Meet­ing Ayn Rand

ARI

Frank O'Connor and Ayn Rand, 1964 Where, when, and how did you meet Ayn Rand?

MARY ANN

I met her in New York, sometime in the fall of 1954. The occasion was an oral ex­am­i­na­tion on her phi­los­o­phy.

ARI

In those years, where did you have the opportunity to study her phi­los­o­phy?

MARY ANN

Privately, with Leon­ard Peikoff, who was then a grad­u­ate stu­dent in phi­los­o­phy at New York Uni­ver­si­ty (NYU). Here’s the back­ground, briefly. At the time, I was an instructor teach­ing art his­to­ry at New York Uni­ver­si­ty, Wash­ing­ton Square Col­lege, while pur­su­ing a Mas­ter’s Degree in art his­to­ry at NYU’s In­sti­tute of Fine Arts. An acquaintance I met in grad­u­ate school, Joan Mitch­ell,1 gave me a pa­per­back copy of The Foun­tain­head. We had been discuss­ing art his­to­ry as a career choice, and I told her that I had been criticized for study­ing art when there were starv­ing peo­ple in the world whom I should help. I didn’t agree with that attitude, but I didn’t have convinc­ing arguments against it. Joan said that I would find the answers in that novel. I did, and I loved the book.

Leonard Peikoff Joan, who had met Ayn Rand some years earlier, introduced me to Nathaniel Blumenthal2 and his wife, Barbara, who were close friends and admirers of Ayn and her writings. They were grad­u­ate students at NYU, he in psychology, she in phi­los­o­phy. Nathan wanted to meet peo­ple interested in and in agreement with the ideas expressed in The Foun­tain­head. I also met Leon­ard Peikoff, another admirer of Ayn Rand. Since Leon­ard wanted to teach phi­los­o­phy, Nathan suggested that it would be good experience for Leon­ard to give private lec­tures on Ayn Rand’s phi­los­o­phy to a few peo­ple, includ­ing me. This was Leon­ard’s first course on Ob­jec­tiv­ism, although it wasn’t yet called “Ob­jec­tiv­ism.” He gave some of the lec­tures in Joan’s apartment. It was an informal set up.

ARI

What topics did he cover?

MARY ANN

He explained what phi­los­o­phy is, and then focused on metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics. He explained the Law of Identity, causality, sense percep­tion and reason, altruism, man’s life as the standard, the benevolent universe concept.

ARI

Had you studied phi­los­o­phy before this?

MARY ANN

Very little. I had had a bad experience in an introductory col­lege course in phi­los­o­phy. The professor, a Platonist, made phi­los­o­phy obscure and unrelated to liv­ing. Leon­ard’s lec­tures were the opposite: he made the ideas clear, and he showed the relevance of phi­los­o­phy to life. I typed up my notes and went over them with Leon­ard to make sure I un­der­stood everyth­ing. He was a dedica­ted teacher, even then. Incidentally, I kept those notes for more than 30 years, along with my first pa­per­back copy of The Foun­tain­head—until the book and the notes crumbled and fell apart.

When the lec­tures were finished, it was decided that there would be an exam and that it would be oral and held one even­ing at the home of Ayn Rand. I learned later that she suggested it.

ARI

Didn’t you feel intimidated about the prospect of meet­ing her under those condi­tions?

MARY ANN

Ayn Rand in Her New York City Apartment, 1952 No. I had read and reread The Foun­tain­head and I had studied my notes from Leon­ard’s lec­tures, so I felt pre­pared. That’s one reason I didn’t go there with butterflies. But the main reason has to do with my perspective and con­text then. When you or I say “Ayn Rand” today, we think of a genius, an in­tel­lec­tu­al giant: the creator of the phi­los­o­phy of Ob­jec­tiv­ism, the author of Atlas Shrugged, The Foun­tain­head, and We the Liv­ing, the writer of an impressive­ly long list of bril­liant articles, essays, and lec­tures. But, when I met her in 1954, the con­text was dif­fer­ent. She was still writ­ing Atlas Shrugged; the essays and lec­tures were yet to come; her classic Introduc­tion to Ob­jec­tiv­ist Epistemology was twelve years away; We the Liv­ing, which I had not read, was out of print. Yes, she was then a genius, an in­tel­lec­tu­al giant. On­ly I didn’t know it. I had read on­ly The Foun­tain­head, and I wanted to learn more. So, when I went to the exam, I was eager, naive, and ignorant, but not nervous. I had no idea of how extraordinary a person she was. Of course, by the time the even­ing was over, I did.

ARI

What do you remember of that even­ing of more than forty years ago?

MARY ANN

I’ll say first that in one’s lifetime, there can be events of such significance that they are never entire­ly forgotten. Meet­ing Ayn Rand is in that category, and my memory of aspects of the even­ing is still fresh. Also, in those days, I kept a diary of sorts; I recorded my impressions of that night.

