Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man

  As we were getting ready to leave, Kay Bob Benson walked over and said at the top of her voice, “Daisy Fay Harper, I just knew it was you that got out of that old pickup truck yesterday.”

  I replied, “Yes, it was, and wasn’t that you getting off a broom?”

  A big, fat girl standing there heard the whole thing and started to laugh. She said, “Hey kid, where are you going?”

  I told her I had to get back to the truck stop.

  She laughed, “Come on up to our room. We’re having a little party.” I didn’t have anything else to do, so I went.

  A sign on the door said, “Miss Mississippi Veterans of Foreign Wars, Chaperones Stay Out.” Inside I met three other girls. They had all rented the suite together and had been in the pageant for three years in a row. This was the last year they could enter. The fat girl, Darcy Lewis, said the only reason they were there was to get scholarships to college. They asked if I wanted a drink. I said, “Sure,” so they locked the door, Darcy went into the bathroom and got a bottle of Old Granddad out of the back of the toilet, and another girl named Mary Cudsworth pulled a bottle of scotch out of a Kotex box. They had a whole bar set up.

  Darcy Lewis is in college at Stephens, majoring in speech, and her talent number is a scene from Joan of Arc that she has done for the past three years. Mary said Darcy is just too lazy to work on something new. Mary is a musician majoring in music at the University of Mississippi, and Penny Raymond is a singer. She’s about six feet tall, piles her hair up on her head and wears drop earrings. Jo Ellen Feely, the fourth girl, is majoring in political science at a college called Goucher. All she wanted to talk about was socialism. Whenever she tried to, the other girls screamed at her to shut up.

  They asked me all about myself and if I wanted to be Miss Mississippi. I said, “No, I want to win the scholarship to the American Academy of Dramatic Art in New York.” They seemed pleased. None of them were competing for that one. They told me the contest was fixed and this girl named Margaret Poole was going to win. Mrs. Lulie Harde McClay always picks the winner and this time she promised it to the Poole girl, who she’s been grooming to be Miss Mississippi for two years. According to them, Margaret Poole is the biggest hypocrite going. She smokes and drinks and screws boys all over town, but when she is around Mrs. McClay, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Mrs. Lulie Harde McClay’s whole life has been devoted to getting a Miss Mississippi to be Miss America. They also told me anybody who did not come from a good family and was not a Protestant didn’t have a chance in hell. It was a good thing I didn’t want to win, because where it said religion, I put down “Pagan.”

  They asked me about my talent number. Because I did comedy, they all agreed I had a good chance to make the finals if I was any good. Most of the girls are interpretive dancers and they like to have a variety of different talent numbers for the big pageant at the State Theater on the ninth.

  We sat there most of the night, and I drank all those girls under the table. They must have liked me because before I left, they invited me to come back tomorrow. They also made me promise to vote for Darcy for Miss Congeniality. She’s won for three years and is collecting Miss Congeniality statuettes as a hobby. Every year she goes around and tells all the other girls that she is going to vote for them. Then they vote for her and she votes for herself, so she’s a shoo-in. The judges got suspicious last year when the vote was unanimous.

  August 5, 1959

  My cab picked me up early this morning, and I went up to Darcy’s room, where they were giving drinks right and left to this poor country girl named Dorothy Clem Kenyard. They told her she needed them to loosen up to do her talent number. Then we all went down and watched while she tried to sing the “Laughing Song” from some opera. All she did was stand there and laugh, she didn’t sing at all. You should have seen the looks on the judges’ faces. I found out later that Dorothy Clem was trying for the same scholarship as Penny.

  You wouldn’t believe some of those talent numbers. One girl played the grand piano while standing in authentic Mississippi mud. Another was a dress designer and modeled a dress she’d made out of old menus; and this skinny girl blew up balloons that were supposed to be different animals, but they all looked the same to me.

  When I finally did my talent number, it went over good. By that time the judges must have been glad to have some comedy. They had already seen forty-eight interpretive dancers and eighteen girls doing a scene from Joan of Arc.

