Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

A Woman Scorned

Washington, D.C.

1936

Mrs. Ida Baily Chambless, the sixth child of a laundress in Smyrna, Georgia, had always had a way with words. Her writing skills were considered “almost poetic,” as a teacher wrote on one of her reports, “Plucked from Mother Africa’s Bosom and Thrown Asunder.” Over the years she had worked her way up until she wound up writing for one of Washington’s leading Negro newspapers.

She enjoyed her power and found herself catered to by people desperate to see their names under her newspaper column’s banner, SOCIETY SLANTS … SLAPS FOR ENEMIES, KISSES FOR FRIENDS.

When Dr. Le Guarde and his family moved to Washington, Mrs. Chambless was chomping at the bit to get to know them. But she had not received an invitation to their home, a fact that she sought to remedy by several glowing mentions of the Le Guardes in her column. Surely they would see that of all the people in Washington, she should be included at their affairs. However, after a year and a half no invitation had arrived, and she was dying to get inside the Le Guarde house. Although the exterior of the big brick four-story was rather plain, she imagined that what she would find inside would be spectacular. She was kept apprised of many social happenings by a certain florist who informed her, among other things, whenever Mrs. Le Guarde ordered floral arrangements for a party.

Eventually, Mrs. Chambless got wind of a musical evening that was planned and she could wait no longer. She decided that, after all, it was her right and her duty to her readers to report on the social life of such a distinguished Negro doctor. She would simply forgive them the obvious oversight of an invitation and attend anyway. And so, on the evening of the party, Ida Chambless, a large, brown woman with a flat, round face, dressed to the nines, complete with ostrich feathers in her hair, waltzed in the door uninvited, and proceeded to take notes. As she floated from room to room she was sorely disappointed. The house was dull, the clothes were dull; as a matter of fact, as the evening went on, even though everyone had been perfectly nice, she began to think this was one of the dullest parties she had ever been to. Only the art and the music were impressive. It was clear these poor people needed her help. In her column the next day she described the Le Guarde home in generous terms. The clothes the women had worn the night before, pale and muted, suddenly became magenta, lime, purple, royal blue, and red. According to Mrs. Chambless, the ladies at the party had been shimmering with jewels and diamond tiaras. Mrs. Le Guarde’s single strand of pearls suddenly became twelve strands. Brahms and Strauss were described as lively and toe tapping. She informed her readers that gold-plated dinnerware and polished silver heirlooms from Dr. Le Guarde’s family were in evidence everywhere, as were precious art and tapestries hanging on each wall. Mrs. Chambless thought, If that doesn’t make them realize how much they need me in their lives, I don’t know what will. Several days later a letter arrived from Dr. Le Guarde. Ah, here was that thank-you note and, probably, an open invitation to all their future entertainments. She sliced open the engraved stationery and began to read with a satisfied smile on her face that slowly faded.

Dear Mrs. Chambless,

Although I am sure you meant no intentional harm, your public report of a private gathering was most unwelcome. Your exaggerations and the descriptions of the interior of my home and the clothes worn by my guests may have been meant as compliments, but I must ask you with all politeness and respect to please refrain from writing any more about my family and friends. The publishing of our address and the listings of the contents, some real and some imagined, has caused me serious concern for my family as there has been a rise in thievery and misconduct of all sorts.

I am a private person. I seek no publicity and have found your several mentions of my name to be an embarrassment. I am sure you will understand this and comply.

Most sincerely,

Dr. James A. Le Guarde

Mrs. Chambless felt as if someone has just slapped her in the face. She had been slapped in the face by a white girl when she was nine and the effect was the same; however, this time she had recourse and could slap back with a mighty blow that would flatten any man. He was telling her, Ida Baily Chambless, that she was not good enough to be in his home? That she was not welcome? Ida Baily Chambless, who had carte blanche in the homes of richer men than he? Who did he think he was dealing with? Did he think he could insult her and humiliate her and tell her she was not good enough? Oh, he would rue this day. She had power and would turn it full force on this man and his puny, pink-blooded, lily-white family. How dare this pseudo-, ginger-cake, yellow-pine-codfish, self-proclaimed negrocrat think he was better than she was? In one moment that letter brought back every insult, every hurt, every slight, every humiliation she had ever been made to suffer. She was in a blind rage and literally ran upstairs to her typewriter, and wrote another column.

Soon Dr. Le Guarde had groups of young men walking by his home yelling and making catcalls and a few, who had had several drinks too many, poured black paint down his front doorstep.

Good. She would never let him forget that he had insulted Ida Baily Chambless for as long as he lived. She would hound him and his family to their graves and beyond!