tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45040534929073156242024-03-19T00:14:13.573-04:00bookflapsmusings of a small-time book peddlerJim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-91106704635785150332013-09-22T14:56:00.000-04:002013-09-22T14:56:43.060-04:00Treasure<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>
-->
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
I was on my knees this past Tuesday
afternoon, painting (and cursing) an old bookcase that obstinately refused to
be anything close to useful. I happened to glance up and saw her standing
there, silently, watching me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
gone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
shop was closed. It always is on Tuesdays. But I had left the front door
unlocked, because you never know who is going to wander in. Obviously, today
was her day. She had let herself in and found me there, paint-spattered, on my
knees and gently damning this inoffensive piece of furniture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sunday
afternoon. He died in his sleep.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
let out a groan and got to my feet. I didn’t really know what to say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
were an older couple (“older” being a relative term as I close in on that realm
myself); maybe mid-80s. I don’t think I ever got their names. But they had been
coming into the shop on a more-or-less regular basis for two or three years
now. I’d see them every month or two. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was always he who bought the books. He’d walk around and look in several areas,
but he would always find his way to the same spot; the same books. He would
delve into our Treasure Chest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Treasure Chest is really just an old trunk that I found in one of the storage
rooms shortly after we took over the place. The handles are missing. What
hardware that is left on it is rusted. It certainly doesn’t lock ,and it really
is pretty well beat up. Its glory days are long past. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
For the first year
or two we were operating the store, I would drag it around, trying to find a
spot where it might fit. But nothing seemed to work. It wasn’t tall enough to
be a display stand. It was too rickety for a table of any sort. And while it
did have a certain texture and charm (as in, “I’ll-bet-that-was–really-something-in-
its-day” way), it was now, simply, in the way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
Until, that is, we
re-worked our paperback fiction area two years ago. Suddenly, and unexpectedly,
there was a spot. And! There was a function: older, series paperbacks. They
were the sort of paperbacks that few wanted; that wouldn’t command high dollars,
or any dollars at all actually. But we had a lot of them left over from the
previous owners.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0pjsMg9fAa-KMuDb9NiNXhD8UgLGHJ8eS8-pawvvpn-gKQRbxdofdx6uinkZ9yvOpe3-r1fV0KEvmBobjm1fmKANNGX4QPttA-bylfT-1uKaKbepI-LxBTLfjH1If7AWWMMylTVroA/s1600/chest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0pjsMg9fAa-KMuDb9NiNXhD8UgLGHJ8eS8-pawvvpn-gKQRbxdofdx6uinkZ9yvOpe3-r1fV0KEvmBobjm1fmKANNGX4QPttA-bylfT-1uKaKbepI-LxBTLfjH1If7AWWMMylTVroA/s320/chest.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Treasure Chest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
Don Pendelton’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Executioner</i> series (more than 700
individual titles so far), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Able Team, Phoenix
Force </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stoney Man</i>. Also the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nick Carter—Killmaster </i>series (250+
titles) and the like. The main characters are all clean cut, square-jawed and
handy with both guns and women. Mostly women. The books all contain plenty of
bad guys, too. But they’re pretty disposable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
probably had two hundred, or more, of these books when we took over. So we
tossed them all into that old trunk and slapped a sign on it, dubbing it our
“Treasure Chest.” All books found therein are 50¢. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
We don’t sell a
lot out of it, perhaps $5 or $6 a month on average. But its fun, and it fills a
niche. And it doesn’t eat much, so we keep it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wiped the paint from my hands and took a step closer to her, preparing to give
her a hug. But she wasn’t interested in that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, she wasn’t interested in me, or what
I had to say, at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
last group of books that he got here are still in the bag. They’re on his night
stand,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
just stood there and looked at her. I still hadn’t said anything.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
want to go to the Treasure Chest,” she said. “I want to visit with him there
for a minute.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
didn’t ask permission. She didn’t say another word. She just went back to the
Treasure Chest and spent some quality time there. I don’t think she was
interested in the books.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
little earlier tonight as I walked past, I noticed that our Treasure Chest is
starting to look a little empty. And that’s not right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
need to start looking for more of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Executioner</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s
important.</div>
Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com199tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-48265119712426726852013-01-03T21:58:00.000-05:002013-01-03T21:59:56.264-05:00Pistol Packin' Mama<style>@font-face {
font-family: "Times New Roman";
}@font-face {
font-family: "Georgia";
}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }a:link, span.MsoHyperlink { color: blue; text-decoration: underline; }a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed { color: purple; text-decoration: underline; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">My little cabinet of
historical insignificia grew this week with the addition of a piece of original
sheet music dating to 1943. This gem, <b><i>Pistol Packin’ Mama</i></b>, came into the shop via a new dealer. He just
started setting up his booth with the new year and, as I was taking a look see
at his wares this afternoon, this caught my eye. I knew the story, but I had
never seen the sheet music before today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’m fairly certain that
few remember the name of Al Dexter these days, and that’s a shame. He was a
bona fide American musical pioneer. Perhaps he’ll never rank with the likes of
Scott Joplin or Duke Ellington or Aaron Copeland, but in his own way and in his
own genre, he was just as important.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They called it “hillbilly”
music back then. Later the accepted term became Country & Western and now
it is just Country. Al Dexter was in at the beginning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Born Clarence Albert
Poindexter on May 4, 1902 in Jacksonville Texas, he started early, learning to
play guitar, banjo, organ, fiddle and mouth harp. He was also a singer
and a songwriter, and while still a teenager in the 1920s, he started playing a
circuit of dance halls and bars (and probably a few less polite places) in
those booming East Texas oil fields. Somewhere along the way, probably in the
early 1930s, he changed his name to Al Dexter and formed a band, the Texas
Troopers. They recorded their first records in 1934.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrTPUm6cVJPE6L45bfLOpb0Cdx1iABd6ohbUeGgAki229LHH2q_sGV0eJPOqH_gA3qlZGl7-S-k0eoO1G4kWP2PpNvm3m3DjY3g3fcQL38xz4HCFcAuoSSVG1bRxHSRHfBnUvsHgVWkw/s1600/mama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrTPUm6cVJPE6L45bfLOpb0Cdx1iABd6ohbUeGgAki229LHH2q_sGV0eJPOqH_gA3qlZGl7-S-k0eoO1G4kWP2PpNvm3m3DjY3g3fcQL38xz4HCFcAuoSSVG1bRxHSRHfBnUvsHgVWkw/s1600/mama.jpg" /></a>In 1937, he recorded a
tune he had written entitled <b><i>Honky Tonk Blues</i></b>. It was the first time the term had been used in a
song. Apparently the term had originated in Texas somewhere around the turn of
the century (no one is quite sure exactly where or when or in what context),
but Al was the first one to make it popular.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The story goes that Al had
made enough money from his recording to open his own Texas honky tonk and was
sitting there one evening when a young lady burst through the front door, gun
in hand, and started chasing her husband’s girlfriend (who happened to be one
of Al’s waitresses). Chased her right through a barbed-wire fence, apparently.
