“The Phantom of Fifth Avenue: The Mysterious Life and Scandalous Death of Heiress Huguette Clark”, by Meryl Gordon

 

407 pages, Grand Central Publishing, ISBN-13: 978-1455512652

First: I love used books because they so often come with some mysterious backstory that evokes…something. Like this one, The Phantom of Fifth Avenue: The Mysterious Life and Scandalous Death of Heiress Huguette Clark by Meryl Gordon. When I opened it up, it came with a thank you card that said: “Thank you, Tina for the money! It’s so appreciated and always fits perfectly 😊 Love, Odey & Allison. XOXO”. I have no idea who Tina, Odey or Allison were, what the money was for or how much, or why this present of a book ultimately found its way to 2^nd & Charles to be resold. But the questions remain and the speculation is rife. So anyway…

It’s hard to feel sorry for the very rich; I mean, they have all this wealth, lots of stuff and the freedom to do as they damn-well please. And, they have a habit of going off the deep end. I mean, just think of Howard Hughes who, after a lifetime of building companies, making movies, romancing beautiful starlets and even circumnavigating the globe for God’s sake ended his days as a recluse whose once robust health was long gone and who was at the mercy of shysters and hangers-on. Sad. Pathetic. Tragic. And proof positive (if an anymore proof was still needed) that money cannot buy happiness. Or sanity, for that matter.

Or take Huguette Marcelle Clark, the subject of Gordon’s book, who was the heiress to the Clark Copper fortune, a painter of some renown in her own right and philanthropist who gave away vast amounts to worthy causes – and who, later in life, became famous all over again as a recluse, living in a hospital for more than 20 years while her various mansions remained unoccupied (come to think of it, I think I have another book about Huguette called Empty Mansions floating about somewhere…). She, too, traversed the world, saw amazing sights and was the center of attention wherever she went – until she didn’t want to be anymore.

Gordon is nothing if not indefatigable in hunting down and acknowledging her sources about this dead recluse who could have lived such a grand life if she had only wanted to. I mean, I get not wanting to be a celebrity and fearing that this friend or that relation may want you for one thing and one thing only. But Good Lord, Woman, you were raised in New York City and Paris and interacted with some of the most interesting and important people in the world, and you chuck it all to live in a hospital room wasting away and doing nothing? Of all the things that money can buy, freedom tops the list – and you had it in spades. All for naught.

This retreat from the world began with the end of her so-brief marriage to William MacDonald Gower, a retreat she indulged in, surrounding herself with Impressionist paintings, French antiques, priceless musical instruments, elaborate one-of-a-kind dollhouses and Japanese miniatures – surrounded by things. Her very few friends she communicated with by letter or over the phone, and she never seemed to have had time to go out for lunch or even to just pop around and say “Hi” (Did she even manage to wave to her niece on the street from her window? Who knows?). All of it pointless and pathetic, your great wealth notwithstanding.

The Phantom of Fifth Avenue is exhaustive in its detail – Huguette was a hoarder who kept everything, even the care labels of her cashmere sweaters – and it seemed that all of the litigants who fought over the woman’s TWO wills came forward to chuck their two-bob in. But by the end I still could not determine just why this vivacious woman full of life and with the world at her feet chose to retreat form the same and live in a hospital room surrounded by inanimate if beautiful objects without any meaningful human contact. Perhaps the answer is beyond knowing short of an answer from Huguette herself, who seemed content in her silence.