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theslashmix · 3 years

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Valzer a Quattro Mani

There was a grand piano on the stage, quietly sitting in dignified and lonely majesty. It was easy to picture a string ensemble or a small orchestra next to it, maybe even a singer, filling the air with emotion and sound. Nix found himself walking towards it- it felt profoundly unjust that such a beautiful instrument should stay there, dusty and abandoned, as if it didn’t contain the potential for one of the few amazing things that humanity had managed to create.

The theatre was empty, dusty, and forlorn when they entered. The air inside was still and hushed, blanketing everything in a very oppressive manner: and yet, there was sort of an expecting quality to it, decided Nix as he looked around, considering. It was as if the theatre was holding its breath. Waiting for somethi ng to happen.

Somewhere in the bowels of the theatre, someone found the main switch, and the electric lights flickered to life, dimmed by globes of opaque glass. It was the same trick they used in the Opera of Paris, to mimic the mysterious and romantic light of candles that reflected so beautifully on the ladies’ jewels.

It was a beautiful place: only a well done Baroque could manage to load such an excessive amount of decorations in a single place and not be tacky. Curls of gilded stucco glinted in the dim light, and chubby putti angels carried horns of plenty and wreaths of flowers around every balcony. The chairs in the audience had been pushed to the sides and piled up unceremoniously: they must have been there for a while, because spiderwebs had already started to festoon them.

The silence was, surprisingly, not broken by the sound of dozens of combat boots stepping on the empty wooden floor of the audience. On the contrary, it seemed to suffocate the noise, as if the theatre itself was shushing them. Nix felt the sudden urge to tell everyone to shut up and take their place. He expected at any moment to hear the discordant, and yet harmonious, soaring sound of an orchestra tuning up. It was a familiar sound that he had heard many times. His mind went back to the many concerts he had seen in his life, especially as a child: a concert was always a moment of peace, a moment when Stanhope Nixon had to shut his goddamn trap and let Nix enjoy something beautiful. Oh sure, after it Nix always had to hear him bitch about how boring these concerts were. But to Nix, the sound of an orchestra tuning up would always be a soothing sound.

“Lew?”

Dick had quietly walked over to him as he fondly stroked the sleek curve of the piano. What a beautiful thing it was, made of briar root, all mottled in various shades of warm brown, with gilded legs and edges. It was a pity that the gilding was peeling off in spots, but it gave the instrument a homely feeling.

“Look at this beauty, Dick” he sighed, as he opened the lid to peer inside. The cords seemed intact, and miraculously rust free. He propped it open and moved to the keyboard, sitting down before reverently lifting the lid and revealing the neat row of ivory and ebony keys. They were not perfectly aligned anymore and some wiggled a little- this piano had been well loved and used, before the war had forced its master to abandon it. He pressed a couple of keys experimentally- the plink-plunk of notes was startling, actually shattering the silence that had weighted on them like a wet blanket.

“You can play the piano?” asked Dick, looking at Nix in mild awe. Nix snorted.

“As much as I hate it, I do come from high society. Of course I can play the piano, Dick. It was either that, or the violin. I wish I could have picked up the pipe organ: then I could have lived in a beautiful gothic mansion while ominously playing Bach’s fugue in D minor during dark and stormy nights and wearing a dark cloak. I would be the perfect Count Dracula. All dark, mysterious and very villainous.” He placed his right hand on the keyboard, playing the first few beats of the fugue. Not bad, although the tuning was slightly off. But that was to be expected. Who knew how long it had been abandoned there, exposed to the ravages of time and war, without the care of competent hands that knew its worth! Nix was honestly surprised that it hadn’t been chopped into firewood already. He was a bit rusty and hadn’t played in a long while, but his fingers were absolutely itching to run wild on the keyboard.

Suddenly, he was aware of a shift in the atmosphere. Everyone was looking towards him- the soldier’s instinct of checking every new source of new noise kicked in no matter what. But now, the tension in the air was different. Nix had played for audiences before, and no matter how small they were, the feeling when you captured someone’s attention was very distinct. That attention was very real and tangible, like a weight on your shoulders. For a moment he was certain, absolutely certain, cross on the heart and hope to die kind of certain, that the theatre itself was alive, and Nix had just had the misfortune of capturing its full, undivided attention. It was all too easy to imagine the thousands of putti turning their little carved eyes towards the stage. It was vast, looming, and a bit more than vaguely threatening as it waited to see what he would do with the beautiful instrument.

