Dildo Cay, by Nelson Hayes — Let’s get a few things out of the way before we go any further: first and foremost, Dildo Cay is not a book about sex toys. The “dildo” in question is actually a type of ultra-prickly cactus (see above) with sharp spines. Its long, thick, rigid branches bear a passing resemblance to a sex toy, but unless one is willing to de-spine them, preferably while wearing very thick gardening gloves, the dildo cactus really shouldn’t be used for adult fun.
Second, the word “cay” is pronounced “key,” not “kay.” Think “Florida Keys” and you’ll have it.
Third, the actual Dildo Cay is better known as “Salt Cay,” for the industry that sustained its population for two centuries. It’s part of the Turks and Caicos Islands, and today its 80 residents welcome hardy adventurers in search of romance, crystal clear Caribbean waters, and softly faded British Colonial architecture such as the legendary White House. This worthy dwelling, which belonged tothe Harriott family, was the model for the setting of Dildo Cay and housed part of the cast and crew of Bahama Passage, the film based on the book. The book itself, inappropriate name and all, was actually insppired by the Harriott family and created a mini-scandal in when it came out in 1939.
Like so many of the writers who appear in these diaries, little about Nelson Hayes’ background hinted thathe would write a Book So Bad It’s Good.
Born in France to a solid upper middle class family, he spent much of his childhood in the exotic climes of Norwalk, Connecticut. He shed the dust of his family homestead for the arduous thirty mile trek to Yale University, then returned to Norwalk to join the Lockwood Manufacturing Company. He rose through the ranks to become a director of this worthy institution, then moonlighted as a board member for the New York paper company Louis Dejonge & Co.
So far, our author could have been any of several hundred thousand New England middle managers of good stock. Even his personal life – married once, two daughters who married well, four grandchildren, eventual retirement in Vermont –was stunningly average for the early to mid twentieth century. Transplant him from Connecticut to Pittsburgh and he could have been my grandfather, another hardworking executive who rose through theranks to quiet prosperity.
Average, average, average…except that at some point, Nelson Hayes decided that he needed more than the life of a salary man. Beginning around 1930, he began to write.
These early works, begun when he was only in his 20’s were set in the Caribbean. Just how Nelson Hayes of Norwalk, Connecticut, came to be so acquainted with the gorgeous weather, flawless beaches, and easy life of this tropical paradise isn’t clear – perhaps he went there on vacation? – soon it became clear that Hayes’ muse preferred the exotic islands to Norwalk as a subject. Later works, after he’d achieved a small measure of fame, included magazine articles about Vermont, short stories with titles like “Beauty at a Bargain” (?) and “The Weaning of Laura Treat”(????), pieces about hunting in Vermont, and occasional work for trade magazineThe Writer.
Most puzzling is something called “Operation Hemorrhoids,” which harks back to the opening paragraph of this section, but unless someone happens across a copy of this piece in a vintage magazine and sends it to me, what precisely Hayes was thinking is a mystery that I doubt I shall ever solve.
Eventually Hayes could claim five bookso his credit, including Dildo Cay (see above, and below) andThe Roof of the Wind. He was, like his family and his day job, a solid but not spectacular writer, with Dildo Cay becoming a modest bestseller and a modest film called Bahama Passage…
Oh, who am I kidding? Nelson Hayes may have hit the bestseller lists, such as they were, but a stylist he was not. The appeal of his books lay in their Caribbean location and melodramatic plots, not in any great skill with language. I mean, just look at this passage from Dildo Cay:
“Father, I want to talk with you!”
Adrian had been watching his father walk the dike unsteadily, and suddenly he had seen himself at the age of sixty walking the dike unsteadily, and on top of his restlessnes sit was too much for him.
“How strong do you think that pickle is?” his father asked, ignoring the tone of Adrian’s voice.
That someone might attempt to divert an uncomfortable conversation by talking about condiments is reasonable, but someone tottering along a dike babbling of green cucumbers is another matter entirely, and not a good one.
The plot of Dildo Cay is equally silly: the Ainsworth family, longtime suzerains of Dildo Cay and its salt industry, never marry for love. Oh, no no no – if the dust jacket is to be believed, the Ainsworth men “choose their women tocarry on the line – thoroughbreds who can endure the loneliness and eternal wind of…Dildo Cay…the one white family among two hundred blacks.”
If this whiff of casual racism isn’t enough to make the eyebrows rise, the book immediately contradicts its own blurb by portraying Mrs. Ainsworth, wife of the dike-walking pickle lover, as a mentally unstable creature who might have been a lesser Tennessee Williams heroine if she’d lived in the Old South instead of Dildo Cay. Adrian, her son, has himself married a woman, Mary, who is equally unworthy of the Dildo Cay White Person Breeding Program since she took one look at the place and beat feet for another town. There she carries on with other men, malingers, and generally makes it clear that she wants a divorce, thank you very much, because life on or near Dildo Cay will turn her into a pickle, or at least a encrust her in salt, if she has to deal with it much longer.
