‘A gathering of swans, an aloof armada…their feathers floating away over the water like the trailing hems of snowy tall gowns’ Patrick Conway

When Turman Capote assembles his ‘fashionable savages’ with the clarion call of ‘Ego’! the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in NYC was set for the party of the century.

In their judgemental eyes, Truman had evolved from jester to confidante. My belief, however, is that Capote was always this person, there was no ugly duckling to swan metamorphosis. He grew to understand the power attached to information on such folk.

Truman – no longer the ‘entertainment’ – they could not see the role reversed in their relationship. The mirror was one way. As the papers would report on the morning of the ball. Three of the Aranson quintuplets had died and two were fighting for life in a Pittsburgh hospital, the Cambodian jungle had been carpet bombed by B52s, 260 miles north west of Saigon. Florence was hit with devastating floods, resulting in no water, no light, no gas, no heat and threats of rats and typhoid.

The ‘chosen’ people were not concerned that famous and fateful evening, the exposure of their true selves was on the brink of being caught in the rat trap and put on show in the Truman ‘Coney Island’ side show.

An observer on the steps of the Plaza accurately noted ‘the only people I can’t recognise are those with their masks off’. (The accuracy of irony).

A security entrance and exit had been arranged in advance of the night for the quests – to avoid paparazzi or risk. Not one guest made any attempt to use it.

In the aftermath the guest list was released/leaked to the NY Times and published on Dec. 9th. Allegedly from Capote himself – the motive for the party was questioned, self-promotion? In my mind, undoubtedly this was part of it. However, the possibility of his intended expose cannot be ignored. The jester’s joke was personal boarding on divisive rather than congenial. ‘As for the people left off the guestlist – if he ruined a few lives, so much better. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette’.

The book ‘Answered Prayers’ was to follow in the ensuing years. When people asked whether they were in it – Truman often quipped – ‘Not yet, but like Forest Lawn Cemetery I’ve reserved a plot for you’. His friends were savaged by his pen. Warmed against the betrayal of confidence of this society buddies, he maintained they were ‘too dumb’ to recognise themselves.

Truman’s light was painfully, slowly extinguished in the years following, but it shone just brightly enough on the night of November 28th, 1966, to expose the gathering for who they truly were.