And this got Al to thinking: “How do you talk to an angry woman coming after
you with a pistol in her hand?" This is what he came up with… </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Drinkin' beer in a cabaret And I was
havin' fun!<br />
Until one night she caught me right, And now I'm on the run</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that
pistol down,<br />
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span msonormal="msonormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that
pistol down,<br />
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Drinkin' beer in a cabaret, And dancing
with a blonde,<br />
Until one night she shot out the light, Bang! That blonde was gone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that
pistol down,<br />
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I'll see you every night Babe, I'll woo
you every day,<br />
I'll be your regular Daddy, If you'll put that gun away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that
pistol down,<br />
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that
pistol down,<br />
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now down there was old Al Dexter, He
always had his fun,<br />
But with some lead. she shot him dead, His Honkin' days are done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That was late 1942. He recorded it in
February 1943, and the record sold some three million copies by the end of
1944. Also 200,000 copies of the sheet music (one of which lies on the table
before me). It was a #1 Country song. It was a #1 jukebox song. Bing Crosby and
the Andrews Sisters recorded a version of it later that year, and that too
became a Certified Gold Record, making it to the top of the Pop Charts. It
spawned a movie of the same name in 1944, and Dexter pulled in some $250,000 in
royalties from that (about $3.5-million in 2012 dollars). It is generally
credited with being one of the top 5 songs of the World War II era.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n64I3wCDG11dE8je_H861BA-oKsPaSG93oeFGscCiF2kigu2Do9rXC0rDuqDEXadZ1BSGBGreneyTL-x6PgAFqLlMVb8srAjKlD9Bw8gUin6WvZdBKBykcdnHncCSo6kbkHwni9gPA/s1600/button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n64I3wCDG11dE8je_H861BA-oKsPaSG93oeFGscCiF2kigu2Do9rXC0rDuqDEXadZ1BSGBGreneyTL-x6PgAFqLlMVb8srAjKlD9Bw8gUin6WvZdBKBykcdnHncCSo6kbkHwni9gPA/s1600/button.jpg" /></a> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Pistol Packin Mama</i></b> became a thing of pop culture beauty,
with references showing up everywhere from county fairs (on smart-alecky
buttons) to bomber nose art.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoUMxw63ZM9UcqmQlsExhnTYXTmtbz8gHiP0xeQgtrrwajQzFtR13wbzuJCLDlfaxGWFCrlpMojArs3kl-_ByZ90v6YaYKzd84YLyQOv_pCxVONXR-2BlrWRzTOae4GhGZxYnwJ8VmA/s1600/npmama2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoUMxw63ZM9UcqmQlsExhnTYXTmtbz8gHiP0xeQgtrrwajQzFtR13wbzuJCLDlfaxGWFCrlpMojArs3kl-_ByZ90v6YaYKzd84YLyQOv_pCxVONXR-2BlrWRzTOae4GhGZxYnwJ8VmA/s1600/npmama2.jpg" /></a> Al and his Texas Troopers
continued to record and play live shows in honky tonks (his own and others),
rodeos, nightclubs and theaters through the early 1950s. He opened another spot
in Dallas in 1952 and continued on there until his retirement. He died on
January 28, 1984.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The song (Al’s
version) plays on occasion in the shop when I put on a CD of World War II-era
tunes. So, the next time you’re poking around in here, cock an ear and you may
hear it. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLODU4d8vgE">Click here to
hear how it will sound.</a> Then, depending upon whom you’re wandering around
with, you may want to take a look around…just in case a 21<sup>st</sup> century
pistol packin’ mama decides to poke around too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-69314774975104331532011-11-13T11:01:00.009-05:002011-11-13T20:17:33.077-05:00Genuine Counterfeit Confederate Currency<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1;</style><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >It was the early days of the Civil War, March 1862. The public on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line, naturally enough, was hungry for any news about this upstart, self-proclaimed Confederate States of America. It seemed that they were actually serious, having elected a Congress and President, written a constitution, adopting a flag.</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;">They’d even started printing money!</span><br /><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Philadelphia Inquirer</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, one of the major newspapers of the day, was able to get its hands on one of the new bills that had made its way though the lines, and it printed an image of the new currency. This in itself was a rather big deal since newspapers didn’t usually contain images of any kind.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">You’d find them in the big weeklies out of New York—</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Leslie’s Illustrated</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> and </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Harper’s Weekly</span><span style="font-size:100%;">—but the daily papers as a rule didn’t carry illustrations. Each image had to be painstakingly engraved and that was a big deal since it took both time and money (actual photographs wouldn’t begin to appear in daily papers for another 60 years or so).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" face="georgia"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="georgia"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So when the image of this new Confederate currency hit the streets it was a bit of a sensation from several points of view. That edition sold out almost immediately.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">All this came to the notice of one of Philadelphia’s merchants/entrepreneurs. Samuel Curtis Upham (February 2, 1819-June 29, 1885) owned and ran a successful shop on Chestnut Street,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaH_udQHaISQD2YeOE59L1jJ9U13872Y1DFckwgZOljunCKaoM0bEqdKZoSdEK0K1z5yBUeWHMIddA-g6xDJ1xTFx5hYQYk4N-QP-hXiNyvwXaUug6g9szliso8zo5I6_hM_D_-3tmQ/s1600/Upham.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaH_udQHaISQD2YeOE59L1jJ9U13872Y1DFckwgZOljunCKaoM0bEqdKZoSdEK0K1z5yBUeWHMIddA-g6xDJ1xTFx5hYQYk4N-QP-hXiNyvwXaUug6g9szliso8zo5I6_hM_D_-3tmQ/s320/Upham.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674649402107055650" border="0" /></a> selling stationery and toiletries. He produced and sold his own patent medicines (“Upham’s Pimple Banisher”) for example. And he was doing well with patriotic envelopes, too. Each of these would carry a political cartoon that would ridicule Jefferson Davis or some facet of these new Confederate States, or would be emblazoned with eagles and shields, or the likeness of Columbia.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The story about the new money got him to thinking. So he paid a call upon the editorial offices of the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Inquirer</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> and purchased the plates used to print the image of the new currency.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">And he went into the counterfeiting business.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He didn’t call his paper counterfeit, of course. Counterfeiting was illegal. He added a line to the bottom of the notes: “Fac-similie </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >(sic)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Confederate Notes Sold, Wholesale and Retail. By S.C. Upham, 403 Chestnut Street, Phila.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">The first batch was of a $5 note, and these were sold for a penny each. They were to be viewed as novelties; something fun.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">“Mementos of the Rebellion” is how Upham referred to them in his advertisements in the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >New York Tribune</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> and </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Harper’s Weekly</span><span style="font-size:100%;">.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Other entrepreneurs got in on the fun. By simply clipping off the “fac-similie” bit, Upham’s notes were virtually indistinguishable from the real thing. Cotton speculators started passing them as real. And they were being accepted in the South.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Upham was onto something. He expanded his offerings to include other denominations and eventually Confederate postage stamps.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">By the end of the war, he had printed nearly $15-million in fake Confederate currency (equal to about 3% of the entire CSA money supply).