He cleared his throat, trying to dispel the sensation and looked up at Dick, who was now leaning on the side of the piano, idly running his fingers on the polished and lacquered wood.

“Well, I’m no Rubinstein, mind you, and I’m a bit rusty. But what would you say to some serenading?” he said with a cheeky grin, knowing full well that his lover would catch the meaning underneath the joking tone. Dick smiled that soft little smile of his that always seemed to radiate comfort and warmth from within him. It was so sweet it hurt, and Nix wanted nothing more than to make him smile like that forever. He promised himself that they would have a piano someday, and maybe he’d even teach Dick to play it. He could picture them in their home, sitting side by side on a stool, as he guided Dick’s long fingers across the keyboard: it was such a sweet, domestic image that he felt his heart ache with longing.

“I would love it.” Dick said, his smile widening: there was no hint of joking in his tone.

Nix turned his attention to the keyboard, and placed his hands on the ivory keys. What should I play? He wondered, as he tested them and his own fingers with a few scales. It was a bit difficult to concentrate, with that nagging sensation of being stared at by the theatre itself- he felt his neck prickle. He repressed a shiver and shook his head. He needed to focus on Dick, not on the eerie atmosphere of this place.

He needed something sweet- this was a serenade, after all. But maybe not something overly lovey-dovey. Für Elise… nah, that was boring and overdone, and too saccharine. His next option was Moonlight Sonata, but he discarded it: even if the general gist was right (moonbeams and sweet nighttime made for a perfect ambience for a secret serenade), the piece was just on the wrong side of too dark to be romantic. Debussy was an obvious choice if he wanted the moonlight theme- or he could just take a little step further and go for one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. The one he liked best was n.2, and let’s face it- it was just perfect. Chopin’s Nocturne, Op. 9 n.2 it would be, then.

He paused for a moment, focusing on the flow and ebb of the notes in his head, on Dick and all the things he wanted to say and couldn’t.

He started playing, and suddenly, it was as if the whole theatre had sighed deeply, and settled down, listening intently, no longer threatening, but still single-mindedly focused.

Dick was focusing on him, too, but at least his attention was comforting and flattering, not threatening or unsettlingly intense. He was almost languid, as he relaxed against the piano to enjoy his secret serenade to the fullest. He had his eyes closed and was swaying gently with the music, while his fingertips were pressed into the wood of the piano, intent on catching every single vibration.

Nix hoped that the vibrations could convey all the things he was feeling. The unexpected depth of his feelings for the redhead, and his gratitude to whatever higher being that Dick actually reciprocated. The fear of losing him and the nebulous fear of the future, of the “what now” when the war would be over and they would need to decide what to do with their relationship. He poured all of it and more into the music, uncaring that there were fifty other men in the room, listening. It wasn’t perfect- he missed a couple of notes here and there. But it didn’t matter.

When the last notes ended, there was a moment of stunned silence before everyone started clapping frantically, whistling and stomping. it was as if they had just witnessed the concert of the century, instead of just Nix mauling Chopin in an abandoned theatre in a bombed city in the ass crack of nowhere, Europe.

He looked up at Dick, blushing slightly. The redhead was smiling openly, his gaze soft. Maybe he hadn’t mauled it too much, then. Maybe he had managed to convey at least something.

“That was beautiful, Lew” Dick said quietly, before moving up to the stool. “What about a duet?” he proposed, sitting down. Nix had to scoot to make space for him. An expectant silence fell again in the theatre, with the boys shushing each other (Bull had to slap a hand on Luz’ mouth to forcibly subdue his cheering), but Nix ignored it in favour of exploring this new facet of Dick.

“You can play the piano?” he asked, surprised.

Dick snorted, in a mocking mimicry of Nix’ earlier reaction.

“Of course I can play, Nix,” he parroted. His long fingers splayed on the keyboard, in the wrongest position that Nix had ever seen- he probably didn’t have a formal education in music, Nix reasoned. His piano teacher, Miss Price, would have had a stroke. “Let’s see… this is one of my dad’s favourites” he said, playing a few notes.

“The Blue Danube?”

Dick nodded, smiling softly.

“May I have this waltz?” he asked, with a mischievous wink.

“Gladly, milord. You lead,” said Nix, feeling his own lips widening in an answering smile.

