the making of donald francis draper
there were few things dear to dick whitman. his bird whistler that his uncle mack got him for christmas last year. the hour long break his father gave him after mornings working on the farm. setting the table for an occassional visitor looking for work and food. hearing them talk about how everything has gone to shit. he hated the dark. or perhaps he hated how his father would get at night and then dick would wake up with bruises on his back that hurt when he sat up against the tree away from the farm whistling to the birds. it hadn’t rained all year. maybe if it rains his father would be kinder.
illegitimate. he had learned that word in school when one of his friends heard from his parents that dick was not abigail’s son. the boy in his class pronounced it like innegimate and dick had gone home crying, begging abigail to tell him what it had meant. it pained her to tell him. it was just them, baby adam, and the stray cat that wandered into their farm sometimes. abigail let him hold adam sometimes. that was his favorite time of day. i will never let anyone hurt him. when dick closed his eyes at night, the horse returned to his dreams like clockwork and kicked the life out of him instead. would it have been easier if the horse had kicked him instead of his father?
running. real far. holding adam’s hand and chasing after the wind. they had not anything to eat for days. for weeks it had been abigail’s fault. then it became theirs. why didn’t they leave sooner? running until they reached uncle mack’s house. he would watch adam roll in the dirt in the front of the house. upset that he couldn’t give him any real toys to play with. uncle mack and his wife had a lot of visitors. and lived with many women who looked like the pretty women in magazines strewn across the living room. he made his first friend with one of the pretty women. she was nice. the first time he stole a penny from one of the visitors, she gave him a hershey’s bar. that was the happiest day of his life.
it was hard to breathe. he was afraid it would get adam too. he stayed indoors all day, coughing and shivering. uncle mack gave him a pot of hot water and left aimee by his side. after he had lost his first friend at uncle mack’s, he wanted to be left alone. aimee told him about the boys his age. they would drink and smoke cigarettes and fall in love with pretty girls. aimee made love to him one night. she promised him she would teach him more. he became afraid of the dark again. dick had no friends his own age. for now, aimee would do. he told her about the horse in his dreams. her wicked laughter echoed in his ears.
running. again. a visitor at uncle mack’s had told him about the army. with very little money, two pairs of clothes and an old pack of lucky strikes, dick whitman enlisted in the u.s. army. he liked it there. everyone else his age groaned about waking up so early. dick whitman never learned how to sleep though, so it was fine. he liked the dark there. he was obedient and quiet. then, he met donald francis draper. it was raining so heavily that night he was sent to korea. he had never known another place other than the farm, the brothel and the army training ground. and now he was in another country, oceans away from home. he would have never made it here had it not been for the war. and now he was standing in front of donald francis draper.
don, how do you close every car sale with the same line? hair slicked back, khakis and a crisp button down, with a summer blazer in every season. donald draper sold cars like he believed in them. like he was there when the mechanic was working on the engine. the car shop owner knew that don knew nothing about cars. but he admired that a celebrated veteran wanted a job in his beat second hand car shop. one day, a woman with loneliness in her eyes asked don draper to talk to him outside the shop. this was the first time he had thought about his past. since the bombing, since stealing don draper’s identity, since leaving dick whitman behind, since forgetting adam and uncle mack and aimee. when he gave the woman the real don draper’s veteran medal, he closed that deal with the same line too. it will take care of you.
after class at city college one night, don picked up his first fashion magazine. he was on the hunt for a pretty model to wear a new line of jackets made by premium fur and co. where he worked in the day. she was radiant and her smile was painfully beautiful. when he contacted her the next morning, his voice shook. of course, mr. draper. who am i wearing? elizabeth hofstadt arrived to the shoot the next week and don spent twenty extra minutes doing his hair. he even put on his new cufflinks that he swore he would wear only once he got a job at a big agency. he greeted her and she pulled out a cigarette that he lit for her gently. oh please, please call me betty. for the next two hours, don looked at her. she had mild manners, the charm of a well-travelled woman fluent in european languages and the beauty of grace kelly. a striking resemblance. and don swore he was going to make her fall in love with him. a fur salesman with nothing in common with the most beautiful woman in the world.
his first day at sterling cooper was nothing short of a fantasy. a desk in a small closet-like room he shared with sal romano. on his first day at the job, he was asked to come up with copy ideas for winston cigarettes. sal was drawing aggressively with his hand rested on his chin, while don stared into a dark space in the room, smoking a winston. taking in the taste. sal looked up from his work. you know you actually have to write ideas down to present right? don walked into the meeting with the creative director and founder of sterling cooper, roger sterling. this was their first big account. they had to get it right. roger hated every idea. has anyone even tasted a winston cigarette? don looked up. it tastes good. roger looked at don sitting back in his chair. it tastes good. like a cigarette. and that’s how winston cigarettes made money for 18 years.
bring draper in. no one had gone from junior copy writer to creative director in under a decade. the night before his first day as creative director, don made love to betty in their large suburban home. the next morning, his five year old daughter sally made him a card with good luck daddy written in crayons and little bobby brought him a flower from the garden outside. things were just right. it had been years since he had thought about his past life. now, he drank bourbon and smoked cigarettes and fell in love with pretty women. he was no longer neglected, illegitimate. he was don draper. and no one could afford to neglect him. he brought legitimacy to everything at sterling cooper. clients came to sterling cooper for him. he was a better don draper than don draper himself. he was still afraid of the dark. he never told betty any of it.
inspired by my best friend and fellow mad men fan, @flwrpotts without whom i would never have made a deep dive into fan fic, let alone start writing fan fic.