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He produced a quality product. In fact, many of his notes were better than the authentic ones. His paper was better. And he had access to engravers more highly skilled than the ones employed by the Confederacy. There are stories of how Southrons, when confronted with both legitimate and counterfeit bills would accept the counterfeits just because they looked more real than the genuine articles.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">This came to the attention of officials in Richmond. Secretary of the Treasury Christopher Memminger wrote to Vice President Alexander Stephens, in August 1862, of the growing number of counterfeit bills in circulation and “the fact that they are publicly advertised for sale at the North proves the connivance at least, and probably the complicity, of the Government.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">President Jefferson Davis apparently shared this view.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">In fact, there is no hard evidence to suggest that the Federal government in Washington had anything to do with the scheme.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">It seems that this was entirely one more example of Yankee ingenuity’s working to make a buck…as it were.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Of course it must be allowed that there are ample anecdotal accounts of Lincoln’s Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase, winking at the entire enterprise.</span></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The great Congress of the Confederacy was not amused, and passed a law imposing a sentence of death upon convicted counterfeiters.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Upham claimed that same Congress put a price of $10,000 on his head, dead or alive.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">After the war, he bragged "During the publication of those facsimile notes I was the 'best abused man' in the Union. Senator Foote, in a speech before the rebel Congress, at Richmond, in 1862, said I had done more to injure the Confederate cause than General McClellan and his army..."</span></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Other printers in the North, seeing Upham’s success, also started issuing “fac-similies.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">The increased supply, coupled with the collapsing Confederate economy, pretty much killed the business. The price that could be commanded for the notes fell through the floor, and there just wasn’t the demand any longer.</span></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"> </p><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Now we fast-forward 150 years…to this past Friday morning, to be exact. A gentleman walked into my shop, looking to sell two pieces of what he claimed to be Confederate currency. Holding the notes in my hand, something didn’t seem quite right.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > I am far, far from an expert on such matters, but </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >my “Spidey-sense” was tingling here.</span><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">At first blush, they appeared right. They "felt" old, and didn't appear to be modern reproductions. But. They were printed on very good paper; better stock than I had seen before with Confederate money. Next, the engraving was highly detailed and of a better quality than on other pieces I had had. And finally, when examined under a magnifying glass, it appeared that the signatures had been printed, rather than hand-signed (as was the practice at the time). Ditto, the serial numbers. These just weren't passing my initial smell test.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe1JetuMJKWAJ7A8KHgGWCgtBGRCktqKVahdUfGsgp17_w_wLOrLyYNYuFomrrRTICLndsON-xo7N02MGyI-wBGV4kkgD57bl6eK-CxIVmg1Q8zDzI6MRKhnaSXJGS8q-sKn-P5DRGQ/s1600/counterfeit.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe1JetuMJKWAJ7A8KHgGWCgtBGRCktqKVahdUfGsgp17_w_wLOrLyYNYuFomrrRTICLndsON-xo7N02MGyI-wBGV4kkgD57bl6eK-CxIVmg1Q8zDzI6MRKhnaSXJGS8q-sKn-P5DRGQ/s320/counterfeit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674515158078392594" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Out of curiosity, I asked how he had gotten them and he told me a story about getting them earlier in the week “from some guy in a bar.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Obviously not a lot of provenance there.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">With his permission, I held onto the bills to do a little research. After a couple of hours poking around various websites, I had an answer. It turns out that these were Upham bills.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Genuine counterfeit Confederate currency.</span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">They are worthless in terms of legal tender, of course. But that was never Mr. Upham's stated intent. He was looking to produce “mementos of the Rebellion.” And as such, they hold up rather nicely.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">To collectors they actually have just a little more value than authentic Confederate currency.<br /></span></p>Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-23528720802478189352011-05-04T12:06:00.006-04:002011-05-05T08:46:01.338-04:00Heros among us.He had a life. He had a wife. Most of that is gone now. But, by God, he still has that piece of shrapnel.<br /><br />The call came late last week: an estate here in York. The gentleman was getting ready to downsize his housekeeping. He thought it was about time. He is 91 now; his bride of 63 years passed in January. The house is much more than he needs; he’s planning on an assisted living facility. Would I be interested in his books, and perhaps some of his stuff? The appointment was made, and I turned up on time and ready to go yesterday morning.<br /><br />Some books in the living room; more in the attic.<br /><br />I followed him up the stairs. It was hard watching him. He has a leg brace these days and he’s obviously lost a step or two from his prime.<br /><br />When we got to the attic, he mentioned that he had a locker of clothing. I wasn’t too interested, but I took a look to be polite.<br /><br />It wasn’t just clothing. It was full of uniforms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvG4_aeP3fL9t9RDX_sGpy4Swk0Wi2q3q3aQNlQO4FiFXPJ03MsVNzFPB9YJlRmDiQfBMnelChF1K3YKr90bsJsQ7VzokUZCH-Is6nlUPD4eysNupFPbP_XZ8dGbJncug5sDI-rE0XHA/s1600/grouping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvG4_aeP3fL9t9RDX_sGpy4Swk0Wi2q3q3aQNlQO4FiFXPJ03MsVNzFPB9YJlRmDiQfBMnelChF1K3YKr90bsJsQ7VzokUZCH-Is6nlUPD4eysNupFPbP_XZ8dGbJncug5sDI-rE0XHA/s320/grouping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602893473958369138" border="0" /></a>. His uniforms. From World War II. He had been of the 4th Marine Division.<br /><br />The 4th Marines took Roi-Namur, Saipan, Tinian and Iwo Jima. By the end of the war, they had also taken an almost incredible number of casualties: 2,774 killed in action; 524 died of wounds sustained in battle; 14,424 wounded. This out of a peak strength of 19,709. Do the math; that's a 89.5% casualty rate. These were some of the guys who won World War II.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He</span> was one of the guys who won World War II.<br /><br />He landed on Iwo Jima in the third wave. That island, one of the bloodiest in the Pacific, was little more than a big pile of volcanic ash. You’d sink up to your boot laces with each step. The tanks were bogged down on the “beach” because even their treads couldn’t negotiate the stuff. It was hard slogging. The Japanese were dug in and cut off, so they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by dying for their Emperor.<br /><br />The locker contained several uniforms, including his dress blues. There were belts and ties. His ribbons. Cover (that’s Marine lingo for “hats”) of several descriptions. And several boxes of papers and mementos. Everything was in pristine condition. Those uniforms had been dry cleaned before being carefully put away. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that these pieces of history could have been issued to a raw recruit yesterday.<br /><br />In one envelope was a notice of his promotion to Staff Sergeant, along with his discharge papers.<br /><br />“I’ll just throw that out,” he said.<br /><br />“No sir,” I replied. “I don’t think so.”<br /><br />One box contained souvenirs: a piece of a downed Japanese Zero, Japanese currency and coins, captured books and personal effects (photographs, a toothbrush, postcards from the Japanese homeland). A banner of the Japanese Marines.<br /><br />I took it all.<br /><br />Later, after the car had been loaded, we sat over a cup of coffee in his kitchen and he told me stories.