  August 6, 1959

  Today was my interview with the judges. Darcy and Mary told me what to say to make sure the judges liked me. When they asked who I admired the most in the world, I was to answer my mother or Joan Crawford, either one was surefire. When they asked what I wanted out of life, it was to be a good American, and a wife and a Christian mother. And when they asked me what my hobbies were, I was supposed to say teaching Sunday school and working with poor children. And if they asked me if I wanted to be Miss Mississippi, the answer was “I am sure that there are many other girls more qualified than I am, but if by some chance I do win, it will be the proudest moment of my life.” I reminded Darcy I didn’t want to be Miss Mississippi, I just wanted a scholarship. She said it didn’t matter. You had to make them think you wanted it When I asked if I shouldn’t answer the questions truthfully, she said, “Hell, no, nobody ever tells the truth.” The four of them had taken a poll and this is how all the former Miss Mississippis answered the questions. If I spoke the truth, I would never get a scholarship.

  When it was their turns to do their talent numbers, I went and watched, Mary, who had played the violin last year, got up in a long black dress and said, “This year, after some deliberation, I feel that my talent lies in the piano.” Then she walked over to the piano, opened the lid, took out a musical saw and played “Whispering.” I nearly died laughing. Darcy recited her scene from Joan of Arc. It was terrible. Her costume was a pair of Chinese pajamas and a colander on her head. I finally found out what a colander was! Jo Ellen, who was half drunk, had on a feather bonnet and did the Lord’s Prayer in Indian sign language. I don’t know how she kept a straight face. I nearly fell off my chair laughing, but the judge who is a preacher really loved it

  Afterwards we went back up to the room. Jo Ellen told me what she had been doing wasn’t Indian sign language at all. She’d just made it up. It didn’t matter how bad their talent numbers were. They would get their scholarships anyway because Mrs. McClay was dying for them to finish college so she could brag about how the Miss Mississippi pageant had provided them with a complete college education.

  I was glad I listened to the girls. Sure enough, in my question-and-answer period, the questions were exactly what they said they would be. The reverend asked me about being a pagan, and I told him that it was a mistake, my answer was supposed to be a Presbyterian. He would have been happier if I’d answered Baptist, but Presbyterian was the only one I could think of that stated with a P. When they wanted to know what my father did, I told them he ran an eating establishment, which wasn’t too much of a lie. Daddy does serve hard-boiled eggs. Mrs. Buchanan asked me about the scholarship to the American Academy in New York City and I told her I wanted to go there. When she wondered whether I had a second choice, I answered, “Brooklyn.” They said, “Thank you very much.”

  The pageant rules don’t allow any girls’ mothers in the hotel, but Kay Bob Benson’s mother hides behind the potted plants and every time Kay Bob goes by, she sticks her head through and yells at her to fix her hair or smile. Everyone can see her through the palm tree. I don’t know who she thinks she is fooling.

  August 7, 1959

  Today was bathing suit competition and Darcy warned me to be very careful where I sat. Last year a girl had lost a lot of points when she made the mistake of sitting in a wicker chair right before the bathing suit competition. I stood up and waited for my turn. That girl Margaret Poole, who is going to be Miss Mississippi, has a great figure. So does Kay Bob Benson, although I hate to adm
it it.

  You wouldn’t believe what Darcy and Mary did. Darcy modeled her bathing suit and when she turned around, she had a big sign on her behind, “SEE ROCK CITY.” If that wasn’t enough, here came Mary, sopping wet with fins and a swimming mask, carrying a spear. Everybody cracked up!

  Daddy was right about my cabdriver. He takes good care of me. I don’t even have to call him when I’m through. I go out in front of the hotel and there he is. He always asks me how it went and I tell him everything. I think he gets a kick out of it. He reminds me of some actor, but I can’t think who.

