The Peggy Lee Rose

Somebody once said that with Peggy Lee, less is more. Although it may just be the raising of an eyebrow or that snap of the fingers during “Fever,” she could do more with one tiny movement than many people did with their whole body. Her vocal range was not that broad, but it had such nuance you believed she was doing more than she actually was and I found her sultry, sexual approach fascinating.

This may be an odd analogy, but a friend told me the key to reading Charles Dickens was to realize it was all about the individual moments of the journey, not the culmination. I felt similarly about Peggy Lee. It wasn’t about the whole. It was about those moments, delicate on the surface but strong underneath.

Although this is going to be an offbeat segue, the same could be said about the pink rose named after her and like everything else, I’ve got a story about it. As Cyril Connolly once said, “He would not blow his nose without moralizing on conditions in the handkerchief industry.”

In the fall of 2001 I got a weird urge to grow roses. No idea why, I was never a gardener before, even though I love the outdoors and flowers. It was October, but when I get an urge, I’m on it like flies on shit, so I figured I’d get them started inside before moving them out to the balcony in the spring. Maybe that’s the reason I was never a gardener, my timing was obviously way off on the growing season.

I purchased some large pots and being a gay man, looked for three different types of roses. The Judy Garland Rose, the Minnie Pearl Rose and the Peggy Lee. I found Judy and Minnie easily, but the Peggy took a little searching.

As I looked on the internet and in various floral catalogs, the other two plants bloomed like crazy inside. The Minnie Pearl was a small little tea rose, and the Judy, well, you couldn’t kill that one if you tried. Judy started out as a bright yellow, then, as it matured, slowly turned into a burnt orange, one of the most vibrant colors in a rose I’ve ever seen.

I had absolutely no luck finding the Peggy as the months went by, apparently it wasn’t as popular as it once may have been. Nobody at the florists across the country I talked to knew of it and they all wondered why I was so gung ho this time of year.

Finally I figured, well, let’s try the fan sites of Peggy Lee, surely one of them could help me. Some of the “Divas” had fans so involved if you wanted to know what time of day the person sneezed in 1958 they’d be able to tell you.

I emailed the most prominent Peggy Lee website I could find, hoping a fan and/or webmaster would respond. I mentioned my own enjoyment of Peggy Lee’s music and that I was looking for the rose if anybody should know where and if one could be found.

Finally, on Sunday, January 20, 2002 I received this email.

“Dear Terry, Thanks so much for the compliments about my grandmother. She was pleased to hear such nice things and that you are interested in the rose. Attached is the address of a nursery in Sacramento that carries it. Again, thank you very much for your email, I know she appreciates it. Sincerely, Holly Foster-Wells.”

I almost fell off the chair after reading that email. I had no idea I was actually mailing Peggy Lee Enterprises. I thought it was just some guy with horned rimmed glasses who liked Peggy Lee. After doing a little investigating, I found out Holly was one of the people in charge of her grandmother’s businesses. I was touched, but thrilled at the same time.

The very next day at work, my boyfriend called me. “Have you looked at the news yet?” he asked.

“No, why?” I answered.

“I think you’d better.”

“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”

“It’s going to be sort of ironic. You’d better just check yourself.”

So, I did. Pulling up the internet, the headline read, “Peggy Lee, music legend, dies at 81.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather, what were the chances?! Now I felt a bit embarrassed I had bothered the family while Peggy Lee was dying. Who knows if she ever actually saw my email, from what I heard later Miss Lee was fairly bad off. I imagine Holly was just being nice, but still, I was touched she had taken the time to respond in such a kind way.

I sent the family a condolence card and three weeks later, two items came in the mail. One was a large box containing a rosebush. Once planted, it bloomed light pink with full petals, quickly catching up to the vigorousness of Judy and Minnie.

The other item was a thank you card from Peggy Lee’s family, mailed, I imagine, to everyone who sent flowers or cards. On it was a drawing of a light pink rose, delicate on the surface but I found out, from experience, strong underneath.