<br /><br />One of the worst parts of the battle, he said, came each evening just at sundown. The Japanese would shell the 4th Marines with antipersonnel bombs. These were nasty things that were primed to explode right over your head and spit shrapnel--jagged pieces of metal,glowing red hot, and moving faster than the eye could follow. If you happened to get in the way and were hit you in the wrong place, you’d be dead instantly.<br /><br />The guys in his outfit would dig a shallow hole in the ash, jump in and cover it over with just a piece of canvas for protection. You couldn’t dig too deep because if you did you wouldn't be able to breathe with the sulfur coming up out of the ground.<br /><br />On this one particular night, a shell burst overhead. It killed a man standing next to his hole. But our guy managed to get under what passed for cover in time. Even so, shrapnel pierced his canvas and hit him in the foot. It didn’t pierce his boot, but it left one hell of a bruise.<br /><br />“I kept that piece of shrapnel as a souvenir; kind of a good luck piece,” he told me. “It was about the size of a half-dollar. I wish I knew whatever became of it.”<br /><br />When I returned to the shop late in the day, I began to explore the various pieces and to paw through the boxes. More papers; more photographs. More artifacts.<br /><br />And, in the last box, a piece of shrapnel.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3RmsrChtUgb6XcGptfpzN0juAlRIyCy7voELj7qvkM3vetPp-myO6H9eWZay8Eb82lTmbp6Fb6D0OHiBr_hI4zy6m58sKZveehidqc_xHYZKQxEZelNfug8ia8d-o8kHog-wfmYYRg/s1600/shrapnel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3RmsrChtUgb6XcGptfpzN0juAlRIyCy7voELj7qvkM3vetPp-myO6H9eWZay8Eb82lTmbp6Fb6D0OHiBr_hI4zy6m58sKZveehidqc_xHYZKQxEZelNfug8ia8d-o8kHog-wfmYYRg/s320/shrapnel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602898123748720418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I called him this morning. He hasn’t yet left for his new home. I made another appointment to visit him again tonight.<br /><br />He had a life. He had a wife. Most of that is gone now. But tonight, by God, he will have that shrapnel.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-40088266576665597892011-04-13T14:25:00.004-04:002011-04-13T15:19:14.941-04:00The York Book and Paper FairThe Spring ’11 <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.yorkbookandpaper.com/">York Book and Paper Fair</a> takes place next weekend and I’m looking forward to poking around a bit. I always seem to find interesting things there.<br /><br />Our book fair here in York started in the fall of 1984, and has been running continually—twice each year—since then. That makes this the 55th edition. It also makes it one of the longest running book fairs in this part of the country.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQIfQJ2Cf5ZZBVbtRyuPXAkTOhS8nQXhfd-vNwppbCe7mUo6Y_60p6eTIjSskyoYPvXIw7cHqLlcCFCxrmcAgKuMLM_CzaJZ4u1xxavlQ-yPQAotSQZfyXUsoq5cDKxvAsLpYss3jMA/s1600/YB%2526PF.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQIfQJ2Cf5ZZBVbtRyuPXAkTOhS8nQXhfd-vNwppbCe7mUo6Y_60p6eTIjSskyoYPvXIw7cHqLlcCFCxrmcAgKuMLM_CzaJZ4u1xxavlQ-yPQAotSQZfyXUsoq5cDKxvAsLpYss3jMA/s320/YB%2526PF.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595139442528788466" border="0" /></a><br />Now, it isn’t the largest fair, to the sure. Nor is it star-studded, with lots of big name authors and special presentations from publishers. We don’t have the First Lady involved, like they do in Washington, DC. We don’t give out awards for best novels or for lifetime achievements. There are no roped-off areas or V.I.P. passes required to get into the “special” rooms.<br /><br />(Although, to be candid, we did try to get Nora Roberts to attend since she doesn’t live too far away. After a number of invites, her people got back to us and told us that Ms. Roberts was aware of our little fair and really liked the idea of it and, if she were ever going to do one, ours would be the one she would do. But. She’s never going to do another one. So that makes us THE Number One Thing That Nora Roberts Is Never Going To Do. And that’s a distinction of sorts, I guess. But, I digress…)<br /><br />We don’t go in for all that highfalutin celebrity and off-limits stuff here. All that is fine in its place, of course. If they want to do that in New York we invite them to go right ahead. But this isn’t the place; this isn’t New York. This is York. And this is the YORK Book and Paper Fair. It is just us, doing what we like to do: books.<br /><br />We like to talk about them. We like to discover new authors or forgotten works by favorite authors. We like to sift through the older tomes, admiring bindings and layouts and typographic styles. We like to compare editions and dust jackets. We like the ephemera; the colors and the artwork.<br /><br />We like to rub shoulders with other bibliophiles as we walk the aisles. We want to see what they’re reading, and we want to admire the treasures they’ve discovered this day; to share their enthusiasm for a new quest. And, frankly, we want to brag and show off a bit with the things we’ve managed to uncover.<br /><br />We like to talk to the dealers, since they’re the ones who <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> know. What are they seeing at other fairs? What are the trends? What news from the front lines of the book world? (Not the hype and PR and stuff we get in the papers and online journals, but the real story.) Are e-books really taking over? Will there still be room for us luddites, who prefer reading paper to electrons?<br /><br />And…what have you got hidden under the table? Anything special for me?<br /><br />And we like the haggling. (“Well, on a good day and in the right place, that book probably <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> worth $75. But I’ve got fifty dollars cash money in my hand right now…”)<br /><br />But most of all, we like the books. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=44189629010&aid=238428">We like walking into the dealer display rooms</a> and just standing there for a minute looking around at all the dealers, all the displays. The colors; the embossings; the foxings.<br /><br />The books! All the books! Hundreds…thousands of them! Some are old friends. Some are new and unknown to us; perhaps destined to be new friends.<br /><br />And every one of them, it seems, is calling to us.<br /><br />Leather-bound, from the 18th and 19th centuries. Signed, 1st editions (“Really? Richard Nixon?”). Vintage paperbacks (“How many ways could they show a naked woman without really <span style="font-style: italic;">showing</span> a naked woman?”). Pulp magazines with first appearances of a favorite author’s short stories (“That one’s got H.P. Lovecraft in it!”). Collected works. Obscure works (“<span style="font-style: italic;">Tarzan and the Ant Men</span>! With a dust jacket!”). Limited editions. Spoken word (“Jack Kerouac doing a <span style="font-style: italic;">live</span> reading?”).<br /><br />Is that a real Steinbeck autograph? Did Erle Stanley Gardner really write that letter? That Jimmi Hendrix record, the first-pressing from Germany, is still in the shrink-wrap! Did you see that neat, old set of bookends down there…must be from the 50s!<br /><br />Yeah…this is the York Book and Paper Fair. <a href="http://www.yorkbookandpaper.com/coupon/coupon.html">I’ve got my coupon</a>. I can’t wait!<br /><br />There are a couple of tables that I am looking forward to looking under.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com332tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-74996978579769378642011-04-10T10:34:00.007-04:002011-04-10T17:28:13.150-04:00A Flappers' Dictionary<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Sect</style><span style="font-size:100%;">Hidden deep within a box of materials that came into the shop this week was a short stack of old magazines.<span style=""> </span>I’d never seen this title before, but I knew what it was just as soon as I saw it:<span style=""> </span><b><i>Flapper</i></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEZz_Hlh0r1QZviyqsjEDZ0pc3c0qRJBn2RoSQLvYf3bFwuW0sJO9j7B-vJznXzQjj7iuNmottorSGWsZ8vNs1PgkoxfVgH_07K0cgsfhmlWBvfL95c4Bs-OjIhFK6i-_wrZU7a9YTA/s1600/Flapper01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEZz_Hlh0r1QZviyqsjEDZ0pc3c0qRJBn2RoSQLvYf3bFwuW0sJO9j7B-vJznXzQjj7iuNmottorSGWsZ8vNs1PgkoxfVgH_07K0cgsfhmlWBvfL95c4Bs-OjIhFK6i-_wrZU7a9YTA/s320/Flapper01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593964780534609666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">“Not for Old Fogies” said the masthead, but I took a look anyway. These were in beau</span><span style="font-size:100%;">tiful condition (“Near Mint” is the technical term) and were just a lot of fun to page through.</span><div> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">During the Roaring 20s of the last century, young ladies took on a new, and for the time radical, lifestyle. These were the years following World War I and prior to The Great Depression. It was the jazz age and the ladies were taking fu</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ll advantage in daring new ways.