Dick began playing, and Nix let him go for a few beats before joining, taking his time to see what tempo Dick would set. Then he started to follow, starting an accompaniment melody with a little bit of variation thrown into it just for fun. Dick had picked up an andante pace, but it was a bit too fast for Nix’ taste: this waltz was to be savoured, not rushed.

“Slow- down- a bit” he murmured, staccating his words in time with the music. He gave Dick the correct tempo with his accompaniment.

“Just- like- that,” he said. “One-two-three, take your time with this waltz. Don’t rush it.”

Nix found himself grinning, as Dick followed his lead and their hands danced in synchrony on the keyboard: back and forth, back and forth, weaving a complex pattern, like a boat ploughing through the soft waves of the great Danube. This was a bit like dancing: they weren’t well practiced with it, and they kept bumping their elbows and hands, as if they were dancing for the first time together and kept stepping on each other’s toes.

They couldn’t dance in front of everyone- but they could do this. They could duet and make the music dance for them while they sat close on the stool, their bodies touching, and everyone else was none the wiser to the deeper meaning of it all. Dick nodded and swayed in time with the music, and he smiled whenever his gaze met Nix’.

Maybe he’d take Dick on a cruise on the Danube after the war, he decided. They would wait a bit, so maybe Europe would have time to rebuild. If the state of things on the western front was anything to go by, it would take years for the Old World to rise from its ashes.

Still, it was a beautiful dream to hang on to. He imagined himself lazily lounging with Dick on the deck of a narrowboat, while the ancient landscape of Europe passed by. It would be green and lush, hale again after the war. He could imagine Dick with a cup of ice cream and a tourist’s guide, pointing at the various landmarks.

Nix felt sorry, when the cascading notes of the final crescendo vanished in the air. He would have liked to dance on the keyboard a little longer. But they could do it again, he reasoned. Now they knew that they could dance like this, together.

He followed Dick off the stage as the redhead brushed off the thunderstorm of claps, stomps, “bravo!” and “encore!” with an embarrassed shrug, before sending the men back to their duties. He paused for a moment before exiting the theatre, peering back into the now dark hall: the silence had fallen once more. But now it didn’t feel as heavy as it had when they had first stepped in. The large, looming presence he had perceived was still there, but the threat was gone: their offering had been deemed worthy and accepted. With a shiver, he wondered what would have happened, if this hadn’t been the case.

He promised himself that he would come back and fill that silence some more. This place didn’t deserve to remain silent and empty.

Later that night, Nix was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Dick had snagged them a good billet: the room had a locking door and, ineffable luxury, a double bed. Tired as they were, they still spent an extremely pleasant half hour of slow, passionate lovemaking in the fresh sheets: Dick had felt the pressing need to show Nix just how much he had appreciated the serenade, and Nix sure hadn’t minded.

Now they laid down in a warm cocoon of blankets and limbs, with Dick pliant and boneless in Nix’ arms. It was rare that they could sleep together like this, and Nix considered it a privilege when Dick nestled himself in his arms, exhausted and sated, accepting for once to be held and protected. No one else would ever see Dick like this.

“Thanks for the dance” murmured the redhead, who was already drifting off.

“You’re very welcome” answered Nix, smiling and placing a tender kiss on his lover’s red curls. He chuckled, when he heard Dick snore lightly, and he shifted a bit, settling down. He drifted off to sleep, picturing the pair of them in a grand ballroom wearing their best dress greens and waltzing elegantly, spinning so fast that the world around them was a blur.

Someday, he thought, before sleep finally claimed him. Someday .

#winnix #richard winters #bob #lewis nixon #band of brothers

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mercurygray · 4 years

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Screwed

Remember what I said yesterday about the crackfic? Well, here it is. Even cleaned it up a little for you.

Sideslip - the one where Nix invites Dick and Joan home to see Nixon, New Jersey before embarking for France, and says some things he probably shouldn’t have said.

Below cut for comments of a somewhat sexual nature.

It was after dinner, and they were sitting in the quiet, elegant dark of the smoking room, Nixon senior with his brandy and cigar, Nixon Junior with his whiskey, and Dick with a glass of ice and sodawater. This room - this whole house! - seemed to belong to another century, though Nix had informed Dick and Joan on the car ride over it wasn’t as ancient as it pretended to be. But it felt old, with the porte-cochere and the heavy wood paneling in the front hall, and the dining room table for twenty with silver candlesticks sending their soft flames along the shine of the mahogany. A maid and a black-garbed butler had served dinner, silently attending from the edges of the room.