I was the first one to arrive; Frank [O’Connor]3 admitted me to the apartment and, after say­ing that Ayn would be out shortly, left me alone in the liv­ing room. It was a long room lit by lamplight fall­ing on glass-topped end tables and comfortable, clean-lined furniture. I walked over to the window; the drapes were open, and there were no buildings nearby to interfere with the view toward downtown Manhattan. For a few minutes, I stood at the window. Then I heard a sound behind me, and a voice said, “Hello.” I turned around, and there was Ayn Rand.

I had imagined some­one quite dif­fer­ent, some­one tall, blonde and slender, like a fifty-year-old Dominique,4 some­one reserved in manner, even a little bit aloof. But she wasn’t like that at all. She was shorter than I expected,5 and her hair was brunette. There was noth­ing aloof in her manner. When I turned, she had the nicest, friendliest smile. She was stand­ing in the middle of the room, so I walked over to her and introduced myself. We shook hands, and she commented on my name be­ing Russian with the feminine end­ing. I was Mary Ann Rukavina then. I remember on­ly two things about our first conversa­tion: I told her that I had thorough­ly enjoyed The Foun­tain­head. She thanked me and asked if there were parts or characters that I especial­ly liked. I answered, “The boy on the bicycle.”6 She smiled broadly. That was how we met. It was very simple, very natural.

She was wear­ing a navy blue outfit—a skirt and jacket, with a blue and white polka dot blouse. I learned later that it was an outfit designed by Adrian.7 She wore high heels. She had a simple hair style, with a touch of the dramatic—a short, straight bob that angled across her forehead. Her eyes were deep brown, large and luminous, wide open. They were always like that; she never seemed to squint. Soon, others came and the ex­am­i­na­tion started.

ARI

Who was runn­ing it? Who was there?

MARY ANN

Leon­ard was in charge—he was the professor. Joan and I were the on­ly students. Frank, Barbara, and Nathan were there, as observers, along with Ayn.

ARI

What do you remember about the exam?

MARY ANN

I don’t remember all the ques­tions, but there were some on the Law of Identity, and on causality. Joan and I took turns and added to each other’s answers. We did well.

I remember one episode very well, because Ayn was speak­ing direct­ly to me. I was hav­ing a problem with an issue in metaphysics, which was a new field for me. Ayn could tell from one of my answers that I didn’t un­der­stand the distinc­tion between “attribute” and “entity.” She sat on an oversized couch that was covered in plaid tweed. I can see her there now! There was a rectangular chrome-and-glass-topped coffee table in front of her. Us­ing the table as an example, she explained the distinc­tion to me. She explained that the “length” of the glass top was an attribute, which couldn’t exist apart from the “entity” glass top; and she discussed the height, width, and smoothness of the glass, explain­ing that they were also attributes.

A few times, she stopped her explana­tion to ask me if it was clear to me. She said she wanted to make sure I un­der­stood one point before go­ing on to the next one. Without realiz­ing it, each time I grasped a point, I smiled. And she asked me why I was smil­ing, and I answered that I was happy to un­der­stand it. And then she smiled in response.

That night, I learned two things about her that were true of her all the years I knew her: one, she took ideas seriously, and two, it mattered to her that her listener un­der­stood her. Her knowledge was vast, her con­text was broad, but she could explain complex ideas in a manner that could be un­der­stood by some­one without that knowledge and con­text. And when you grasped a point, she was pleased and she showed it.

Some years later, we were discuss­ing one of her favorite television series, Perry Mason, and she commented on how much she liked Raymond Burr’s facial expression in the introductory credits. He is in a courtroom, hold­ing a legal document and look­ing thought­ful. Then he begins to smile, slow­ly and knowingly. Ayn said that he looked as if he had made a mental connec­tion, had un­der­stood some­thing, as if a light bulb had been turned on in his mind. For her, observ­ing a mind follow­ing an argument and mak­ing mental connec­tions was like see­ing a light bulb go on in the mind of her listener—and this was a source of great pleasure for her. I responded to this aspect of her that night, and I valued it throughout our friendship. She never changed.

ARI

How would you describe her general manner?

MARY ANN

She was intense about the importance of ideas, and she was intense­ly focused when explain­ing them. But what came across was this: to deal with ideas, to communicate them, to un­der­stand them—this is the most natural thing in the world for peo­ple to do. She spoke from the premise that phi­los­o­phy is every­one’s business because it affects every­one’s life; it is not some dry, esoteric subject taught by disillusioned professors. By her tone of voice, her way of look­ing direct­ly at you when she was speak­ing, she let you know that she was explain­ing an idea to you, to you personally, and that it was vital that you un­der­stood it.

ARI

What else impressed you?

MARY ANN

Someth­ing she conveyed that was unusual. Here was a person who real­ly cared if an idea was true and right. She was not a disinterested philosopher. Truth mattered to her, not just in­tel­lec­tu­ally, but emo­tionally. When she discussed ideas, there was an urgency, an exhilara­tion in her manner. She was concerned with truth, the whole truth, and noth­ing but the truth. That was a rare attitude.

ARI

Rare, in what respect?