<span style=""> </span>Illegal bootleg hooch was all the rage, with hide-away flasks an important fashion accessory.<span style=""> </span>Smoking cigarettes became a statement of liberation.<span style=""> </span>Hemlines were going up and, according to some, morals were going down.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style=""> </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">It was all a reaction to what women perceived as stifling control placed over them by the male of the species. This magazine ca</span><span style="font-size:100%;">tered to the movement.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The July 1922 edition of <b><i>Flapper</i></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> contained “<span style="font-style: italic;">A Flappers’ Dictionary</span>.”<span style=""> </span>According to the uncredited author, “A Flapper is one with a jitney body and a limousine mind. The Shifter is a new species who flaunts as his banner, “Something for nothing and</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> then very little.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“The flapper movement is not a craze, but something that will stay,” the author maintained.<span style=""> </span>“Many of the phrases now employed by members of this order will eventually find a way into common usage and be accepted as good English.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The dictionary went into some detail, listing the group’s slang and providing definitions. In the process, it also provided an insight: through the slang we can begin to discern attitudes and priorities and the mindset of the adherents. And the adherents, after all, were our grandmothers and great-grandmothers.<span style=""> </span>Who knew?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style=""> </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">My P,LSB*, ready and eager to join the movement, was amused by the term “<i>Father Time</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">” and couldn’t help but notice that it applied to one of us at the dinner table.<span style=""> </span>And that was fine, until I pointed out that “<i>Rock of Ages</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">” might also have a present application.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">So, whether you be <i>airedale</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> or <i>biscuit, </i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">put down your <i>dincher </i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">and pretend your <i>munitions</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> are fine for the moment.<span style=""> </span>The <i>whangdoodle</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> is on in the background and you’re more <i>weed</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> than <i>crepe hanger</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">.<span style=""> </span>This ain’t <i>static</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">; this is pure <i>Di Mi</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. So pay attention; we don't want no<span style="font-style: italic;"> klucks</span>. And you may be <span style="font-style: italic;">edisoned</span> later.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Absent Treatment</span>—Dancing with a bashful partner.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Airedale</span>—A homely man.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Alarm Clock</span>—Chaperone.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Anchor</span>—Box of flowers.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Apple Knocker</span>—A hick; a hay-shaker.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Apple Sauce</span>--Flattery; bunk.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Barlow</span>—A girl, a flapper, a chicken.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bank’s Closed</span>—No petting allowed; no kisses.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Barneymugging</span>—Lovemaking.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bee’s Knees</span>—See “Cat’s Pajamas”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bell Polisher</span>—A young man addicted to lingering in vestibules at 1 a.m.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bean Picker</span>—One who patches up trouble and picks up spilled beans.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Berry Patch</span>—A man’s particular interest in a girl.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Berries</span>—Great.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Biscuit</span>—A pettable flapper.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Big Timer</span>—(n. masc.)—A charmer able to convince his sweetie that a jollier thing would be to get a snack in an armchair lunchroom; a romantic.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Billboard</span>—Flashy man or woman.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Blushing Violet</span>—A publicity hound.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Blouse</span>—To go.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Blow</span>—Wild party.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Blaah</span>—No good.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Boob Tickler</span>—Girl who entertains father’s out-of-town customers.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Brush Ap</span>e—Anyone from the sticks; a country Jake.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Brooks</span>y—Classy dresser</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bust</span>—A man who makes his living in the prize ring, a pugilist.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bun Duster</span>—See “Cake Eater”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bush Hounds</span>—Rustics and others outside of the Flapper pale.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cancelled Stamp</span>—A wallflower.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cake Basket</span>—A limousine.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cake Eater</span>—See “Crumb Gobbler”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cat’s Particulars</span>—The acme of perfection; anything that’s good</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cat’s Pajamas</span>—Anything that’s good</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cellar Smeller</span>—A young man who always turns up where liquor is to be had without cost.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Clothesline</span>—One who tells neighborhood secrets.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Corn Shredder</span>—Young man who dances on a girl’s feet.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Crepe Hanger</span>—Reformer.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Crumb Gobbler</span>—Slightly sissy tea hound.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Crasher</span>—Anyone who comes to parties uninvited.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Crashing Party</span>—Party where several young men in a group go uninvited.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cuddle Cootie</span>—Young man who takes a girl for a ride on a bus, gas wagon or automobile.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cuddler</span>—One who likes petting.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dapper</span>—A flapper’s father.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dewdropper</span>—Young man who does not work, and sleeps all day.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dincher</span>—A half-smoked cigarette.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dingle Dangler</span>—One who insists on telephoning.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dipe Ducat</span>—A subway ticket.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dimbox</span>—A taxicab.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Di Mi</span>—Goodness.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dogs</span>—Feet.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dog Kennels</span>—Pair of shoes.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dropping the Pilot</span>—Getting a divorce.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dumbdora</span>—Stupid girl.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Duck’s Quack</span>—The best thing ever.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ducky</span>—General term of approbation.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dud</span>—Wallflower.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dudding Up</span>—Dressing.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dumbbell</span>-Wall flower with little brains.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dumkuff</span>—General term for being “nutty” or “batty”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Edisoned</span>—Being asked a lot of questions.