Sad Premonition: Connie Converse

I don't remember why I first heard of Connie Converse, but I remember when—I was working at the factory in northeastern Durham and had just gotten back in touch with my now-husband. My first image of her will always stick in my mind: the familiar cat-eye glasses and the plaid dresses reminiscent of Susan Strasberg's brainiac character Millie Owens in the final scene of Picnic. Who was this woman that had suddenly appeared in my life? I remember her songs—I think I first heard them on a radio show—as raw but beautiful as Buddy Holly's apartment tapes had been. But apart from the haunting recordings she left behind on reel-to-reels, I was shocked by how closely her story mirrored my own: she came from a strictly religious academic family (whose father was also a minister), graduated first in her class (her in high school, me at university), and attended college with a bright academic future ahead yet dropped out and ultimately pursued a failed writing career. She also eventually fell into depression and alcohol addiction as I did. But whereas I eventually made my way out of the mire of addiction and depression and am currently enjoying writing at night for my small base of readers, when she dropped out of society, she never came back and has been missing for over fifty years.

Throughout the course of my research, I have discovered little-known pictures of her and bought Howard Fishman's book To Anyone Who Ever Asks: The Life, Music, and Mystery of Connie Converse. The bulk of this article is, in fact, written from notes that I took while reading his book, as it is the most comprehensive source of information on Connie Converse I have found. All quotations (except where indicated) also come from this book, which will be listed at the end in the sources section, as always. However, while researching this installment of Sad Premonition, I learned that the Connie Converse we all remember in those quaint photographs and recordings wasn't the Connie Converse who disappeared in 1974. At first I was disappointed, but once my shock wore off, I couldn't help but wonder—what exactly happened here? I highly suspect that this shocking transformation was an outer symptom of an inner turmoil that would ultimately culminate in her disappearance. Perhaps you, dear reader, will come to the same conclusion.

Connie Converse was born Elizabeth Eaton Converse on August 3, 1924 in Laconia, New Hampshire, the middle child of a strict Baptist family. Her father, Ernest, was a minister, later becoming head of the local temperance society. Her mother, it has been said, was a gifted pianist, although only religious and classical music was allowed in the house, and dancing, alcohol, and card games were forbidden. Her family was described as "severe" and "emotionally frozen," but in spite of this difficult upbringing, Connie was a precocious child and reportedly had a vocabulary "of nearly a hundred words" at "only twenty months." By age eleven, Connie studied violin and piano. Later on in high school, her hobbies included tennis, bowling, drawing, and writing. Focused on her studies, Connie apparently did not have a boyfriend in high school and eschewed social events for extracurriculars: she was on the yearbook staff, sang in the choir, and was in the National Honor Society, among other activities.

Following her graduation in 1942, she began college that fall at Mount Holyoke College (which had been the alma mater of both her mother and grandmother) on a full scholarship. In college she again sang in the choir and wrote for the school paper, competed in sports, and had her poetry published in a college publication (like me). Also like me, she won various awards, including an award in French. Converse, however, did something I never accomplished—she won the Louise Sproule prize, which was given to the student "demonstrating the greatest promise as a writer." During this time she began going by the name Connie in place of Elizabeth. Despite her academic success, she dropped out of college in her second year (I dropped out my third year), devastating her parents. Converse disappeared for roughly nine months, eventually making her way to New York City.

In New York she was employed at the American Council of the Institute of Pacific Relations, first working as an editor on the journal Far Eastern Survey before finally being employed as a writer. Her first essay was published in this journal in June 1949. That fall some of her cartoons were printed in The Saturday Review of Literature. During her spare time she also began working on a novel. Her passion at this time seemed to be focused on writing; however, following the death of her longtime friend Frannie Flint in November 1947, she appears to have switched her efforts to songwriting. In 1949, she wrote her first guitar composition and eventually moved to Greenwich Village, taping her songs on a Crestwood 404 reel-to-reel tape recorder, including "One by One," "We Lived Alone," "How Sad, How Lovely," and others. Many of these recordings were mailed to her brother Phil and his wife Jean in Michigan (having written "Where Are The Roses" for their wedding in 1951). In addition to writing and recording songs, Wikipedia states she was also a "cartoonist, painter, sculptor, and poet." During this time she briefly dated a man named Johnny Hsing, although she lamented the lack of a long-term relationship. A prolific songwriter, in the summer of 1952 she set some of Chaucer's writing to music. By fall, following a Thanksgiving visit with family, she began working at Academy Photo Offset.

