Truman's Swans

There are parties, and then there are parties that leave everyone else feeling terribly underdressed. On November 28, 1966, Truman Capote commandeered the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel and summoned 540 of his nearest and dearest to what would become the Black & White Ball. He called it a little masked ball. New York called it the party of the century, and has been calling it that ever since. Officially, the evening honoured Katharine Graham, the formidable publisher of The Washington Post. Unofficially, it was a small masterpiece of Truman's peculiar genius: an instinct for the social appetite, and the nerve to feed it. The timing was no accident. In Cold Blood had made him famous in a way that even he, a man who had rehearsed for fame since childhood, could scarcely have rehearsed for. He was rich, he was celebrated, and he was, one suspects, a little restless. A man in that condition can write another book, or he can give a party. Truman, being Truman, chose the party and...

Lee Radziwill, adjusting her masque and getting ready for Truman Capote's 'Black and White Ball' at the Plaza Hotel, New York City, 1966

The Plaza was never so pleased with itself. On the night of Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball, it glittered with a kind of aggressive elegance, as if the chandeliers, having overheard the guest list, decided to outshine it. Every social ambition in New York arrived lacquered, pressed, and faintly trembling. Titles brushed against bank accounts, and both pretended not to notice the difference. And then, naturally, came Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow—a pairing so improbable it felt more like a social experiment someone forgot to end. Frank, as subtle as a switchblade, in a tuxedo that behaved better than he ever intended to. He had that look in his eyes. Half boredom and half ownership, as if the evening was a nightclub he might close early out of spite. Compact, controlled, and carrying that particular voltage of a man accustomed to being both adored and obeyed, conversations adjusted themselves. Laughter recalibrated. Even the orchestra, one suspects, felt a slight obligation to behav...