“On meurt deux Source fois, je le vois bien : > > Cesser d’aimer & d’être aimable, > > C’est une mort insupportable : > > Cesser de vivre, ce n’est rien.”
This 18th-century French verse suggests we die twice. The first death, a loss of love and charm, is unbearable. The second, the mere cessation of life, is nothing. While perhaps dramatic, it captures the sting of social death—a moment of such profound embarrassment that it feels like a small ending. One legendary American anecdote perfectly illustrates this mortifying experience, centered on a simple, disastrous question about sugar and cream.
The story has become a piece of classic American folklore. It features a distinguished hostess, her well-behaved young daughter, and a powerful guest with a very prominent nose. The hostess, deeply worried her child might comment on the guest’s striking feature, gives her a stern warning before his arrival. She explicitly forbids any mention of the man’s nose. The child, obedient and poised, follows the instruction perfectly throughout the visit.
As the gathering winds down, the hostess feels a wave of relief. Her daughter’s discretion has saved them from social catastrophe. Proud and relaxed, she proceeds to serve refreshments. However, in that moment of triumph, her own subconscious, fixated on the forbidden topic, betrays her. Turning to her esteemed guest, she asks, “Will you have sugar and cream in your nose?”
The Famous Faces Behind the Fable
Over the years, popular retelling has assigned specific, famous identities to the story’s characters. The powerful financier is said to be John Pierpont (J.P.) Morgan, a man known for his immense wealth and a nose disfigured by a skin condition called rhinophyma. Consequently, this detail lends a touch of plausibility to the tale. The gracious but unfortunate hostess is identified as Elizabeth Cutter Morrow, a poet and educator.
Furthermore, the impeccably behaved child was supposedly a young Anne Morrow, who would later achieve fame as the writer and aviator Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Attaching these high-profile names gave the anecdote incredible staying power. It transformed a simple story about a social blunder into a historical event involving some of America’s most notable figures. This specificity made the story feel real, ensuring its repetition in books and magazines for decades.
Uncovering the Story’s True Origins
The tale’s first documented appearance in print complicates this famous casting. Author Mary Roberts Rinehart included a version in a 1928 article for The Saturday Evening Post. Interestingly, she presented the story as an example of the “Imp of the Perverse,” a nod to Edgar Allan Poe’s concept of self-destructive impulses. However, Rinehart never identified the people involved. This omission suggests the names were not yet attached to the story, or she considered them unverified.
J.P. Morgan had died in 1913, a full fifteen years before Rinehart’s article. The significant time gap makes it curious that such a memorable story would only surface in print long after the main character’s death. In fact, variations of the theme existed even earlier. An 1899 publication featured a similar story about a child’s awkward comment on a man’s nose, indicating the core idea was already part of public humor well before the alleged Morgan incident.
Fact-Checking a Legend
The specific attribution to Morgan and the Morrows appears to have originated with syndicated columnist O. O. McIntyre in February 1936. His widely read column painted the full scene, complete with a pigtailed Anne Morrow. Shortly after, The Reader’s Digest reprinted his version, giving the story national exposure and cementing the famous cast of characters in the public mind. From there, it was repeated endlessly in collections of humor and anecdotes.
However, historical facts present insurmountable problems for the legend. Biographer Jean Strouse, in her comprehensive work on J.P. Morgan, identified a fatal flaw in the timeline. Dwight Morrow, Anne’s father, did not become a partner at J.P. Morgan & Co. until 1914. J.P. Morgan himself died in 1913. Therefore, the two men never worked together, making a social visit of this nature between their families a historical impossibility.
The Final Word from an Eyewitness
The most definitive evidence against the story’s authenticity came from the supposed child at the center of it all. Source Jean Strouse contacted Anne Morrow Lindbergh directly to ask about the famous anecdote. Lindbergh’s response was unequivocal. She confirmed the story had “not a grain of truth,” though she admitted it was quite amusing. .
This firsthand denial from the last living person involved effectively debunks the tale. The story, despite its charm and wit, is pure fiction. It never happened to the Morrows or J.P. Morgan. Instead, it seems to be an older, generic joke that gradually attached itself to famous individuals to gain credibility and impact.
In conclusion, the anecdote about sugar and cream in the nose persists not because it is true, but because it feels true. It taps into a universal fear of the Freudian slip and the public humiliation that can follow. The story highlights how our deepest anxieties can surface at the worst possible moments. While J.P. Morgan never faced that particular question, the legend of the incident endures as a timeless and relatable cautionary tale about the treacherous nature of the human mind.