There are conflicting reports on who she first met—her acquaintance Bill Bernal or Gene Deitch—but on January 23, 1954, Connie ended up at Gene Deitch's apartment in Hastings-on-Hudson at a gathering, where she played some of her songs. Bernal, intent on promoting Connie, had apparently wanted to use the occasion to record these songs "so that he would have a tape to play for a broadcaster or a record company." His efforts paid off: she was booked on The Morning Show hosted by Walter Cronkite, where she sang several songs. (A recording of this early television performance no longer exists, although her appearance is immortalized in photographs snapped by an anonymous photographer). Connie played at his apartment several times over the next few months, the occasion recorded on a reel-to-reel tape, which was then copied and passed around. Her final performance at Deitch's apartment on May 29, 1954 provided the bulk of material that was recorded and later became the bulk of her album "How Sad, How Lovely," released posthumously in 2009. The following year, she began work on an opera and purchased an Estey miniature organ on which she composed new material.

On the artist front, commercial illustrator William Barss (with whom she reportedly had an affair despite his marriage) expressed interest in publishing some of her lyrics as poetry through the Houghton Mifflin publishing company, with his illustrations accompanying them. Things seemed to be momentarily looking up for her musically as well: in July 1956, she "signed a two-year contract with music agent Horace Linsley with the hope of getting a recording contract." Several songs of hers were recorded at National Recording Studios in February 1960, although nothing became of this as the session was apparently later lost. She composed an untitled song for the Asthma and Allergy Foundation of America in a short ("Nothin' to Sneeze At") narrated by famed comedian Steve Allen, which was arranged by Turk Murphy and played by his Dixieland Ensemble. Although she applied for membership to ASCAP (a music publishing organization), her application was rejected as she had not been "commercially recorded or published." Ultimately, by 1961, she had left New York City for Ann Arbor, effectively leaving her efforts at a music career behind.

In Ann Arbor, where her brother Phil and sister-in-law Jean lived with their family, she volunteered at Ann Arbor for Peace, living in a studio apartment near the University of Michigan where her brother taught. Back in New York, eight of her songs were performed by Susan Reed at Kaufman Hall to a full house in November 1961. Returning to school in 1963, she took a class in economics, although she never planned to finish her formerly-abandoned degree. Submitting a paper at The Journal of Conflict Resolution, she eventually became the managing editor of the publication, despite receiving "little recognition for her work." Although her work at the magazine was central to her life, she also gave lectures around town at the Guild House and the First Presbyterian Church. In 1967, friend Peter Cooper created a film rendition of her song "Playboy of the Western World," a print of which he sent to Converse. She later screened this proudly at the Ann Arbor Public Library for family and friends.

Her drinking increased significantly during this time, and she apparently kept a bottle in her desk drawer at work. Socially, she was described as increasingly unkempt, choosing to wear dark, frumpy clothes. Still playing her music occasionally at her brother's house, in her spare time she took the initiative to undertake "a written study of the entirety of JCR's contents," a project so vast that she left her undergraduate studies in 1967 to complete it. Ultimately it appeared in the December anniversary edition of the journal under the title "The War of All Against All: A Review of the Journal of Conflict Resolution, 1957-1968." Despite this massive professional accomplishment, with its completion she fell into a despair, which she described as a "postpartum depression." Her project complete, Converse devoted her time to the Ann Arbor Chapter of People Against Racism. With this new venture, however, as with all previous creative and professional projects, her efforts went largely unnoticed. Fishman writes that during this time "[e]ven her appearance now seemed to undergo a significant transformation, her face's formerly angular features becoming rounded and bloated, her hair gone thin and wan, her frame showing signs of substantial weight gain." Resigning from her overly stressful position at the journal, she stepped down to become co-editor and research associate.

In the early 1970s, she wrote to a friend that she was diagnosed with a "nonmalignant fibroid uterine tumor." Taking a six-month leave from her job the following year, she had intended to go without pay, but friends and coworkers financed a sabbatical to England. Before leaving, she sold her car and moved into her brother's house, living in the attic. Not surprisingly, her depression and alcoholism proved to be a source of tension for the family. Quoting her nephew Pete, Fishman wrote that Converse during this period was described as "the crazy aunt" and became a "source of shame and embarrassment for the family." In 1972, the journal at which she worked moved to Yale, essentially leaving her jobless. Moving out of her brother's home on New Year's Day 1974, she first lived at the Bell Tower Hotel before eventually renting an apartment on Main Street. She volunteered at the local Learning Exchange, which seems to have briefly lifted her spirits. She also briefly worked for a former coworker who owned a bookbindery but was eventually let go due to incredibly unpleasant body odor (I'm not making this up). Ultimately, on August 10, 1974, after having mailed several letters to friends and families announcing her plans, she packed up her belongings in her vehicle and disappeared. She has never been seen again.

