Adieu mon ami

Memories of Elaine

I am sorry that I am unable to join you today to celebrate the life of a truly extraordinary and exceptional person – Elaine Broadhead. I slipped on wet grass recently carrying my puppy and smashed a leg, had bolts and plates and rods installed, and am in a wheelchair for eight weeks. But, I did not drop the puppy. And that is what Elaine would have focused on. Mat is in pain and traction but the puppy is OK.

My first introduction to Elaine took place at a dinner at Jan-Hendrick’s house in 1999. I parked behind a Land Rover with the license plate “CUBA.” I assumed that the other guest was some sort of rabid right-wing person of Cuban exile heritage. Instead I met an elfin woman with long thick hair with a reddish tint and an accent I could not place. Whether it was the accent, or the shock of meeting someone who adored Fidel and all he stood for; I couldn’t really grasp what we were talking about. It all seemed so disjointed. But it didn’t seem to matter. This woman, Elaine Broadhead, exuded such energy, determination, and sincerity that I liked her immediately. For some reason she liked me. And we quickly became friends.

Elaine's background story was fascinating. Born in Paris to a Chicago mail order heiress and a London banker, her father wisely took his Jewish wife and half-Jewish daughter out of Europe in '38. They moved to Middleburg and bought an old farm and renovated it. "Glen Ora" later became famous as the weekend residence of Jack and Jackie Kennedy, rented from Elaine's mother. I later learned it was also the place where Wallis Warfield fell in love with a man (she was rather accomplished at that).

Elaine grew up with horses in Middleburg and went to the Hill School. She then was sent to a boarding school in Pennsylvania and spent some time at Barnard. Her mother told her she should be married and William Broadhead was a good choice. Elaine followed him to Harvard Architecture School and then lived in Tuscany with him while he renovated farmhouses. Her home was an ancient tiny castle in Vagliagli. It is round and has an amazing view. You can rent it on AirBnB if you like.

Elaine had three children: Misia, Sabina and Sebastian. When her mother died she returned to America after three decades in Italy and settled in Glen Ora. Things were radically different under Elaine's regime. The niceties of gracious living established by her mother were thrown to the wind. She commissioned her daughter Misia (an accomplished artist who lived with Tony, an equally accomplished artist who lived with their three children in the Pool House) paint giant murals of primates in the living room and threw her doors open to one and all. And I mean one and all. On any given day you could meet a Buddhist monk, a professional bridge player, all sorts of anarchists, and Middleburg doyennes together with her menagerie of rescue pot belly pigs, dogs, ponies and anything that appeared and wouldn't go away.

That evening began a twenty-year roller coaster ride of time with Elaine in Virginia, in DC and in Spain and Italy. There was literally never a dull moment. Elaine could always be counted on to contribute a very original perspective – whatever the passion of the moment happened to be: including the Bonobos, her dogs, her rescue pigs, Code Pink, Ruckus Society, Anti-War, Anti-Fur Coats, Anti-Nuclear in both the US and Italy, Anti-uncontrolled growth in Italy and Virginia, and finally the wolves. I went to more events and marches focusing on causes than I can remember. One I do remember. It was a meeting, and there were at least 100 people there, of a committee that was determined to get bonobos recognized as on the same level as humans.

I was the one who is guilty of launching Elaine, kicking and screaming, to the world of computers. After a great deal of discussion, and arguing, it was decided we’d go to the store and buy Elaine an Apple. The only argument for the computer she could not deny was that it would help save the environment by cutting down on mail and wasted paper. She loved the design and choice of colors – to her it looked like an hors d’ oeuvre and they came in five flavors (colors). It wasn’t until we got home I realized that that Elaine thought you just told the computer what to do. This was way pre-Alexa. I got her set up with email: ElaineBroadhead@yahoo.com, and away she went. Soon she was responding to emails from like-minded activists all over the world. Her favorite part was deleting. She thought for a while that everyone’s email was simply their name and then @yahoo.

Elaine didn’t mind getting arrested. At times I thought she rather enjoyed it. When the New York Times published a photo of her being frog-marched out of the Senate for yelling out painful truths she had the photo copied, and had a red elf cap photo shopped on her head – it was that year’s Christmas card. She would call me with the exciting news that she was in jail. I was ready to head over with bail bond, but that wasn’t necessary, they were all being released after a few hours in the cooler. Elaine was meeting all sorts of interesting people. After one incarceration I asked Elaine what jail was like. She responded jail wasn’t so bad, they even had Evian water in the vending machine. A few times I accompanied her to court to appear before a judge for her misconduct, which included disrupting Congress and refusing to disperse. She sometimes got a fine and after listening to Elaine explain the entire situation the charges were usually dismissed by a Judge whom I am certain had thought he had heard everything, until then.