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Egg Harbor</span>—Free dance.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Embalmer</span>—A bootlegger.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Eye Opener</span>—A marriage.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Father Time</span>—Any man over 30 years of age.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Face Stretcher</span>—Old maid who tries to look younger.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Feathers</span>—Light conversation.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Fire Extinguisher</span>—A chaperone.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Finale Hopper</span>—Young man who arrives after everything is paid for.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Fire Alarm</span>—Divorced woman.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Fire Bell</span>—Married woman.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Flap</span>—Girl</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Flat Shoes</span>—Fight between a Flapper and her Goof</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Fluky</span>—Funny, odd, peculiar; different.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Flatwheeler</span>—Slat shy of money; takes girls to free affairs.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Floorflusher</span>—Inveterate dance hound.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Flour Lover</span>—Girl who powders too freely.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Forty-Niner</span>—Man who is prospecting for a rich wife.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Frog’s Eyebrows</span>—Nice, fine.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Gander</span>—Process of duding up.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Green Glorious</span>—Money and checks.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Gimlet</span>—A chronic bore.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Given the Air</span>—When a girl or fellow is thrown down on a date.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Give Your Knee</span>—Cheek-to-cheek or toe-to-toe dancing.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Goofy</span>—To be in love with, or attracted to.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Example: “I’m goofy about Jack.”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Goat’s Whiskers</span>—See “Cat’s Particulars”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Goof</span>—Sweetie.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Grummy</span>—In the dumps, shades or blue.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Grubber</span>—One who always borrows cigarettes.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Handcuff</span>—Engagement ring.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hen Coop</span>—A beauty parlor.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">His Blue Serge</span>—His sweetheart.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Highjohn</span>—Young man friend; sweetie, cutey, highboy.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hopper</span>—Dancer.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Houdini</span>—To be on time for a date.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Horse Prancer</span>—See “Corn Shredder”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hush Money</span>—Allowance from father.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Jane</span>—A girl who meets you on the stoop.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Johnnie Walker</span>—Guy who never hires a cab.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Kitten’s Ankles</span>—See “Cat’s Particulars”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Kluck</span>—Dumb, but happy.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lap</span>—Drink.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lallygagger</span>—A young man addicted to attempts at hallway spooning.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lens Louise</span>—A person given to monopolizing conversation.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lemon Squeezer</span>—An elevator.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Low Lid</span>—The opposite of highbrow.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Money</span>—Carfare home if she has a fight with her escort.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Meringue</span>—Personality.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Monkey’s Eyebrows</span>—See “Cat’s Particulars”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Monog</span>—A young person of either sex who is goofy about only one person at a time.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Monologist</span>—Young man who hates to talk about himself.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mustard Plaster</span>—Unwelcome guy who sticks around.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Munitions</span>—Face powder and rouge.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mug</span>—To osculate or kiss.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Necker</span>—A petter who puts her arms around a boy’s neck.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Noodle Juice</span>—Tea.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Nosebaggery</span>—Restaurant.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Nut Cracker</span>—Policeman’s nightstick.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Obituary Notice</span>—Dunning letter.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oilcan</span>—An imposter.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Orchid</span>—Anything that is expensive.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Out on Parole</span>—A person who has been divorced.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Petting Pantry</span>—Movie.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Petting Party</span>—A party devoted to hugging.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Petter</span>—A loveable person; one who enjoys to caress.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Pillow Case</span>—Young man who is full of feathers.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Police Dog</span>—Young man to whom one is engaged.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Potato</span>—A young man shy of brains.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ritzy Burg</span>—Not classy.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ritz</span>—Stuck-up.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Rock of Ages</span>—Any woman over 30 years of age.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Rug Hopper</span>—Young man who never takes a girl out. A parlor hound.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sap</span>—A Flapper term for floorflusher.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Scandal</span>—A short term for Scandal Walk.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Scandaler</span>—A dance floor fullback. The interior of a dreadnaught hat, Piccadilly shoes with open plumbing, size 13.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Seetie</span>—Anybody a flapper hates.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sharpshooter</span>—One who spends much and dances well.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Shifter</span>—Another species of flapper.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Show Case</span>—Rich man’s wife with jewels.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sip</span>—Flapper term for female Hopper.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Slat</span>—See “Highjohn”; “Goof”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Slimp</span>—Cheapskate or “one way guy”.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Smith Brothers</span>—Guys who never cough up.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Smoke Eater</span>—A girl cigarette user.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Smooth</span>—Guy who does not keep his word.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Snake</span>—To call a victim with vampire arms.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Snuggleup</span>—A man fond of petting and petting parties.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sod Buster</span>—An undertaker.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Stilts</span>—Legs.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Stander</span>—Victim of a female grafter.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Static</span>—Conversations that mean nothing.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Strike Breaker</span>—A young woman who goes with her friend’s “Steady” while there is a coolness.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Swan</span>—Glide gracefully.