Mr. and Mrs. Frank O’Connor

ARI

Know­ing the O’Connors for as long as you did and spend­ing so much time with them, what impressed you about their rela­tionship?

CHARLES

Frank O'Connor, 1966 Ayn’s Introduc­tion to the 25th Anniversary Edi­tion of The Foun­tain­head says it all. It was written in May 1968. I don’t want to dilute the strength of her statements by paraphras­ing them, so let me read some excerpts:

”. . .it would be im­pos­si­ble for me to discuss The Foun­tain­head without men­tion­ing the man who made it possible for me to write it: my husband, Frank O’Connor.

“In a play I wrote in my ear­ly thirties, Ideal, the heroine, a screen star, speaks for me when she says: ‘I want to see, real, liv­ing, and in the hours of my own days, that glory I create as an illusion. I want it real. I want to know that there is some­one, somewhere, who wants it, too. Or else what is the use of see­ing it, and work­ing, and burn­ing oneself for an im­pos­si­ble vision? A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.’

“Frank was the fuel. He gave me, in the hours of my own days, the reality of that sense of life which created The Foun­tain­head and he helped me to maintain it over a long span of years when there was noth­ing around us but a gray desert of peo­ple and events that evoked noth­ing but contempt and revulsion. The essence of the bond between us is the fact that neither of us has ever wanted or been tempted to settle for anyth­ing less than the world presented in The Foun­tain­head. We never will.”

Ayn also writes in the Introduc­tion about an even­ing when she felt profound discouragement about “things as they are.” She says, “. . .it seemed as if I would never regain the energy to move one step farther toward ‘things as they ought to be.’ Frank talked to me for hours, that night. He convinced me of why one cannot give up the world to those one despises. By the time he finished, my discouragement was gone; it never came back in so intense a form.”

That night, she told him she would dedicate The Foun­tain­head to him “because he had saved it.”

What does this say about their rela­tionship? This is a tribute written by a woman who is deep­ly in love with her husband, and about a husband who is deep­ly in love with his wife. You see, Frank un­der­stood Ayn. He knew what she valued, he knew what to say to help her restore her view of life and give her the motiva­tion—the fuel—to move forward. And he didn’t give up; he spoke for hours until he convinced her. And equal­ly important, she respected his un­der­stand­ing of her—she knew she could turn to him for that encouragement. Is there anyth­ing more important in a marriage than un­der­stand­ing each other’s values and encourag­ing each other to pur­sue them; than help­ing each other maintain that basic outlook on life that they hold in common? I don’t think so. They were a devoted couple until the end of their days.

ARI

What signs of that did you observe in their dai­ly life?

CHARLES

There were so many signs. For one thing, they were demonstrative about their affec­tion. When they sat to­geth­er or walked down the street to­geth­er, they held hands. They kissed “hello” and “goodbye.” Whenever Ayn and I were out at an all-day stamp show, she always wondered aloud what Frank was do­ing. She always called him her “top value.” He was a constant in her life, in her awareness. Let me tell you about an incident that exemplifies this.

ARI

What is that?

CHARLES

I’ve spoken about the birthday party Mary Ann gave me when I turned fifty. She made me and my interests the theme of the party. The paper plates, cups, and napkins were red, white, and blue, which related to my patriotism. She designed a fifty-cent red, white, and blue stamp to commemorate the date, nam­ing it “Charles Sures Semicentennial Celebra­tion, 1922–1972.” In fact, she designed a companion stamp, one with errors in the print­ing—everyth­ing in red was printed upside down! An artist drew them on cardboard and they were placed over two birthday cakes. Mary Ann had ordered food that I especial­ly enjoyed. And the group birthday gift was the stamps Ayn had selected. The point of all this is that dur­ing the even­ing, Ayn turned to me and said that she envied Mary Ann because Mary Ann was hav­ing the pleasure of mak­ing me, her husband, the center, the focus of the even­ing in a very personal way. Ayn said she was inspired to do some­thing like that for Frank.

MARY ANN

And the same was true of Frank: Ayn was always a focus in his life. If we were roam­ing through a de­part­ment store, he would point out items of women’s apparel and comment: “That would look good on Ayn.” Or, “Ayn loves that color.” Or, “I wonder if Ayn could use that scarf.” In a museum he would comment about a paint­ing: “I have to br­ing Ayn to see that.” If we were com­ing back from an out­ing later than we had anticipated, he knew Ayn would worry, and so he called her to say we would be late.

In 1956, at Christmas time, when Ayn was near­ing the end of the writ­ing of Atlas Shrugged, Frank commented on how hard she had been work­ing and said he needed to do some­thing special for her. He wanted to buy her some luxury items and asked me where he could find beauti­ful and unusual lingerie. I told him about a shop on Fifth Avenue and 59th Street, which specialized in handmade items in fine silk and satin. He visited it and bought several love­ly things for her.

And Ayn always wanted Frank near her. At func­tions like the Ford Hall Forum, at the conclusion of the even­ing she wanted Frank to be by her side while she was say­ing goodnight to the officials. He was her protector, physical­ly and spiritual­ly.