I always enjoyed introducing my friends to Elaine. Their reactions were uniform. Everyone liked her; several became her friends. From the get-go it was clear that Elaine was one of those very few people who: (a) didn’t judge others, and (b) didn’t really care what people thought of her. I really don’t think I ever heard her say anything remotely negative about anyone. She never seemed to hold a grudge. She shrugged off people who had done her wrong and more than once they’d eventually appear at her dinner table. She didn’t like to be the center of attention until she did; particularly when there was a microphone involved and she felt moved to share.

Elaine was a true democrat, with a small “d”, no matter who you were – a Middleburg faux aristocrat or the check out girl at Safeway – you were treated exactly the same by Elaine. The only thing that she was snobbish about was good wine. Otherwise Elaine was pretty much up for anything. And with Elaine you never knew quite what would happen. Going anywhere was an adventure with Elaine.

Elaine was delightfully inconsistent. Once we were in Tuscany having dinner with her friends the Spenders. It was a very strange, very Elaine evening. The Spenders’ daughter was making some sort of documentary about her parents, filming everything. They served a wine that they made themselves and which they also used on their skin when they had rashes or sunburns. I don’t drink, but it smelled like ether. Elaine drank it, and drank it, and drank some more. Finally we departed and within a mile became hopelessly lost. I had to keep waking Elaine up for our bearings. It was totally pitch black. Finally (and about the time she began to regret being so well-mannered as to drink that stuff) Elaine remembered where we were and insisted that I take a left. It was sort of a road. After about a minute I realized we were driving through a pasture of some sort; there was in fact no road. I came to a grinding halt at a rather large stream to cross. I woke up Elaine again and pointed out that there was no bridge. “Well,” she said, “I never had any trouble crossing it with a horse.” I began to point out that a riding trail was not a suitable road, but didn’t want to have that discussion.

We eventually made it back to the road and somehow found ourselves at Teddy Goldsmith’s; where we were staying. Elaine was literally dead to the world. I knew I shouldn’t and really couldn’t leave her in the car, so I picked her up and carried all 90 pounds of her to her bedroom. I went to my room, which was downstairs and went to bed. Suddenly I sat up and realized I’d deposited Elaine in the wrong room. I rushed upstairs and there she was, out cold. Snoring. I tried to wake her up but it was hopeless. I picked her up again, this time carrying her over my shoulder, like a caveman. I could hear the other guests outside in whose room we were, talking to Teddy’s wife. I carried Elaine out as they were coming up the stairs. I should add that I was wearing only boxer shorts. Elaine looked over to the rightful occupants and was about to say something that I knew would only make matters even more bizarre. I whispered, “If you say one word I swear I’ll drop you down the stairwell.” Elaine’s dazed response was, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” I deposited her in the correct room and went back to bed.

When the United States invaded Iraq Elaine and her Code Pink coven went into action. Actually, two weeks before the war started Elaine and Code Pink were actually in Iraq on a fact-finding peace tour. When she returned I collected her at Dulles.. They were easy to spot, all wearing pink with a large banner and chanting for the television cameras. Elaine wanted to hang out but I told her I recognized some CIA agents in the crowd. She put on her sunglasses to throw them off the scent.

After Code Pink's failure to stop the war they set up a tent in Lafayette Park across the street from the White House. They took a solemn vow not to leave until Bush and Cheney withdrew from Iraq. It was wet and it was cold. In fact it was miserable. The other ladies in the tent included someone who had skipped parole in Texas on an arson charge together with a woman who did not speak; she answered or asked questions singing, or actually chanting in rhymes. There was a lady who was somewhere in the sexual transition mode from male to female, and it wasn’t going well. There was a woman whom Elaine thought was a CIA plant. In other words, a typical assortment of the people Elaine knew. Elaine and one other, the singing lady, stuck it out for as long as the Parks Department would let them stay. They took away her tent and she was sleeping under plastic on a park bench. I convinced her that she could take breaks and a hot shower and have a good meal at the Willard wasn’t hurting the cause. Once she was involved she gave it everything she had. I didn’t always quite understand Elaine’s passions or perspectives, but I respected, and to be honest admired, her determination and perseverance.