  They announced the names of the girls who made the finals this afternoon. Kay Bob was one; and when they called Margaret Poole’s name, Mary and Darcy and Jo Ellen and Penny said together, “What a surprise!” Mrs. McClay looked like she could have killed them. They called my name and was I glad. I couldn’t wait to tell my cabdriver, so I only had one drink with the girls to celebrate. When I came downstairs, I had to walk through all the contestants who hadn’t made the finals and were checking out. I hadn’t thought about them. They acted like it didn’t matter, but you could tell they were feeling terrible. Some of those girls have to be as talented and pretty as the ones who were chosen. It’s just a stupid beauty contest and it’s fixed, to boot. The only reason I was chosen for the finals was they needed a comedy talent number on August 9. I told my cabdriver how I felt, but he didn’t say too much.

  August 8, 1959

  We had to do our talent numbers again today. Penny had such a hangover that she just stood on the stage and mouthed the words while Mary hid behind the curtain and sang for her. The judges never knew the difference. They thought Penny had a cold. I saved “Susie Sweetwater” for the second round. They loved it. We had the afternoon off while they decided who was going to do their talent numbers on the stage at the State Theater and at the Tupelo Country Club tonight. Every year, the night before the pageant, the finalists all go to a special dinner at the Country Club given by the Junior League and the Jaycees. After they are presented to the audience, some perform their talent numbers for the group.

  I went upstairs to Darcy’s room and knocked. She came to the door but wouldn’t let me in because they were rehearsing a number they were doing tonight as a special good-bye performance. So I left and found Cab No. 22 outside of the hotel and went to get something to eat. I asked Mr. Smith if he didn’t want to come in the restaurant with me, but he preferred to wait in the cab. I brought him a barbecue and Coca-Cola.

  When I got back to the hotel, they took all twenty-eight finalists in the banquet room and read off the names of the girls who were going to perform at the Country Club. I was on the list, and so were Mary, Penny and Jo Ellen. Kay Bob Benson and Margaret Poole were also chosen. Surprise! Surprise! Darcy wasn’t picked, but Mrs. McClay said, “I’m sure Darcy won’t mind if she doesn’t do Saint Joan again. We feel that the audience just couldn’t take it another year.” When she looked at Darcy and said, “You don’t mind, do you, dear?” everyone cracked up. When I told my news to my cabdriver I could see he was happy for me.

  Later he picked me up and we drove over to the Tupelo Country Club. It’s prettier than the Hattiesburg Country Club, with a rotating dance floor that has colored lights in it. All the girls looked beautiful in their evening gowns. Darcy had some old gut bucket with her, and Mary brought a ukulele. I couldn’t wait to see their special number. Mrs. McClay had her hair fixed and was wearing a corsage. She went up to the microphone and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to present to you the twenty-eight lovely finalists in this year’s Miss Mississippi Contest.” I felt like I was having a debut. I wish Daddy and Jimmy Snow could have been there.

  We all walked out, one by one, while the band played “A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody.” After that, the people ate dinner, and we went in the bathroom and changed into our talent costumes. Margaret Poole, Kay Bob Benson and I were the only ones who had to change. Everyone else was going to perform in their evening gowns. I got into my “Susie Sweetwater” outfit. The judges liked my number about the woman who gets shot, but they felt anything about divorce would not be appropriate for a Miss Mississippi contestant.

  Margaret Poole was standing in the bathroom smoking a cigarette when Mrs. McClay flew in the door looking for us. Before I knew what had happened, Margaret Poole shoved that cigarette in my hand and said, “I’m ready, Mrs. McClay.” Mrs. McClay looked over and saw me and had a hissy fit.

  She said, “Frances Harper, what are you doing with that cigarette? You are in a public rest room.” Then she jerked the cigarette out of my hand, ran over and flushed it down the toilet before I could even open my mouth. She said, “How dare you disgrace the Miss Mississippi pageant. Don’t you come out of this bathroom tonight. I’ll deal with you later, Miss!”

  I was so surprised I just stood there. As they were leaving, I heard Margaret Poole say, “I told her she shouldn’t be smoking, Mrs. McClay.” Kay Bob Benson, who had seen the whole thing, laughed her head off and marched out the door with her baton. Not knowing what else to do, I came out of the bathroom and stood there watching everybody perform. When it was my turn, Mrs. McClay went right on to the next name and skipped me altogether.