In fact, it had been one of the quietest dinners Dick had eaten in a long time - heavy on one-word answers and silent glances across the table. The answers had been Lewis’s, the glances Dick and Joan’s, and the impression that Dick was getting from Joan’s face was that even she, who had been to dinner in houses like this one once or twice, found this all a little odd. But she knew the form, that after dinner came brandy and cigars for the gentlemen, and like a good little houseguest she excused herself after the cheese and fruit, tucking her napkin onto her chair and thanking her host for an exceptional meal.

Nixon Senior’s eyes had followed her out of the room with interest. And that same interest was still in Stanhope Nixons’s eyes as he studied his son over the top of his brandy snifter. “So, you screwing her?”

It was a matter-of-fact question, as though this were the only option available. Dick didn’t know what to do with his face, but the question didn’t faze Lewis - he was as deadpan as ever.

“Very regularly. It’s a new army thing - builds morale.”

Stanhope nodded, the answer clearly one he approved of. “You hear much from Katherine?”

“Michael’s got a tooth coming in,” Nix replied, taking another sip of his whiskey.

And on it went, while Dick sat on the sideline, the ice in his drink slowly melting into oneness with the sodawater while its owner felt a strong urge to melt into the floor.

Nix, sleeping with Joan? The idea that any of his soldiers would be there solely for his...his entertainment troubled him deeply, perhaps even more than the idea that his friend - his married friend - and a woman he respected and admired would be, as Stanhope had so eloquently put it, screwing. But there was really nothing he could say. He knew plenty of men felt like Stanhope did, that the only reason you’d let a woman near an army base was so she could get her skirt up, but he wasn’t one of them. His mother wouldn’t have allowed it.

He took a sip of his water and tried not to look sickened.

On their way back upstairs, finally dismissed for the evening, Dick found his voice again. “What your dad said - about Joan.”

Lewis sighed, looking annoyed. “That’s the sort of man my father is - what he thinks women are for. Amazing my mother held out as long as she did when he was chasing every bit of office skirt in town. Can you imagine if I’d brought Annie here?”

Dick smiled. “She’d have socked him.”

“Damn right.” Lewis meditated on that a moment. “I’m going to have to tell her I said that, aren’t I? To sell it.”

Dick didn’t know the first thing to say.

Joan didn’t look happy at being called away from her book - she was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, waiting for Lewis to open up about what it was that was so urgent he’d felt the need to knock on her door at ten o’clock at night.

Well, it wasn’t going to say itself. “He told his father you were sleeping together.”

A sharp crack, and Lewis staggered back from the door, holding his cheek - Joan had slapped him. And it appeared she wasn’t done, either, following him into the hall in her dressing gown and pajama set (silk and sky blue, with long trousers), her fist ready to deal a few more blows if the need arose. “Lewis Nixon, what the hell.”

“I’m sorry, all right, he...he was winding me up and I wanted to get one back on him.”

“And you picked me? After everything I’ve done to get people to take me seriously? And you!” She turned on Dick, and he suddenly felt very small and incredibly ashamed. “You let him.” She fumed at both of them, her eyes flashing between the two as though she weren’t sure who she should be more angry at - Lewis for speaking or Dick for remaining silent. “Lieutenant Sutton would be ashamed of you.” And with that, she turned on her heel and snapped the door shut, leaving them both standing out in the hall.

Lewis stared at the door, feeling his cheek. “Don’t I know it.”

They parted ways at the end of the corridor to their respective rooms, Lewis mumbling something about calling for ice, still gently probing at his cheek. But Dick was still uneasy, and as he climbed into bed between unfamiliar sheets, and listened to the sounds of an unfamiliar house, his mind couldn’t help rolling back to the image of Lew and Joan, wrapped up in each other and a very deep and very passionate kiss, his friend’s hands exploring her body in ways he had not ever realized he himself had wanted to explore it.

“Sleep all right, Miss Warren?” Stanhope leered from his end of the table, slightly rumpled behind his morning paper.

