Truman Capote

Truman Capote occupies the diary as both a literary celebrity and an unpredictable presence in Andy Warhol’s working and social life. Their connection repeatedly turns on the possibility of collaboration with Interview: Capote proposes articles and recorded conversations, then falls silent or withdraws, while Warhol tries to determine whether he is working on Answered Prayers. The entries also register Capote’s public performances, periods of hospitalization and apparent recovery, and the distance that eventually opens between him and the magazine. After his death, his presence returns through a memorial, a magazine cover, and the discovery of a family connection that Warhol’s circle had misunderstood.

Identity and Social Setting

A diary entry recalls Capote with Diana Vreeland and Bob MacBride, whom Warhol had first encountered alongside Capote during a 1973 interview for Rolling Stone. MacBride was still taking notes years later, though Warhol did not know what the notes were for. The entry describes MacBride as having a wife and six children and having lost a great deal of weight. These observations place Capote among familiar figures whose personal circumstances and appearances were part of the same social record as their work.

The diary also preserves a glimpse of Capote’s earlier social identity through a caption identifying him and Lee Radziwill as best friends in 1974. A separate photograph caption places him near his apartment in United Nations Plaza in the summer of 1978. These brief archival details frame the later entries: Capote is not simply a writer who appears when a project is discussed, but a recurring figure whose friendships, residence, public image, and changing condition are tracked over time.

Interview: Collaboration and Withdrawal

Warhol’s working relationship with Capote initially seemed to offer a practical route back into print. At lunch at La Petite Marmite, where Warhol met Capote and his boyfriend Bob MacBride to discuss Interview, Capote said he was starting to feel normal again. When Warhol accepted the reassurance, Capote turned the exchange into a joke at Warhol’s expense, calling him too naive. The lightness of the moment did not settle the larger question of Capote’s reliability, but it shows their meetings moving easily between business and personal familiarity.

Capote later proposed a series of long, slice-of-life pieces for Interview. The plan was to tape him, have Brigid Berlin transcribe the recordings, and let Capote shape them into articles. The arrangement would give the magazine material while leaving Capote with the copyright. Warhol noted that Capote might have earned a substantial fee for comparable interviews elsewhere, but was doing this work for Interview without payment; keeping the rights could allow him to collect the pieces into a book. The project thus combined an editorial opportunity with a clear division of labor and a possible future benefit for Capote.

The work also imposed demands on Berlin. She told Warhol she was overworked because Capote had acquired a tape recorder and was conducting interviews with people, leaving her to transcribe them. The diary’s account makes the collaboration concrete: Capote supplied the conversations, Berlin handled the transcription, and the magazine became a potential first venue for material that Capote might later reuse. Its promise depended not only on Capote’s writing but on a production process that placed considerable work on others.

That promise became less dependable. Capote told Warhol that he would stop submitting articles because he planned to give Interview Answered Prayers when it was finished in October. Warhol doubted the explanation and understood Capote to have dropped the magazine. At another point, Capote said he would have something for an upcoming issue, but when Warhol tried to tape him he had nothing to say. His changing commitments made the relationship difficult to read: a projected book might explain a pause in magazine work, yet the diary gives no confirmation that the promised manuscript was forthcoming.

Public Performance and Private Concern

Capote’s appearances before the public could sharpen the contrast between his wit and his precarious circumstances. Warhol watched The Stanley Siegel Show after missing an earlier opportunity to see Capote on television. On the broadcast, Capote adopted a comic Southern persona and recounted disparaging private remarks Lee Radziwill had made about other people, along with an anecdote about her seeking spiritual advice from William F. Buckley, Jr. Warhol judged the performance humiliating and thought Capote was making a fool of himself. The episode also carried the strain of Capote’s feud with Radziwill: material once entrusted to a friend had become public entertainment.

Capote’s condition soon became a more immediate concern for MacBride. At lunch, MacBride told Warhol that he feared Capote might take his own life. He said Capote was staying in a private hospital room at 115 East 61st Street, and that few people knew where he was. Capote was distressed because people were saying his career was over. MacBride also recounted that he had dropped Capote at the television show that morning and believed he had seemed fine; Capote later said he could not remember the broadcast. Warhol kept trying to find out whether Capote was writing Answered Prayers, but Capote would not confirm or deny it. The entry records MacBride’s fear and Capote’s reported memory loss, not a settled explanation for what had happened.

