Historical March 1988 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
I have a confession to make. No, this isn’t about wife beating or the fact that I wear a toupee.
This is something more serious. It’s been bothering me for some time now, and I feel a need to share my problem. You may learn more about me than you care to know, but I’m casting caution to the wind! Hear me out, dear reader and share my mighty burden. I’m a true believer in “literary osmosis.” I believe that by simply having books around me, somehow I’ll get smarter even if I don’t read them.
I know, I know, that sounds foolish and bizarre enough to have been uttered by Pat Robertson. It’s not as bad as praying away a hurricane or touching a forehead and curing cancer, but I believe it.
My problem started somewhere in my childhood. I guess, excluding acne, that’s where most problems start. I can distinctly remember being left to wander through the Southtown Famous-Barr book department while my mom shopped for whatever.
If you believe in Holy Water, then you know what I mean when I tell you that the air that surrounds a stack of books has a magical quality. Simply by breathing it you can increase your vocabulary. Somehow you even look smarter while standing among books.
After all, can you imagine Sylvester Stallone in a bookstore?
As a youngster I remember that a series of biographies were my favorite books. I don’t recall the publisher or even the details of the books, just that they were all printed with plain orange cloth covers. I used to go to the St. Louis Public Library, Carpenter Children’s Branch, but in the 7th grade I had read all of their books—those that interested me, anyway—and asked for permission to go to the Adult Section. Librarians being librarians, I was allowed to browse, but couldn’t check out the books until High School.
In High School I found the library a wonderful place to get books about coaching football to win and build character, alien beings who came to visit but not to stay, and why we were able to win World War II. I also found the library a great place to talk and play tag.
I was not, needless to say, a favorite of the librarians.
When I got a real job and received my first pay check, light years ago, I immediately began to subscribe to the host of magazines that I’d thumbed through since boyhood. What a shock to find that “Popular Mechanics” really wasn’t all that interesting when I received it on a regular basis. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that I’ve always regarded hammers as tools that could best be used to make straight nails bend in odd directions. Over the past number of years, I’ve subscribed to over fifty magazines and periodicals. I had a brief relationship with “Christian Science Monitor” and am long time friends with “Newsweek,” “Time,” and “Esquire.” Aside from the “Post” and “Wall Street Journal” and my professional publications (you can always tell the erudite journals because they have no pictures!), count me among those who receive “Atlantic,” “Harper’s,” “INC.,” “Personal Computer,” “The N.Y. Times Book Review,” “European Travel & Life,” “Money,” “Sports Illustrated,” and “Chess Life.” I’ve recently begun to subscribe to “Current,” “a reprint magazine, not limited by ideological bent, nor by any preconceived subject matter.,..” Honest, that’s what it says! Heck, I even read all of the throw-away newspapers. I never miss reading my column in “The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere!” The magazines arrive with a frequency that conveys a screaming immediacy: “READ ME NOW OR ELSE YOU’LL BE UNARMED AT THE NEXT COCKTAIL PARTY!” each timely cover seems to shout.
But books are different.
The books are more subtle and less demanding of a quick response.
The book jackets state with confidence: “PUT ME IN YOUR HOME AND YOU’LL BE SMARTER! BUY ME AND CULTURE IS YOURS!” Remember how your mom always told you to wear clean underwear in case you were hit by a truck and had to be rushed to the hospital emergency room? I’ve always felt that if I were going to be hit by the truck, I couldn’t imagine a better way to go than carrying a satchel of books. (Fade to flashing red lights, a siren, and a hospital emergency room in a major metropolitan area: I am being wheeled in on a stretcher, unconscious but showing no injury and resembling, as usual, Tom Selleck.
In my left hand, clutched to my breast, is a bulky white bag with “Left Bank Books” printed on it.) “Nurse, what’s wrong with this patient?” (The doctor looks like Robert Young and the nurse resembles…it’s my old librarian from the Carpenter Branch Library!) “Well, doctor, I’m not sure.
All I know is that he was was crossing this intersection and was hit by a truck.” “What’s that in the bag he’s holding, I wonder?” asks Dr. Young. “Why, why,” she asks with excitement, “is that a book in his satchel?” “Yes!” Dr. Young responds, “He’s carrying books that he’s just purchased. Quick, call the emergency response team. Anyone this intelligent and cultured deserves the best emergency care we can offer!” So now you know the sordid truth.
My home contains thousands of books and my study has more books than the shelves will allow. I’ve read some of them. Heck, I’ve read lots of them. But, if the truth be known, my percentage of owned-books-read to ownedbooks-unread is so low it makes Gary Hart look like a winning candidate.
My unread books could serve as fodder for dozens of literary clubs across the country. It’s a pretty impressive list: War and Peace (borrowed from Barrett and Polly); Hoopla; Thinking About Chaos; Bonfire of the Vanities; Indecent Exposure; Working; The Best and the Brightest (two copies!); Fight For City Living; The School in Question; Right Brain/Left Brain; Good Enough to Dream; Miracle at Philadelphia; Ntozake Shange; Mexico Set; four and one-half volumes of Winston Churchill’s account of World War II; Son of the Morning Star; Bandits; and on and on and on.
If the unread syllables on my shelves could each be turned into a grain of rice, my study could feed the world. It’s not bad having all these books waiting to be read.
After all, it demonstrates that I’m a man of many interests.
My problem is that even as I write, I’m planning to purchase more books.
A prudent soul would suggest that I wait to buy more books until I finish all that I already own. That makes a good deal of sense, but it creates a major danger. I never know when the truck will spin around the corner with my name on its hood, and if I’m not carrying newly-purchased books, how can I be assured of quality medical care? Oh well, I’ll see you at the bookstore. Does anyone know where I can take a speed reading course?
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, March 1988.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1988_03.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
