“He saw everything, even when he was drunk, which was often.” Truman Capote, photographed by Gianfranco Gorgoni in Southampton, New York, in 1978.

The Truman Show

For a young assistant at Random House in the summer of 1978, Friday afternoons meant one thing: babysitting Truman Capote

By Alexander Lobrano

It was an ambush. I knew Truman Capote loathed me, because an important part of my job as an editorial assistant at Random House was being the gatekeeper to Joe Fox, his editor there. The year was 1978. I sat at a massive steel desk in the long hall lined by the editors’ offices, facing the door to Fox’s office, which had a fine view of the East River.

I answered the phone, which involved deflecting unwanted calls by speaking the name of the person who was calling loudly enough for Fox to hear. Following his shaking head or vigorous nodding, I’d then transfer the call or take a message. When it came to Capote, my boilerplate response was that Fox was in a meeting and would call him back later.