When Warhol next met Capote and MacBride at La Petite Marmite, Capote had just left the hospital. He said the Guests were taking him to a hospital in Minnesota to continue drying out. He had received about a hundred letters about the television appearance and read Warhol one from Stanley Siegel praising the show. Warhol was skeptical of the praise, reasoning that a genuinely concerned host would not have let Capote appear in that state. The moment joins recovery to publicity: Capote was out of the hospital, but the television appearance had prompted a flood of responses and remained a point of dispute.

Later, when Capote stopped by to visit MacBride at his studio at 33 Union Square, Warhol found him suddenly cheerful and wondered whether he might be taking lithium. Warhol also speculated that a visit to Long Island and a possible agreement with Jack Dunphy to write Answered Prayers could explain the change. Neither explanation is confirmed. The diary instead sets Warhol’s guesses beside small physical details: Capote wore a striking Courrèges coat with a large zipper and two pocket zippers, and complained that his hands were cold. The passage shows how little certainty Warhol had about Capote’s moods, even when he was looking for a reason behind them.

Distance, Readings, and Renewed Appearances

The strain between Capote and Interview became personal as well as editorial. On the way to a birthday party for Barry Diller, Warhol and Catherine Guinness were going to pick Capote up. Warhol found him distant and unfriendly, unlike the person he remembered. Capote said he would have something for the magazine’s April issue, but offered nothing when Warhol tried to record him. Warhol struggled to reconcile the recognizable person with what felt like a changed presence, noting that Capote looked older and seemed unconcerned with his appearance. The description is the diarist’s impression, not a definitive account of Capote’s state.

There were also intervals when Capote sounded more like himself. After Warhol and Rupert Smith worked on the Jewish Geniuses, Capote called and said he had been working hard. He told Warhol that his Chameleon book would be included in the Book-of-the-Month Club and attributed the achievement to being a good writer. Yet the diary records a missed television appearance and a later attempt by Berlin to reach Capote, whose telephone was off the hook. When the Times reviewed Music for Chameleons, Warhol noticed that it did not mention that some of the stories had first appeared in Interview. The magazine’s contribution, like the work itself, could disappear from the public account.

At a reading at the Mitzi Newhouse Theater in Lincoln Center, Capote appeared animated and carefully in command of his performance. Warhol sat fourth row center, beside Halston and Martha Graham; the audience was substantial though the event had not completely sold out. Capote introduced each selection, rose onto his toes, snapped his fingers, and acted out parts of the stories. He read the maid story, A Christmas Memory, and other pieces. Afterward, friends praised him, and Rex Reed told him the reading had touched his soul. Capote was shaking. He immediately asked Warhol where Berlin was. Warhol said she had gone home, while believing Capote may have realized she was not there. The exchange gives the performance an intimate afterimage: public acclaim, physical agitation, and an evident wish to know whether a familiar colleague had come.

Capote’s later appearances remained marked by instability. At the opening of a play about Marilyn, Warhol found the production weak but thought the performer playing Marilyn had star quality and could sing. He encountered Capote and Lester Persky afterward. Capote kissed Warhol’s hand, a gesture Warhol could not interpret, and declined the party, saying he could drink at home. The diary reports the exchange without explaining the gesture or treating it as a reconciliation. It is another encounter in which Capote’s social performance leaves Warhol asking what, if anything, it means.

Death and Remembrance

A later entry reports that Capote had died while Berlin was away. Warhol records that Capote’s former boyfriend Jack Dunphy received $600,000 and carried Capote’s ashes in a golden book engraved with the initials TC. The same entry reveals that Kate Harrington, whom the circle had understood to be Capote’s niece, was actually Kate O’Shea, the daughter of Jack O’Shea, another former boyfriend. Warhol connects O’Shea to the man who had lived on Long Island with a wife and many children. The mistaken family story becomes a posthumous revelation, showing how uncertain even apparently settled accounts of Capote’s personal connections could be.

Warhol’s response to Capote’s death also took a professional form. He worked on a Truman Capote cover for New York magazine, and another entry notes that he was making paintings of Capote for the cover. He was invited by C. Z. Guest to Capote’s memorial. The diary does not elaborate on the memorial itself, but these acts establish how Capote’s image continued to occupy Warhol’s work after their intermittent collaboration and difficult encounters had ended. In the diary’s final movement, the writer who had repeatedly promised, withheld, or redirected work becomes a subject of images and remembrance.