  After everyone had finished, Mrs. McClay said into the microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to announce we will be losing four of our favorite contestants this year and we will surely miss these four young ladies who have enhanced the pageant with their sweet personalities and outstanding talent for so long. However, the girls tell me they would like to do a special number for us tonight as a little going-away gesture. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it.” She read from a card Darcy had given her and said, “So, ladies and gentlemen, it now gives me great pleasure to present to you the Warehouse Quartette.” Mary came out with the ukulele, and Darcy had the gut bucket. Mary said, “One, two, three,” and this is the song they sang to the tune of “Turkey in the Straw”:

  Oh, she pooted, and she farted and she shit on the floor

  She wiped her ass on the knob of the door

  The moon shone bright, on the nipple of her tit

  She brushed her teeth with blueberry shit

  Peeking through the keyhole, to see what she could see

  Squatting on the floor, on her bended knee

  Her dress was up and her panties were down

  She’s got the cutest ass we’ve seen around

  Sung by the Whorehouse Quartette!

  Mary and Penny had spent the last two days making up the dirtiest song they could think of. They finished, took a big bow and ran off.

  The audience sat there stunned. As Darcy and Mary ran by whooping and hollering, they grabbed me and said, “Come on, kid.” We raced out the door and jumped into my cab and all went back to the hotel to have a drink. They said they’d been waiting three years to do that.

  August 9, 1959

  This morning all the staff and contestants were called to an emergency meeting. Mrs. McClay looked like death warmed over. She must not have gone to bed because she was wearing her half-dead corsage on the same dress from the night before and her hair was as messy as a rat’s nest. She announced that due to unfortunate circumstances, Miss Darcy Lewis, Miss Jo Ellen Feely, Miss Mary Cudsworth and Miss Penny Raymond would not be performing at the State Theater. They were to remain backstage and only come out to receive their scholarships.

  Then she said, in tears, “I want to wish you all good luck tonight,” and blew her nose. “One more thing, a word to the wise. The winner, whoever she may be”—and she looked right at Margaret Poole—“don’t crush your roses, they’re velvet.” After that we all went down to the State Theater and rehearsed. I was still scheduled to perform. After what Darcy and the others had done, she must have figured smoking a cigarette was nothing.

  After rehearsal, we were told to be back at six-thirty and ready to go at seven-thirty. I gave my cabdriver a ticket. When he picked me up, he was dressed in a suit and tie, and I was glad I
was going to have someone there I knew. That night when we were all backstage, about three old stagehands came by just before the show and wished me luck.

  I didn’t think I would be so nervous, but the theater held 2,000 people and the place was packed. A million-dollar Hammond organ began playing, and the emcee started calling our names. The girls walked out, one by one. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure I was going to have a heart attack. When my name was announced, the girl behind me had to push me to get me going. As soon as I was onstage, a spotlight hit me right in the face and I was blinded, but I managed to smile and was happy my teeth were fixed. The audience applauded real loud and seemed to like me. I was surprised, but I didn’t have too much time to think about it before I had to run and change for the bathing suit competition. You should have heard the audience scream and yell when the spotlight hit my sequined bathing suit. They really loved it. Thank you, Mr. Cecil and the Cecilettes.

  The spotlight was so bright and my contact lenses were hurting so that I almost walked off the runway. The audience kept on hollering, and I couldn’t get over how much they liked my swimsuit. When I got offstage, I was blind as a bat, but thank goodness Darcy was there and led me to my dressing room. My knees were still shaking.

  I changed into my “Susie Sweetwater” outfit in about two minutes and raced downstairs to the stage entrance as fast as I could. As it turned out, I had plenty of time. The emcee had just introduced the first talent number: Betty Lee Hansome, who played “Tiko, Tiko” on the electric organ. She went and sat down and smiled big at the audience and hit her first chord, but the organ didn’t make a sound. She tried again, and still nothing happened. She looked panicked and turned around and screamed at a stagehand that something was the matter. He came over and saw she was playing up a storm but no sound was coming out. He finally found the plug and plugged it in, but there must have been a short since all you could hear was every other note and it sounded awful. After her number, Betty Lee ran off screaming she was going to kill somebody. I got out of her way, and so did the stagehands.