“Very well, sir, thank you.” Joan said, smiling through his clear avoidance of her proper rank. “I’ll have to find your housekeeper and find you where you buy your sheets.” She crossed the room to sit down, her hand tracing the backside of Lewis’s chair, fingers just glancing over his shoulder, the most casual of insinuating gestures, and sat down next to him. “Good morning,” she said, very quietly.

“So we’re still speaking,” Lewis said, leaning over to fill her coffee cup.

“On a technicality,” Joan said quietly, arranging her napkin on her lap. “You’re my ride out.”

“I told him I got this in bed last night,” Lew said, pointing to the hefty bruise on his cheek. “I think he was impressed.”

“You’re damn lucky I’m a good actress and I like you.”

“I do not deserve you, darling dearest.”

“Call me one more cute nickname and I will hit you again.”

Lewis retreated back to his chair and his eggs. “Yes, ma’am.”

#crackfic ahoy #joan warren #i have written a thing #lewis nixon

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bleedingcoffee42 · 22 days

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Few articles that were interesting about Lewis Nixon

Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder and his article was probably written for political pimping and not real interview of he people of Leesburg who remember old Lewis as a toddler, but it's a good story. Miss Sally Wood said you better be something before I think about marrying you and he quit the Navy and built it instead.

And this one crusader who wanted to name the township Nixon instead of Edison, but didn't get the votes. They not only named the town Edison, but there is a park, a bridge...etc etc. Could have been the bitterness of the plant blowing up or just Stanhope sucked so much nobody wanted his name on anything but a small road and his grave.

#bob reference #Grandpa Lewis was something else #and Stanhope was NOT

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winnix85 · 3 years

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Lewis Nixon’s family drama (this one was not inflicted by Stanhope)

Be aware of family drama overdose...

Lew’s grandmother Sally Wood Nixon died in 1937. His grandfather re-married in the summer of 1938. His bride was the 37 yr old Mrs Mary Martin (whose ex-husband was Mr Arthur Tenant Martin). That’s fine. Nobody expected him to live in a cave after his wife died.

Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder died in 1940. His obituary showed that he had two sons. Stanhope (age 46) from his first marriage, and Joel from his second marriage. Stanhope has always been an only child in all the other sources.

I was shocked how virile he was at age 77, although it’s not impossible.

Since he married Mary Martin in June 1938 and he died in Sep 1940, Joel can’t be older than 2 year old in 1940, right?

Again, don’t assume anything. Because in the 1940 cenus, Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder lived in a rented apartment in upper east Manhattan with his second wife Mary and his son Joel. However, in this document, Joel’s full name was “Joel Martin Nixon” and he was not a baby, he was a 10 year old boy, attending 4th grade elementary school.

Flipping back to the 1930 census, Mary Martin was still married to Mr Arthur T Martin (who was 26 yrs older than her. She was always married to older men?). In 1930 they had a son Joel Martin (age 6 months).

The strange thing is, if Joel’s father was Mr Arthur T Martin, he shouldn’t be described as Lewis Nixon’s son in his obituary. Divorce was not so uncommon back then and the obituaries from that time were always very specific about which children were from which marriage. For example, Michael was not mentioned at all in the obituary of Kathy’s husband.

However, going by the fact that Joel’s surname has been changed from Martin to Nixon, maybe he was adopted officially. If so, it would affect Stanhope’s inheritance.

Indeed, 10 years after the death of Lew’s grandpa, the young widow Mary was still suing Stanhope (the newspaper clipping below was from 1951).

############### UPDATE ####################

I was assuming that Joel’s biological father was Mr Arthur Martin, and he was adopted by Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder after he married Mary Martin in 1938. He loved her so much that he not only bestowed his surname on her, but also on her 10 yr old son from her previous marriage.

But but again, never assume anything...

I’ve mentioned before that there was a society called “Sons of The American Revolution” and both Stanhope (in 1915) and Lew (in 1937) had its membership (because their great great great ... grandfather was John Nixon who was a private under the Captain Nathan Reid in US Revolutionary War. I don’t know why it’s of any importance but apparantly it means a lot to the Nixons, that every Nixon heir should apply for the membership when coming of age.

I found Joel in this database (among application forms in 1947):

What’s going on???? Like, Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder was his biological father????! The marriage date was a blatant lie (maybe made up to match his date of birth). Because the Manhattan marriage license database showed the actual date of marriage of Lewis Nixon shipbuilder and Mary Martin was June 28 1938.

