure my presence was noted.

I don't go to parties anymore. I can't remember exactly when I stopped, or when I stopped getting invited, or which came first. I'm trying to think, when was the last time I actually attended a genuine party? It must have been more than twenty years ago. I think it may have been a party at our own apartment, a play reading. That was something we did for a while with some of our friends. We would get together for a buffet dinner at someone's house or apartment and afterwards read a play we'd all agreed on. It was fun. We had amusing friends, some of whom were actually good at readers theater. And my wife was always a hit. Of course, she had actual acting experience. The rest of us were eager amateurs. But no one in that group was shy. At some point, however, the core of the group drifted apart and the energy required for such gatherings dissipated. The impetus, once gone, could never seem to be revived.

As older colleagues departed and younger ones replaced them, I found myself less and less interested in putting forth the effort of going out to a party. Everyone seemed to live so far apart, and driving after drinking seemed so foolish, while a party without alcohol seemed so pointless. After experiencing a few parties without drinking, I realized that I was missing some essential ingredient. Of course, that may just be my own failure to mix well socially, a problem that has only increased as I've found it more and more difficult to hear conversations in crowded noisy places. I used to have a colleague who was rather hard of hearing who would reply to nearly all conversation directed at him with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. He later told me he did that because he couldn't understand what people were saying, and he found that they were usually satisfied with that response. When I found I was doing the same thing, I decided perhaps it was time to give up on parties.