but when you look back on it,
it was very strange.

Well, it is ironic...
to see how quickly
he has faded from memory...

considering what
an astounding record he made.

He was,
of course, very amusing...

but at the same time
touched a nerve in people...

perhaps in a way in which they
would prefer not to be touched.

It certainly is
a very bizarre story.

The year is 1928.
America, enjoying a decade
of unequaled prosperity...

has gone wild.
The Jazz Age, it is called.
The rhythms are syncopated.
The morals are looser.

The liquor is cheaper,
when you can get it.

It is a time of diverse heroes
and madcap stunts...

of speak-easies
and flamboyant parties.

One typical party occurs
at the Long lsland estate...

of Mr. and Mrs.
Henry Porter Sutton...

patrons of the arts.

Politicians and poets...
rub elbows
with the cream of high society.

Present at the party
is Scott Fitzgerald...

who is to cast perspective
on the twenties...

for all future generations.
He writes in his notebook...
about a curious little man
named Leon Selwyn, or Zelman...

who seemed clearly
to be an aristocrat...

and extolled the very rich
as he chatted with socialites.

He spoke adoringly of Coolidge
and the Republican Party...

all in an upper-class
Boston accent.

"An hour later,"
writes Fitzgerald...

"I was stunned
to see the same man...

"speaking with
the kitchen help.

"Now he claimed
to be a Democrat...

"and his accent seemed coarse,
as if he were one of the crowd."