Shortly after I met Elaine I was reading the New Yorker, and there, unbelievably, was a profile of Elaine, entitled Radical Chic Department,The Heiress and the Anarchists. She’d invited me for dinner with one of her activist buddies.

Once we were alone I showed Elaine the article. She began to read it and screamed. I had to read the entire article out to her. Her first response was that the author talked about her age, the second piece of righteous indignation was a reference to long tresses of dark hair with a red tint. For some reason that enraged her. She told me that she’d have to leave town. The article really wasn’t that bad, but from that point on whenever she’d start to rant about something I’d hold a strand of her hair and say, “You know Elaine, The New Yorker was right.” We’d break out laughing. That was the thing about Elaine, she laughed at herself. To a point.

Elaine’s friends and children and their spouses became my friends. When I met Elaine I had just moved to Washington and didn’t know anyone. Elaine’s remedy was to introduce me to her friend Gertie, the Vicomtesse d’Amecourt. Very soon I knew all sorts of interesting people because, as Elaine put it, once you knew Gertie you knew everybody. I have Elaine to thank for that introduction which led to several other deep and lasting friendships.

For her birthday one year I took Elaine to an opening at the Shakespeare Theatre. It was Enemy of the People by Ibsen. A perfect play for Elaine. The surprise was (and Elaine loved surprises), we were part of a dinner before the performance and were seated at the table with Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. That was one of the few times, actually the only time, that I actually witnessed Elaine being respectful of authority. She was unusually non-confrontational and surprisingly rational for the entire meal. She was awestruck. When were leaving for the play and Elaine screwed up her courage, she walked over to Justice Ginsburg and said, “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for this country. Please don’t ever die.” The Justice promised she’d do what she could. Elaine accepted everyone but didn’t necessarily respect everyone. Justice Ginsburg was in that very exclusive club.

Elaine had a very original way of innocently putting matters into perspective. Once at a dinner at Glen Ora I was seated next to our friend Nina and somehow we got on the subject of the Dutch. We agreed that the Dutch were open minded, hard-working, physically beautiful, made wonderful chocolates and were in general superlative people. (In full disclosure it was utterly coincidental that my father was Friesian Dutch and Nina’s wonderful daughters were half-Dutch). But we laughed and agreed that the Dutch had one less than admirable trait: they really didn’t think much of the Belgians. Suddenly, from the other end of the table, a man who was not my favorite person in the world said rather brusquely, “Be careful what you say, I am one-quarter Belgian.” Nina and I were a little taken aback (and if you know either of us that takes some doing) and suddenly Elaine turned to him and asked, “Really, what’s the other quarter?” Without being cruel or rude or Elaine nailed it – and couldn’t understand why Nina and I were roaring with laughter.

I adored Elaine. I always enjoyed her company. I felt protective of Elaine, which she did not like. After we’d see a movie, and we’d seen dozens of films, I would drive back to DC and immediately call her to make sure she had made it back to Glen Ora. She was always surprised and told me it wasn’t necessary that she didn’t need a nanny. I told her that if she didn’t answer the phone I’d call Tony and his boys and we’d track her down at whatever sleazy motorcycle bar she was playing pool in. Elaine said, “don’t do that, the boys have to get up early to go to school and you’d wake up the baby Navona.” And that is why I was allowed to check-in on Elaine; she didn’t want to inconvenience others.

In closing I’ll share something I heard at a memorial service many years ago. The woman speaking recounted a story of her mentor who was dying. She went to say goodbye to him and they spent an hour laughing and teasing each other. Suddenly it was time to leave, and the woman knew this was the last time she’d every share with this person she respected to much. He saw her discomfort and took her hand. He told her that in his life he had loved, and he had been loved. The rest was background noise. When I learned of the sad news of Elaine’s death that is the first thought that came to me – and I believe it captures everything you need to know about Elaine Tartiere Broadhead -- she loved deeply and she was loved deeply and the rest was indeed background noise. In Elaine’s case very loud background noise.

Thank you for allowing me to share these memories of our dear friend Elaine. I will think about her for the rest of my life, and when I do, I will smile. I was always happy when I was with Elaine. Like everyone in this room I miss her very, very much.

You can actually SEE and hear Elaine by going to:

https://www.c-span.org/video/?189820-1/an-unreasonable-woman-true-story

and if you want to read "The New Yorker" article it is at:

http://mailman.lbo-talk.org/2000/2000-February/004909.html