This is insane...Lew’s grandfather, in his 70s, had an affair with Mrs Martin, had a son out of wedlock. What happened to Mr Martin? Has he died or divorced her? How can they be so sure who was Joel’s father? There was no paternity test in 1930s. They had blood type test but it can only rule out paternity possibility. It can only tell “no” but no positive answer. Unless Mr Martin was ruled out by blood type...

Anyway, on the signature page we can see the address of Joel Martin Nixon in 1947. It’s “40 Central Park South, New York, NY” and his occupation was “student”, so let’s move on to dig in the yearbook database

Joel’s record in the US yearbook database (name and address all matched up):

Joel Peter Martin Nixon, a brilliant student in Philips academy and he was going to Princeton University (This yearbook was in 1946, he was only 16, but all Nixons went to college before 18). His classmates also called him “Nix”.

Post-war, Lew settled down in Princeton. The city directory of Princeton (1949) showed that Lew, Irene and Joel were all living in Princeton. Joel was in room 62 of Campbell Hall of Princeton University (it’s only 1.4 miles to Southern way). After he graduated, he moved to Prospect ave., only 0.3 miles away.

Did Lew choose to live in Princeton to take care of his baby uncle Joel? I don’t know...

When Joel grew up, he dropped “Martin” and usually use Joel P Nixon as his name. He started his career as a journalist and eventuraly became a president of some media company.

#Lewis Nixon #Joel Peter Martin Nixon #Stanhope Nixon #Mary Doran Martin #Mary Kelly Doran #Family drama

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winnix85 · 3 years

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About Lewis Nixon’s father Stanhope Nixon

Source: mostly from old newspapers and digitized documents (I can’t guarantee the accuracy because they are fragmented information. I will just put it out there for someone may find some interesting useful backstories).

He was born on 1 April 1894, the only child of Lewis Nixon the shipbuilder.

In the 1910 census, the Nixons household included Lewis Nixon the head of the house, Sally the wife, Stanhope the son (16 yr old) and 7 servants.

His parents really doted on him. When he was a littler child, Mr and Mrs Lewis Nixon took him to travel around the world, France, UK, Havana, Germany. Around 1904-1906, Lewis Nixon was living in Russia, supervising the manufacture of torpedo ships for the Czar. He took Stanhope with him so Stanhope lived in Russia for one or two years when he was around 11 yr old.

On their way to Russia, they stopped in Rome. Lewis Nixon took Stanhope to visit Pope Pius X. Someone said to Lewis Nixon: “When his Holiness sees your boy he will have no eyes whatever for you.” and when the pope saw Stanhope, he ceased speaking, and hugged the boy to his breast and gave the boy a large silver medal as a gift. (I can only assume that Stanhope was indeed very good-looking, otherwise I really don’t know what Doris saw in him. From Stanhope’s draft card, he had blue eyes, brown hair and height of 6'1.5" ft).

He was in Yale (Sheffield Scientific School 1912-1914, studying engineering).

His study in Yale ended prematurely because he nearly beat a man to death in 1914.

The assault case: “The young Nixon admitted having struck Everit over the head with the bolt three times because the latter resented the fact that Nixon had knocked his hat off with the iron bolt”. On the night of the attack, Stanhope attended a performance given by Gertrude Hoffmann at a local theatre with his Yale friends. After the party the group of students returned to the Hotel Taft with the actress. But Stanhope didn’t go with his friends to the Hotel Taft, he went to a chop suey restaurant instead. On his way, he picked up a 12 inch iron bolt left by the construction workers. He met Everit on his way to the restaurant, and knocked Everit’s hat off with the bolt. After that Everit was vexed and chased after him. But he didn’t catch Stanhope. Stanhope came back and followed after Everit, assaulted him 3 times with the bolt and ran away. Everit suffered concussion of the brain and lay dangerously ill for weeks. At first the police had no clue to the identity of the assailant, but they were aware that a group of Yale students were boisterous on that night (apparently they slapped another passenger in the face and hurled iron bolts through windows of houses). The police placed an under-cover detective in the club near Sheffield Scientific School, and Stanhope foolishly bragged what he did to the under-cover detective.

After the trial, Lewis Nixon Sr. took Stanhope to the theatre (he was so spoiled). He was bailed out with $ 25,000 and withdrawn from Yale.

He registered at the draft office in both 1917 and 1942, but didn’t actually serve.