Throw in a cruel overseer straight out of the Simon Legree School of Management, his beautiful daughter, a possible murder, a possible drowning, a fatal heart attack, and a whole lot of lust, salt, impending bankruptcy, and boating accidents, and the resulting book is a reasonably typical overheated mid-century novel of overheated passions in the overheated tropics. Some critics o fthe time thought otherwise – Edith Walton of The New Yorker referred to its “honest passion” and “fresh, exotic” setting, while Lewis Gannett spoke of the book’s “startling, authentic life…and eerie power,” but Kirkus Reviews called it “not a book for the casual reader, seeking entertainment.”
This didn’t prevent Dildo Cay from respectable sales, not at all. Neither did the fury of the Harriott family, the actual proprietors of Dildo/Salt Cay. Their matriarch, Winnie, called the book “scandalous,” and the family threatened a lawsuit because their actual lives bore little resemblance to the novel. The lawsuit never came to pass, unfortunately, for it probably would have been right up there with the lawsuit against mystery writer Arthur Train for sheer silliness. 1939 was a tense year, even in the United States, and it’s not a surprise that readers preferred the travails of a salty family stuck on a salt-rich island to the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia and Japan’s ongoing efforts to establish a co-prosperity sphere in what they called “Manchuko.”
Nor is it a surprise that Paramoun tPictures decided that such a popular book, set in the dazzling beauty of the Caribbean, would make a cracking good movie. They promptly bought the film rights to Dildo Cay, cast gorgeous blond hunk Sterling Hayden as Adrian and gorgeous blonde starlet Madeline Carroll as love interest Carol Delbridge, and sent them all off to the actual Dildo Cay for real, genuine, expensive, location filming. The studio even managed to smooth things over with the Harriotts so that Madeline Carroll could stay in the White House while the rest of the cast made dow with tents on the grounds.
They did change the title to Bahama Passage, never mind that Dildo Cay is 600 miles from Grand Bahama and part of the Turks and Caicos anyway. “Bahamas” has an exotic ring that “Turks and Caicos” simply didn’t back in the day, you know, and Bahama Passage was all about escapism and pretty people emoting on pretty beaches under the sparkling Caribbean sun. That the suits might – just might – have wished to avoid running afoul of obscenity laws surely had nothing to do with it.
Alas for Paramount, Bahama Passage came out only a few days after the Japanese attacked Pear lHarbor, ensuring that Americans thought of tropical islands in terms of bombs and treachery, not romance. Taglines like “the two most gorgeous humans you’ve ever beheld – caressed by soft tropic winds – tossed by the tides of love!” or “made for each other!” may have been intended to bring all the dating couples to the theater for a few hours of fun, but they seemed frivolous in the extreme compared to an imminent two-front war.
If that weren’t enough, the actual movie simply wasn’t very good. Bosley Crowther of the New York Times called it “literally laughable” and accused Paramountof being “prodigal” for filming on location instead on the studio lot. Crowther went on to slam the film for “clumsy, platitudinous dialogue,” “bafflingly listless direction,” and weak performances by Stirling [sic] Hayden as Adrian and Flora Robson as Mrs. Ainsworth. One passage from his review is particularly scathing:
“Nor does the enthusiastic performance of Miss Carroll cohere in any way with the unenthusiastic one of Mr. Hayden. She gives it everything she’s got, while he just stands straight as a mainmast and speaks his lines in a truculent monotone. Witness, especially, the sequence in which Miss Carroll makes ardent love to Mr. H. and he, looking highly embarrassed, keeps repeating, ‘We’d better fish.’”
Is it any wonder that preview audiences laughed? Cheered when Flora Robson’s character died? Or that Bahama Passage faded into obscurity like so many “hits” of years past?
Ironically enough, the actual history of Salt/Dildo Cay is far richer than the goings-on in the novel. The Caribbean salt industry lasted almost two hundred years before its post-war collapse, and an interesting film could be made about its history under colonialism. The White House still stands, the beaches are still pristine, and the eighty or so people who still live there are friendly and hospitable. Salt Cay would seem a perfect site for a modest tourist boom, with even Condé Nast Traveler praising its unspoiled beauty, while what’s left of the salt ponds might be profitably revived by artisan hipster chefs looking for exotic ingredients.
And then there are the dildo cacti that dot its sun-drenched landscape. Prickly, rigid, and lovely, they remain even though the last of the Harriotts moved to Canada years ago. Surely someone wants to ramble among them? Sleep where fictional codgers dreamt of tasty pickles? Fish despite the lust of lovely women? Consume the succulent dildo cactus itself, or nibble on its tasty, fiery red fruit?
Turks and Caicos tourism board, are you listening?
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Had you ever heard of Dildo Cay? Nelson Hayes? Sprinkled Caribbean sea salt on your hamburger? Lusted after Madeline Carroll or Sterling Hayden? Been to the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, or similar gorgeous Caribbean islands? Seen Bahama Passage? It’s a dreary night in March, so gather round and share….
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