When Ayn was hospitalized for lung surgery, I stayed with Frank. He said it was important to keep up her spirits.

ARI

How did he do that?

MARY ANN

First, by visit­ing dai­ly. We went in the afternoon, and made it a point to get there at approximate­ly the same time each day. He wanted Ayn to know when to expect us. And he always looked marvelous—impeccab­ly groomed in a suit, usual­ly a white shirt, and a special­ly selected tie. He always wore ties with cheer­ful, bright colors—or with amus­ing designs. There was one she especial­ly liked—it had kittens in the pattern. She never failed to notice his ties. She knew he was wear­ing them to add a cheer­ful touch to the rather drab room.

ARI

What did they talk about?

MARY ANN

She wanted to know what we had done dur­ing the day, if we had taken a walk, what we had seen, what we had for lunch, what we would have for dinner. She wanted all the details. She said that hear­ing them helped her to restore the con­text of normal liv­ing. He sat by the bed and they held hands. And when he went to sit by the window to watch the lights come on in buildings and on bridges, she didn’t take her eyes off of him. She whispered to me that she loved look­ing at his profile framed by the window.

A major example of her devo­tion was her interest in his paint­ing and the way she encouraged him in that venture.

ARI

Let’s talk about that. Was he paint­ing when you met him in 1954?

MARY ANN

No, he was work­ing with a florist, and do­ing floral ar­range­ments for lobbies of buildings. He had a business card bill­ing him as “Francisco, the Lobbyist.” That’s an example of his sense of humor. I don’t think it was full-time work.

ARI

How did he get into paint­ing?

MARY ANN

It all began in the mid-fifties. Dur­ing a Collective discussion about art and talent, Joan said that artistic talent was not innate, that anyone could learn to draw, given an interest and the incentive to learn. To illustrate her point, she offered to give lessons. A few of us joined the class, includ­ing Frank. Of every­one there, he was the on­ly one who showed any promise or serious interest in art.

ARI

What were the signs of that?

MARY ANN

From the very begin­ning, Frank’s draw­ing showed a developed sense of style. He had an individual way of do­ing things—whether he was draw­ing an egg or a human face. You could always tell if some­thing was drawn by Frank. His work was bold; it had a quality of self-assurance, in spite of the flaws of a be­gin­ner. When the class ended, for Frank it was the begin­ning of a career.

ARI

How did his interest develop?

MARY ANN

He kept up his draw­ing, on his own. And he began to work on cityscapes in pastel. They were his first finished works in color, and they showed his inventiveness and love of dramatic and unusual ar­range­ments.

ARI

Did he talk to you about his goals as an artist?

MARY ANN

Not very often. But here’s an example of how he approached art. One summer, some of the Collective spent a day in the country. Frank and I took a stroll, and we saw a number of peo­ple sketch­ing the scenery; they were all fac­ing the same view of the countryside. It looked like a class of some sort. Frank volunteered that that was not his way of com­ing at things. He wanted to invent his scenes.

In that discussion, he did agree that one could learn by sketch­ing from nature, and he wasn’t opposed to that. He did a few sketches of rocks and trees that day. But he was opposed to hav­ing his subjects ready-made. He didn’t want to paint the given in nature or anyth­ing else. He wanted his art to come from his imagina­tion. He wanted to select and arrange his subject in his own way.

ARI

But he did go to art school?

MARY ANN

Yes, and that’s where Ayn was involved. She encouraged him to seek instruc­tion in art, so that he could develop his talent. She said his talent was too great to be left without professional guidance. She suggested that he might prefer private instruc­tion to that of a school, if he could find a suitable teacher. Frank agreed, and one Saturday he and I visited art galleries, look­ing for an artist whose work he admired and who might give him private lessons. That wasn’t success­ful. Ayn then asked me to help Frank investigate art schools. I had catalogs and brochures sent to him from about ten schools. Ayn studied them with Frank. He selected the Art Students League, which had an excellent reputa­tion, fine instructors, and good facilities.

ARI

Did he enjoy be­ing a stu­dent?

MARY ANN

Very much. Frank was a serious, dedica­ted, and conscientious stu­dent. He at­tended regular­ly, tak­ing courses in life draw­ing and paint­ing, anatomy, composi­tion. When he wasn’t study­ing at the League, he was work­ing at home. Robert Brackman, a well-known painter, was one of his teachers. He told Ayn that Frank was an unusual stu­dent in the sense of com­ing to paint­ing with ful­ly developed ideas of what he wanted to accomplish.

Frank knew the end he wanted to achieve; he had to learn the means, he had to learn technique. That’s what he got from the Art Students League.

ARI

How did Miss Rand react to this new direc­tion in his life?

MARY ANN

Oh, she was so happy and so very proud of him. I was there a few times when he brought work home, such as an unfinished paint­ing. He would explain to her how he reached that stage of the paint­ing and what the next stage would be. I saw her listen­ing intent­ly. She would break into a smile and comment on how marvelous­ly Frank was do­ing.