After the assault case, Stanhope was still a spoiled brat living under the protection of his influential father. Here is a piece of news on 22 Apr 1918 titled “Sons of Men of Influence assigned to bullet-proof jobs”: “One of the young officers among the 778 men of draft age holding commissions in the ordnance offices here is First Lieutenant Stanhope W. Nixon, son of Lewis Nixon, the millionaire ship builder.”

In 1936, he was involved in a drunk driving charge (although it’s said his sales manager was driving and Stanhope was in the passenger seat). They crashed into a truck but only hurt themselves. At first they denied being drunk, then admitted that they were drinking at the Nixon inn (but only 4 beers). After leaving the Nixon Inn, the sales manager drove Stanhope to the city to Hotel Woodrow Wilson to cash a check. Stanhope Nixon was to identify him. (The weird thing is, the car crash happend at midnight 12:40. Who on earth would drive to a hotel to "cash a check” at midnight?!)

Here is another piece of news in 1944, not explicit done by Stanhope, but very likely by him (because this news got Doris’ name wrong, so it’s not her who called the newspaper to publish this article, and both grandparents have passed away in March 1944 so can’t be them. The tone was so vain it’s almost certainly Stanhope’s deed. The title was “Lewis Nixon traces Military Forebears Back to Revolution”, it reads “ Lt Nixon, now in foreign service in Italy with the paratroopers, is a direct descendant of General Andrew Lewis, George Washington’s Chief of Staff…..bla bla bla ….. , Lt Nixon’s father, Stanhope Wood Nixon, chairman of the board of directors of the Nixon Nitration Works, was a lieutenant in WWI; his grandfather, Lewis Nixon, famous shipbuilder and outstanding naval architect, fought in the Spanish-American War …..bla bla bla ….. Lt Nixon received awards for gunnery, and proficiency with the rifle, pistol, and has taken an active part in the Italian campaign. (But in fact at the time of the article, Lew was still in Aldbourne, hasn’t received any awards and has never been in Italy campaign).

He divorced Doris in Aug 1945 and married Elisabeth Muchany (the Blond) in September, who was 15 years younger than him. He and the Blond separated in 1951 (because he was cheating with other mistresses). But somehow they patched things up and went to Bahamas together in 1956 and remained married until his death.

He died in 1958 and his will dictated to sell Nixon Nitration Works within 2 years.

#stanhope nixon #lewis nixon #awful person #also he pointed a gun at Dick #band of brothers

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winnix85 · 4 years

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Nixon’s mother was an awesome lady!

When I was googling background info about Lewis Nixon, I came across the the wikipedia pages of his parents

(BTW, it amazed me that Nixon’s grandfather, father and mother all have their own wikipedia pages).

Nixon’s father appears to be a horrible and violent person.

However, his mother was quite an accomplished woman:

Doris Ryer Nixon founded the California chapter of American Women's Voluntary Services (AWVS) in August 1941 and was eventually elected national vice-president of the AWVS.

(She might be the only one in Nixon’s family who supported Nixon to join up the army)

She was the founder and president of Guide Dogs for the Blind, Inc., state commander of the California Cancer Society

(I wonder why Nixon was such a dog person!)

Back then ppl were wondering what in the world could an angel like Doris see in someone like Stanhope? (Maybe in 1917 rich ppl didn’t marry for love)

Dick definitely has met her for at least once. In 1945, after her divorce with Stanhope, she was hospitalised in New York. Nixon called Dick to come to New York for the job, and took him to see his mother for the first time. Winters was all dressed up in his dress uniform.

<Biggest brother>:

“Winters got out his dress uniform and had it pressed. He polished the brass buttons and shined his jump boots.” ....

"She was very very nice and pleasant", he （Dick）recalled, “I can remember her very definitely trying to say nice things, the right things, like 'I've heard a lot of good stories about you' and so forth”

Doris Nixon has a large fortune under her own name. When she passed away in 1948, she left 1.4 million to split equally between her two children Lewis and Blanche (including 6,600 acres of farm in California)

That was a huge amount of money.

In comparison, Dick saved $10,000 during his entire time in the army (and he used $7,000 to help his parents to pay off the mortgage of the their family home). (paratrooper were considered well-paid by common standard).