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Tomato</span>—A young woman shy of brains.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Trotzky</span> (sic)—Old lady with a moustache and chin whiskers.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Umbrella</span>—young man any girl can borrow for the evening.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Urban Set</span>—Her new gown.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Walk In</span>—Young man who goes to a party without being invited.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Weasel</span>—Girl stealer.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Weed</span>—Flapper who takes risks.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Weeping Willow</span>—See “Crepe Hanger”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Whangdoodle</span>—Jazz-band music.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Whiskbroom</span>—Any man who wears whiskers.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Wind Sucker</span>—Any person given to boasting.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Wurp</span>—Killjoy or drawback.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">*P,LSB = Poor, Long-Suffering Bride</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p>Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com766tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-37947999315304335482011-03-06T10:50:00.004-05:002011-03-06T11:03:49.910-05:00Tijuana BiblesOne guy I know found a stack of them, when he was cleaning out his father’s estate, locked up in a case with the hunting rifles. They’ve also been known to inhabit old, nondescript cardboard boxes behind the oil cans on the top shelf in the back of the garage. Or in a far, dusty corner of the attic under a stack of grandpa’s high school papers or hidden between the pages of his text books.<br /><br />They were naughty. They were graphic and gloriously unsophisticated. And they certainly weren’t subtle; nothing was left to the imagination.<br /><br />They were the “Tijuana Bibles.” Dirty…really dirty…little comic books, often featuring movie stars (The Marx Brothers, WC Fields, Greta Garbo, William Powell, Cary Grant) or<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5hCL6yoc-5OrK6K-DOvBOqid9VzZ9Mwc4faJRt_U28fhrMZTSxJVDLpLdRjGDu0gxtTEK-S4YlnayQarUEj_RWHt41YyCMnVcds5MqBIqRFAYWl3qmzqlotKeH8mkObuezPg2Se0eQ/s1600/Bibles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5hCL6yoc-5OrK6K-DOvBOqid9VzZ9Mwc4faJRt_U28fhrMZTSxJVDLpLdRjGDu0gxtTEK-S4YlnayQarUEj_RWHt41YyCMnVcds5MqBIqRFAYWl3qmzqlotKeH8mkObuezPg2Se0eQ/s320/Bibles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580995318021407378" border="0" /></a> characters from the daily comic strips (Moon Mullins, Mutt & Jeff, Mickey Mouse, Blondie and Dagwood) and placing them in, shall we say, compromising positions and mouthing dialog that would make a sailor proud. If clothing was depicted, pants would be around the ankles and dresses would be flapping in the breeze.<br /><br />The subject was sex. And we’re not talking about sly innuendo here. The <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Kama Sutra</span> would have been a good guide for the artists.<br /><br />They were totally unauthorized of course. Copyrights and good taste were violated left and right. And there was nothing about them that was remotely legal.<br /><br />Sometimes called “8 pagers”, each was roughly 4” wide by 3” high, with a single staple near the left spine holding it all together. They contained crudely drawn black and white line art, printed (often poorly) one panel per page, on cheap white paper. The covers were heavier weight, colored paper, usually displaying an illustration and suggestive title.<br /><br />The art wasn’t very good. The spelling was atrocious. The printing was haphazard; nothing was quite square and the ink coverage was spotty. But none of that mattered since these weren’t the kind of publications you’d use as decorating pieces on the living room coffee table. If you were interested in reading one, you could figure out what was going on.<br /><br />The jokes (more along the lines of wise cracks than fully-developed gags) were pretty lame. And they were chock full of racist stereotypes and now-dated cultural references.<br /><br />In an earlier day and age, long before there was an internet or eve<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlIRZIJSi6KBPymkRsG5qnzj3bUe9z55On_RJlisZYMDfkyTTHM5_COX9gSxKpoyfMlOOfOzDPrd3wQI2E-p6PN7Brbx4xs_pgUZ8gTvJOueiSLpA5LO8QRbKdfcLteqrdrptjcuD2w/s1600/Bible+page.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlIRZIJSi6KBPymkRsG5qnzj3bUe9z55On_RJlisZYMDfkyTTHM5_COX9gSxKpoyfMlOOfOzDPrd3wQI2E-p6PN7Brbx4xs_pgUZ8gTvJOueiSLpA5LO8QRbKdfcLteqrdrptjcuD2w/s320/Bible+page.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580995676781608194" border="0" /></a>n before <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Playboy</span> took hold, they were about as smutty as it got. They were the stuff of snickering adolescent boys, handed around in the schoolyard or in locker rooms. And they were a pretty big deal in their day.<br /><br />They were sold under the counter. Or, perhaps, in barber shops and bars. Out of the trunks of cars or from deep pockets near the entrance to a back alley. (“Pssst. Hey buddy, you want some…”) Cost ranged from 25¢ to a buck or two, depending upon what the traffic would bear.<br /><br />There isn’t a lot of good historical information about them. For obvious reasons, the publishers, artists and writers were anonymous (hiding behind absolutely outrageous monikers like “Payne N. Theass” and “Aiken Forett”) and if careful records were kept (doubtful) no one knows what happened to the data.<br /><br />So, we don’t know who or how many publishers there were. We’re not exactly sure how many titles were published (somewhere around 800 have been <a href="http://www.tijuanabible.org/">catalogued</a>), nor what the print runs were for each.<br /><br />The first 8-pagers seem to have appeared sometime in the late 1920s, and they hit their stride in the 30s and 40s. New titles continued to appear during the 50s and even into the early 1960s, but the run was pretty much over by that time.<br /><br />There is some anecdotal evidence to suggest they were a product of organized crime, compiled as an "after hours" project in otherwise legitimate print shops. It was the Great Depression after all, and anything to keep the printing presses moving…<br /><br />What we do know is that they were some of the earliest comic books produced for mass distribution.<br /><br />The first comic books were compilations of previously published material. A group of strips that had already run in the daily papers would be gathered together and published as stand-alone books. The Tijuana Bibles appeared shortly thereafter, and were probably the first examples of original comic material created for publication.<br /><br />As such, they are worthy of at least a footnote in publishing history. No, they don’t rank with the Gutenberg Bible as a cultural milestone. But they are an important piece of Americana; a snapshot of mid-century gutter sensibilities.<br /><br />From that point of view at least, they make for interesting reading (although small, measured doses are best). They do provide a glimpse into a different world. All in the name of sociological and historical research, of course.<br /><br />I happen to have a pile of them in the shop, and I am not quite sure how to market them since I keep them under the counter.<br /><br />Still, I don’t think they will be hanging around too long. I have a pretty good idea of who my customers are. And I think there may be a few who would be interested.<br /><br />I may just have to saddle up next to one, over by the coffee pot: “Pssst! Hey, buddy…”Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com152tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-65370604681935534072011-02-22T13:20:00.007-05:002011-02-22T16:08:57.077-05:00When the genie is out of the bottle...Shortly after having moved to York and assuming operations of <a href="http://www.theyorkemporium.com/">The York Emporium</a>, I was back in DC having lunch with an old client. The conversation was taking a variety of paths, as such things do, when we turned to plans for the shop.<br /><br />He wanted to know if there was a list of some sort that detailed which titles we weren’t allowed to stock.<br /><br />I was confused by the question. A “list”? “Allowed to stock”?<br /><br />This gentleman is a very intelligent man. Russian by birth, he had been a member of the Diplomatic Corps of the former Soviet Union. He was now a permanent resident of the United States and was making his way through our society. But he was still looking at books through the prism of a controlled society.<br /><br />I assured him that there was no such “list”, and that I would stock all manner of titles...pretty much anything I damned well pleased.