Aurelia C. Scott

"The rose is the Queen of Flowers not so much because of the fragrant beauty of the bloom as for the reason that you can do almost anything with a rose plant except pulling it up and leaving it entirely on top of the ground, and it will grow and bloom." From “Of Hennessey on Roses,” 1942

We know that Roy Hennessey began his career as a union organizer on the Portland, Oregon docks. We know that by the 1920s, he had angered enough people that he was told to leave town or become fish food. We know he removed himself to a farm in nearby Scapoose, where he raised rhododendrons, gladiolas, and tulips, before he discovered roses. Soon, he amassed over 10,000 plants and established a mail-order nursery devoted to “perfect” roses – strong, scented, floriferous, and colorful.

That is about all we know, says rosarian Jim Delahanty, who wrote a forward to the upcoming re-issue of Hennessey’s 1942 self-published masterwork, “Of Hennessey on Roses.” The man who was furiously devoted to the thorn-guarded blossom has, in large part, disappeared from public record. What remain are tales of his temper, and his book, full of dense prose, intransigent opinions, and invaluable advice for rose novices and experts alike.

His most unusual counsel was to shade roses from the noonday sun. The ubiquitous recommendation that roses receive full sun originated in England, wrote Hennessey, “where there is a decided dearth of sunshine, and where full sun is not too ‘full’ at that.” His goal was to encourage Americans, even those with shady gardens, to grow the flower that had captured his heart. Admittedly, you had to do it his way. When you ordered a rose from his nursery, you received a plant with four-foot-long roots that you were commanded not to trim. Monster roots meant that his roses didn’t need to spend a year adapting to new conditions, he said; instead they were ready to bloom immediately.

Hennessey also stood firm and unique when he encouraged clients to leave the bugs in their yards alone. This was the late 1940s, a time when Americans believed in ‘better living through better chemistry.’ But Hennessey insisted that if they let the bad and beneficial insects fight it out, their gardens would soon achieve ecological balance.

A purifying horticultural battle may have appealed to the visionary contrarian, but his combative approach to life increasingly isolated him. He dismissed people and businesses whose horticultural practices he disliked. When editor and garden writer Katherine White mentioned Jackson & Perkins Nursery, which Hennessey called the “devil incarnate,” in a New Yorker article, Hennessey cut her from his mailing list. He and his wife Georgia divorced; his daughter moved away. By the 1960s, he became reclusive and refused to let clients pick up their roses in person. In the end, Hennessey died alone in an Oregon nursing home. Sad? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. He was alone with his love of the Queen of Flowers, for whom he had spent a lifetime battling. © - 2007 Aurelia C. Scott