Oh, her Wikipedia page cracks me up because in a subtle way it throws shades at Lewis in the last paragraph XD

The webpage went on and on through her “Ancestry” “ Debutante”, “ Marriage and family “ “ Civic leadership “, BLA BLA BLA BLA, at the end in a tiny paragraph it added that

“ Her son, Lewis Nixon III, served as an officer in the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, part of it with E Company. His association with E Company would bring him fame after his 1995 death, when the company became the subject of the 2001 television mini-series Band of Brothers based on the Stephen Ambrose book. “

****************************************

In addition, after snooping for gossips studying Nixon’s family background, I sort of get the idea that why Nixon felt like an epic loser in front of his family even when he was a legitimate war hero.

His grandfather was a naval architect, a political activist. In early 1900s, he was received in special audience by Pope Pius, Czar Nicholas II and the King of England.

His grandmother Sally Lewis Wood was the daughter of General L.B. Wood.

Doris Nixon married Stanhope in 1917 and she was given away by the governor of New York.

Both his father and mother own lands bearing their family names (Nixon, and Ryer island)

#band of brothers #lewis nixon #doris nixon

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searchingforacircuitbreaker · 4 years

Photo

The Nixons of Nixon, New Jersey and the Ryers of San Francisco (Ryer Island is named in their honor) aka Lewis Nixon’s family

1. Lewis Nixon I, husband of Sally Lewis Wood Nixon (Nix’s grandfather) 2. Blanche Ryer, wife of Fletcher Ferris Ryer (Nix’s grandmother)

3. Stanhope Wood Nixon (Nix’s father) 4. Doris Fletcher Ryer Nixon (Nix’s mother)

5. Lewis Nixon III 6. Blanche Ryer Nixon (Nix’s sister)

#band of brothers #lewis nixon #captain lewis nixon #nixon's family #mypost

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mercurygray · 4 years

Note

A scene where Joan talks about her mother and Nix compares her to his father (as far as I can tell he was a fairly mean man). Thanks!!

"Thanks again for inviting us," Joan said, watching out the window as Dick went to work on the woodpile in the back garden. The day was cold and faintly drizzly, but that wasn’t stopping him - he’d asked about firewood shortly after they’d arrived and wouldn’t take no for an answer when Nix said they had staff to do that. "My mother wanted us out again for Thanksgiving and I just didn't have the heart to say no outright."

"No lie too big for my work wife," Lewis said with a smile. "And it's not like we don't have the space."

"She just...doesn't see what she does to people," Joan said, crossing her arms like the room was cold. "He puts on a brave face and pretends it doesn't bother him, but in her mind he's just never going to be good enough, and every time we see her...I just see this fear in his eyes."

"That she's right?"

"No - worse. That one day I'm going to believe her," Joan replied. "She wraps it up in something she calls caring, but...god, does it hurt some days, having every single one of your decisions being second-guessed. I just didn't feel like taking it this year. I wanted to be with people who actually care. About both of us."

"Well, I'm happy to oblige," Lew said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and giving her a companionable kiss on the top of the head. "You ought to let your country boy come out here more often," he added, watching Dick continue to chop wood with a vengeance. "He's got some steam to blow off."

"I"m sure some of it's guilt that we're not with my family," Joan sighed. "I just can't win this, can I? Damned if we do go, damned if we don't."

"Oh, leave him be," Lewis said, unconcerned. "It's good for him - he's getting too comfortable at that desk. By the end of the day, he'll have something to show for his effort, you will have a fevered brow and sore muscles to soothe, and all of us will reap the benefits of his hard work with hot toddies near a fire. Everyone wins."

"I admire your optimism, Lewis."

"Optimism - pffft." Lewis made a noise of dismissal and shook his head, still watching out the window as another perfectly split log flew away from the axe. "At least she says she's thinking of what's good for you." Joan looked at Lewis. "My father never did. It was his world, and we were just living in it. No, not even living," he corrected. "We were inconveniencing him. I'm not convinced that man ever loved anyone except himself. You met him - you got some idea."

She had met Stanhope Nixon, more than once, and had heard more stories than she cared to recount. Her mother was mean, but the elder Nixon had been nothing short of cruel, and it wasn’t hard to see how a childhood spent around a man like that would turn a playful, loving young boy into a cynical, scared man who liked to put on a brave face for the rest of the world. "You're not an inconvenience, Lew." It was Joan's turn to wrap her arms around Lewis, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. "You never have been."

#i have written a thing #thirsty thursday #joan warren #mercurygraypresents

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