Converse is, thus far, the only subject of Sad Premonition about whom I knew little before I began researching and writing my article. During the course of my research, she slowly went from the lovely, talented woman I remember seeing in the crisp 1950s shirtwaist dresses to some disconcerting character that I would write about in one of my short stories. This isn't to take away from Converse's talent as a songwriter or my initial impression of her Millie Owens-esque charm, but it is important to remember that she did not disappear in a vacuum. Towards the end, there were circumstances in her private life that seemed to manifest themselves in her outward appearance and behavior. Alcoholism, although genetic, can often be triggered due to environmental factors: in Connie's case, stress perhaps at work, or the failure of her career to launch, or perhaps even the stress of moving from New York City to smaller Ann Arbor, Michigan caused her drinking to accelerate. In my case, alcoholism started out as social drinking and later became the centerpiece of my life during the course of a less-than-ideal first marriage. Like Converse, my appearance also deteriorated as the addiction took deeper control of me.

Yet what caused Converse to run from situations she considered untenable or less-than-ideal? She was a gifted student who had a bright future ahead of her in academia. When I dropped out of college, depression had taken ahold of me, and I found continuing my studies unbearable. Was this same overwhelming feeling what gnawed at Connie at university? After a period of no contact (and perhaps soul-searching), she later resurfaced in New York City. When she left New York City for Ann Arbor, what was at the root of her decision? We can only guess decades later. I find it interesting, however, that her final act of disappearance was different from her previous two situations. Unlike previous times, when she vanished this time, it was for good. I want to discuss two possibilities I see for the ultimate outcome of her disappearance.

There is no doubt that Converse disappeared of her own volition—her own letters to friends and family confirm this fact. However, here diverge two distinct outcomes of Converse's life: either she ended it (probably by driving her car into a lake as it has never been found) or she started a new life for herself somewhere else. And unlike some of the missing person cases I have covered previously on my blog, both outcomes seem equally plausible. Although her letters to friends and family just before her disappearance indicate she was leaving to start a new life for herself (as she had done previously following a period of "disappearance"), no trace of Converse (or her vehicle) have ever been found. There have been several cases where long-missing persons were found dead still in their vehicle submerged in water decades later. Her car could have been abandoned, however, and it is possible that it was found and impounded before eventually being auctioned off. As a missing person report was never filed by her family (due to her letters), the police would have no way of knowing that her vehicle belonged to a missing person. But if she did abandon her vehicle and die elsewhere, her body has never been found. I find it hard to believe that if she took her own life someone wouldn't have stumbled across her remains.

The second possible outcome is that Converse left to start a new life elsewhere. That she had done this several times before in her life lends credence to this possibility, as do her own letters she wrote to friends and family. There have been several Elizabeth or E. Converses listed in directories over the years. Some of these were not checked out, and some of these were but found to be someone else entirely. Online rumors have also suggested that she had been sighted alive as late as the 1980s, but I am not repeating these as I do not want to spread false information. She was born the year after my grandfather, and if she were alive today, she would be over 100 years old. Considering her alcoholism and poor health during the 1970s, I find it hard to believe that she is still alive even if she were out there somewhere in the decades following her disappearance.

So where does that leave Connie Converse now in the history of this country's great musical artists? I find it sad that she never received the widespread recognition she so wanted during her lifetime. Her final act of disappearance now almost seems a footnote in the great body of work that she left behind. What I've always loved about Converse is that she wrote and performed her own songs, something a lot of women in the 1950s didn't do. Being able to perform your own music allows a certain freedom that record contracts often strip away in the name of industry conformity and profits. But here we have the songs as she intended them, perhaps not for the audience she wanted, but sung almost as clearly as if she were sitting in the room next to us. I deeply regret that Converse was not alive (or perhaps around) to see how much traction her music has made in the world in the decades since her disappearance. Connie, wherever you are, you are not forgotten.

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Sources

Connie Converse. (n.d.). In Wikipedia. Retrieved September 12, 2026, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Connie_Converse

Fishman, H. (2023). To anyone who ever asks: The life, music, and mystery of Connie Converse. Dutton.