Private­ly, she said Frank’s pur­suit of this career was important to her because he was giv­ing visual expression to what she called his “exalted sense of life.” She said that after they left California and the ranch he managed, Frank didn’t find a voca­tion or work in New York that was a full-time, all-consum­ing endeavor. But with paint­ing, he was a man total­ly involved and total­ly committed, and he was thorough­ly enjoy­ing himself. Ayn continued to encourage him to expand his technical knowledge.

ARI

Anyth­ing in particular?

MARY ANN

She saw that he was hav­ing trouble with perspective. She knew that it was an important discipline for an artist, and encouraged him to increase his knowledge, to add to what he learned at the League by study­ing on his own. She knew that not hav­ing a firm ground­ing in perspective would hold him back. That no matter how creative his ideas for a paint­ing might be, he needed technical knowledge to give expression to those ideas. She asked me to locate a good book on perspective. She thought that an older book, one written earlier in the century, would have better explana­tions and examples than the more recent­ly written works. I did find one or two older books. I know that Ayn and Frank went over them to­geth­er. She took his career serious­ly.

ARI

Did you ever watch him paint? What was he like?

MARY ANN

I sat for Frank a number of times. When he was at the easel, his concentra­tion was total. It was as if the universe were narrowed down to a few elements: Frank, easel, palette, brushes, model. As if noth­ing else existed or mattered. He was complete­ly absorbed. He even forgot to give me breaks dur­ing the afternoon. I or Ayn had to remind him.

ARI

Miss Rand came in when he was work­ing?

MARY ANN

When he was paint­ing in their apartment liv­ing room, she visited regular­ly. Once she came in, not just to see the progress of the paint­ing, but to watch him at work. He was unaware of her; she watched for a few minutes, smiled at me, and then left. Later, she said, “Did you see the look on his face?” She said it was beauti­ful—the face of a man self-confident­ly in focus.

A few times, she offered advice about a paint­ing in progress. This was a source of a little bit of fric­tion between them.

ARI

Tell me about that.

MARY ANN

Frank painted in a style which Ayn personal­ly liked —a style of clarity and precision, but not one of dry details. She would say things like “Make that edge a little sharper, darl­ing,” or “The colors are runn­ing to­geth­er,” or “It’s a little blurry in this part.” Now, Ayn was very enthusiastic about what Frank was do­ing, and I don’t think she made these comments as criticisms. She was call­ing things to his atten­tion, things she thought he would want to be aware of. He listened, but didn’t say anyth­ing. She would return to her desk, and he would resume paint­ing. Once he said to me, “If she wants to paint, let her get her own canvas and paints and do it her way.” This was followed by some of Frank’s good-natured laughter.

The point is that Frank was as independent about his paint­ing as he was about everyth­ing else. He had definite ideas, he knew what he wanted to achieve, and he proceeded to do it his way. He allowed noth­ing to get in his way. If, after her sugges­tions, he did make a change, it was because he thought it was right, not because she had suggested it. And I know that she admired that aspect of him—his independence and self-assertiveness as an artist. Once she said, approving­ly, “He is a tiger at the easel.” And Frank’s response, good-natured as always, was, “Well, just don’t grab me by the tail.”

ARI

Did they ever quarrel?

CHARLES

I never witnessed a quarrel between them. This is not to say they didn’t quarrel in private. But as I said earlier, they respected their privacy. One of the things they didn’t do was quarrel and bicker in public. They had some very nice, old-fashioned civil ways of behavior.

MARY ANN

I came in once dur­ing what appeared to be a mild quarrel, and they stopped immediate­ly. It was none of my business—I knew it and they knew it, too.

ARI

Did you ever see Miss Rand cry?

CHARLES

Twice, in all the years I knew her. Once, when one of her cats had died. We visited her a few days later, and when she told us about it her eyes brimmed with tears. The other time was at Frank’s grave, which we visited with her in the spr­ing follow­ing his death. She and Mary Ann hugged each other and had a few tears.

ARI

Do you have anyth­ing to add here?

MARY ANN

She cried brief­ly as we left the funeral home. In this con­text, I want to tell you about a beauti­ful thing Frank said about Ayn once. One even­ing, the three of us were talk­ing about Ayn’s first days in this country. I said I had heard that when her ship reached the pier, tears ran down her face as she looked up to the skyline of New York. I asked what those tears were for. Frank answered, “They were tears of splendor.” And Ayn nodded in agreement.

CHARLES

I can add a sequel to our visit to Frank’s grave, which shows Ayn’s benevolence. We took a train home from the cemetery (the car I had rented broke down). I sat by the window, doz­ing off; Mary Ann was next to me and Ayn was sitt­ing across the aisle from her. It had been a tir­ing, bittersweet trip. None of us felt like talk­ing. As we approached New York City, the train entered the un­der­ground tunnels. Sudden­ly, both Ayn and Mary Ann stood up and I heard Mary Ann say, “Ayn, it’s just what you described in Atlas.” They were watch­ing the tunnels and train tracks go­ing off in a number of direc­tions, and the red and green lights in semi-darkness suspended over the tracks. I watched, too. Ayn was grinn­ing at the sight. It all lasted less than a minute, but we all felt dif­fer­ent after it. We felt energized and eager. And Ayn did not let the episode pass without identify­ing what had happened. She said, “Our world has been restored.”

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