MARY ANN

Other peo­ple might be concerned with impress­ing you with the extent of their knowledge, or with their status in your eyes, or with be­ing a celebrity, or with any number of things irrelevant to the subject under discussion. Not Ayn Rand, not that night, or ever. Noth­ing got in the way, noth­ing interfered with her focus on what was true, no matter what the issue was. She made it clear that we were there for one reason: to un­der­stand issues in phi­los­o­phy and learn what was true and what was false.

But there was some­thing else about Ayn Rand that was dif­fer­ent from anyone I had ever met before. I felt myself respond­ing to this “some­thing,” but I didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t until after a few more meetings with her that I could name it.

ARI

What was that?

MARY ANN

She had certainty. This is what real­ly attracted me emo­tional­ly to her that night. She was the first person I had ever met who projected it—she projected that what she knew was true, and that she was sure of it.

What she was that night was the way she always was: she never doubted herself and her capacity to un­der­stand. It’s not that she had an encyclopedic mind that knew everyth­ing—although she knew more about things than most peo­ple did. The point is that she didn’t live in a state of chronic doubt. She didn’t constant­ly ques­tion the rightness of her ideas. She didn’t hesitate and flounder. She spoke with convic­tion. What she knew, she knew. This was a strong element in her personality.

ARI

What did it mean to you, personally?

MARY ANN

She was like fresh water, in unlimited supply, made available to a person dy­ing of thirst. You see, I did not grow up in an atmosphere of religious mysticism. The problem for me was skepticism, although I didn’t know it at the time. I grew up in an in­tel­lec­tu­al environment that almost every­one grows up in, that communicates one thing: you can’t real­ly be sure of anyth­ing. Which is another way of say­ing that you can’t trust your mind to know reality. Of course, as a child, you could be sure of the multiplica­tion tables in arithmetic, or the correct spell­ing of a word—things you memorize. But when it came to ideas, to reach­ing conclusions, to un­der­stand­ing peo­ple and judg­ing them—the attitude was, “who can say for sure what is true or false, what is right or wrong?”

The problem plagued me throughout childhood and into high school and col­lege. Skepticism in teach­ing methods led to endless research and read­ing, to constant­ly consult­ing “authorities” who disagreed with one another, to collect­ing fact upon fact—but never reach­ing firm conclusions; everyth­ing had to be tentative, on principle. Skepticism was everywhere, and some peo­ple seemed to resent it if you wanted certainty. Once, in grad­u­ate school, I called a work of sculpture “ugly,” and the professor hit the ceil­ing. How can you be sure, he said, of what is beauti­ful or what is ugly?

And then I met Ayn Rand. Not on­ly was she certain, but she conveyed that you, too, could be certain of your knowledge, that you shouldn’t accept anyth­ing less.

When I got to know her better, I commented on her certainty. And she said, very simply, that if by observa­tion and reason she concluded some­thing was true, then there was no reason for her to doubt it. New evidence might cause her to revise her think­ing, but until and unless such new evidence was available, she was firm about the rightness of her conclusions.

ARI

Is there anyth­ing else you recall from that first meet­ing?

MARY ANN

I was impressed with her manner of speak­ing—she spoke in complete sentences; she didn’t grope for words or examples. There was an economy in the way she used words; she spoke right to the point. She smoked throughout the even­ing, us­ing a long cigarette holder, and occasional­ly she used it as a baton to emphasize a point. She had a pronounced Russian accent, but she spoke as some­one who is complete­ly at home with the English language. That shouldn’t have surprised me, not after hav­ing read The Foun­tain­head and hav­ing seen firsthand her command of the language. But the combina­tion of her accent and the ease with which she spoke English was startl­ing. Later, I learned that she had worked very hard on master­ing English. She had been conscientious about study­ing all the shades of mean­ing of any word and mak­ing her defini­tions precise.

ARI

How would you describe the general atmosphere of that even­ing?

MARY ANN

There was a prevail­ing sense of good will, which was created in large part by Ayn. I’ve talked about her serious attitude, but there was a charm­ing aspect to her, too. Before she commented on my confusion about “attribute” and “entity,” she turned to Leon­ard and asked him if he wanted to clarify it for me, or if he minded if she did. I was impressed by this—she was respectful­ly deferr­ing to the professor. He said that she could do it, that he wanted to hear her on the subject. Then, when she concluded her explana­tion, she turned to him and said, smil­ing, “Well, how did I do?”—in the manner of a stu­dent seek­ing the professor’s approval. It was delight­ful. I left that even­ing know­ing that I had never met anyone like her. Now, almost fifty years later, I can still say the same thing.

  1. Joan Mitch­ell later married Allan Blumenthal and is known professional­ly as Joan Mitch­ell Blumenthal. ←

  2. We called him Nathan. He later changed his last name to Branden. ←

  3. Ayn Rand and Frank O’Connor were married in 1929. ←

  4. Dominique Francon, in The Foun­tain­head ←

  5. Ayn Rand was about five feet tall. ←

  6. The begin­ning sequence of Part Four ←

  7. Gilbert Adrian, a famous Hollywood designer, and his wife, actress Janet Gaynor, were friends and neighbors of the O’Connors in Chatsworth, California. ←

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