<br /><br />He was absolutely incredulous. And I don’t know which of us was more <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOpfOBpHbjOxD4-48S8qyygdxWzTJRSWq5egTHnLD3NjTQfRfYxrUsofeqbLUj-RkXHthg9v8fnF7OVZltchiuLCGKwdQV1W9x2HFBvSCsxwp-FsC4aS1U8g5pGZILhTUOxpJQQABmA/s1600/books.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOpfOBpHbjOxD4-48S8qyygdxWzTJRSWq5egTHnLD3NjTQfRfYxrUsofeqbLUj-RkXHthg9v8fnF7OVZltchiuLCGKwdQV1W9x2HFBvSCsxwp-FsC4aS1U8g5pGZILhTUOxpJQQABmA/s320/books.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576583387033618914" border="0" /></a>astonished: he, when he learned that, yes, we would stock things like Hitler’s <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Mein Kampf</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung</span>, Mao’s little red book; or me, to think that I would not be “allowed” to have such works on my shelves.<br /><br />“This is America,” I remember telling him. “We don’t tell each other what we’re allowed to read here.” That was an oversimplification of course, but I was attempting to make a point.<br /><br />He shook his head in wonder.<br /><br />Two incidents in recent days have brought this conversation back to mind.<br /><br />The first is the publication of a new edition of <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Huckleberry Finn</span>. A nice way of characterizing it would be to call it revised. A not-so-nice way would be to call it sanitized.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.newsouthbooks.com/">NewSouth Books</a>, this month, is publishing this modified edition of the Twain classic. Heavily-charged words (“injun”, “nigger” and “half-breed”), have been eliminated and less-offensive-to-our-eyes words (“Indian”, “slave” and “half-blood”), have been substituted in their place.<br /><br />Predictably, there has been a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Boycott-Gribben-NewSouth-Books-Huck-Finn/154431531272953">furor</a> over this, with charges of censorship and political<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_hBLBzG4vvQnpXFAGlpvEQVi8BJAG7vlyNV3NK2xf6g1vCvvfoOdmoT99P-Sjw-FkXFN9Jq6-aBF7j_naJJjHa6yq12yRJHd-5S_Po2nd_uYjh8EuiZU8_S21KIWlW-mTsDSnxrV-Q/s1600/huck.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_hBLBzG4vvQnpXFAGlpvEQVi8BJAG7vlyNV3NK2xf6g1vCvvfoOdmoT99P-Sjw-FkXFN9Jq6-aBF7j_naJJjHa6yq12yRJHd-5S_Po2nd_uYjh8EuiZU8_S21KIWlW-mTsDSnxrV-Q/s320/huck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576583591513391138" border="0" /></a> correctness and a defense of the sanctity of the artist’s original work.<br /><br />Just as predictably, there has been a defense of the publisher’s rationale: <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Huckleberry Finn</span> is one of the most heavily banned books by school boards and libraries because it includes these words. If the objectionable words are eliminated, it stands to reason that the book will be more widely read. And that, after all, is the goal.<br /><br />There are valid points on both sides of the question. And I suspect that strong arguments will be put forward to support the relative positions. But what I find most significant is that we are having the debate at all.<br /><br />There is no government entity that is telling us that we must, or must not, read <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Huckleberry Finn</span> in either its original or modified editions. Or that the publisher must, or must not, publish the book in its original form. Or that, as a book peddler, I must, or must not, put the book (in any form) on my shelves.<br /><br />And to my way of thinking, that is the most important bit.<br /><br />Which brings me to the second incident that reminded me of my luncheon conversation.<br /><br />Freedom seems to be breaking out in Africa and the Middle East. Political revolutions, violent and non-violent, have been taking place in Tunisia, Bahrain, Libya, Egypt and Yemen. It is a heady and rather frightening time. People are dying. Governments are falling. Societies are in upheaval. Issues are far from decided as this is being written.<br /><br />But one result of the changes in Egypt, at least, is particularly significant and, I think, under-reported: books that had been banned by the former regime are back in the shops.<br /><br />Thousands of titles had been banned from distribution by the Egyptian government under President Hosni Mubarak. But now that government is gone and one of the immediate results is that the books are back.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And they are selling!</span> According to <a href="http://www.alarabiya.net/articles/2011/02/17/138095.html">Al Arabiya</a>, Egyptians are flocking to the bookstores in search of titles that were not previously available. Frankly, it makes no difference to me whether the books are good or not, or whether there were justifications for their banning or not. What is important is that they are now available.<br /><br />The genie is out of the bottle and there is no easy way to coax him back in.<br /><br />When we make our daily trek to the post office to ship books that had been ordered on-line, we are routinely asked if our packages contain anything hazardous. My standard reply is that the packages contain ideas, and those are often <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> dangerous. This usually elicits a smile from the clerk (who is probably thinking that I’m some sort of wise guy). But I am dead serious with that reply.<br /><br />And I am proud to report that we sold two copies of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Mein Kampf</span> in the shop last week.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-25867251686336775262011-02-13T12:07:00.004-05:002011-02-13T12:16:16.212-05:00EroticaOn the phone she sounded like a nice, older lady. Would we be interested, she wanted to know, in coming and taking a look at a collection of books she had. Seems they belonged to her husband, who was in a nursing home now. They were taking up space and it was time for them to find a new hone.<br /><br />I told her that of course we’d be happy to take a look. I explained what we typically pay for paperbacks and hard covered books with dust jackets. She said that was fine.<br /><br />“Just one thing,” she said. “They are erotica.”<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />As a category, “erotica” covers a lot of ground. And not everyone shares the same definition. I wasn’t at all sure that my definition matched what this nice, grandmotherly-type lady was thinking.<br /><br />She might be talking about some of the early “girlie” magazines of the 20s and 30s, for example. Those typically had lush cover illustrations showing lots of leg, or ladies in skirts that were split up to here with bust lines that went down to there. I could see how she would call these pulp magazines “erotica.”<br /><br />Or maybe she was talking about some of those World War II-era pin-up babes. Most of those were fairly tame by today’s standards. Girls in bathing suits lounging by a pool, or dealing with a gust of wind while attempting to change a flat tire while wearing a too-tight outfit and heels. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yank,_the_Army_Weekly"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yank Magazine</span></a> stuff.<br /><br />Either of those options would have been fine with me, for both are highly collectible… particularly if they are in good shape.<br /><br />As I hesitated a second, trying to find a delicate way to frame my next question, and she said, “<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Playboy</span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>s.”<br /><br />Ah. Well. That made it easier, at least.<br /><br />I explained how the only real value in that title was in the editions dating from the 50s, and maybe the early 60s. You might find something of a little higher value here and there with a special issue, but that generally, I’d only pay, at most, no more than 50¢ per magazine for dates from the mid-60s through the mid- to late-70s, and that, honestly, I wasn’t even interested in any dates later than 1980 or so. Unless, again, it was a special 40th Anniversary issue or something of the kind.<br /><br />That was fine, she said. They were all boxed and out in the garage. The dates started around 1967 and she was sure there were issues that I’d take. So…sure, I’d visit her and we could made a deal.<br /><br />Honestly, I felt a little more comfortable now. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Playboy</span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>s. Not horrible. We were both adults, after all. A sly smile, perhaps, and a “boys will be boys” shrug. At least I wasn’t going to have to go into a deep, philosophic discussion of reading habits and censorship and relative levels of depravity and such with someone who was, if not old enough to be my grandmother, then certainly older than my parents. I could do this.<br /><br />“Three boxes of books, too.”<br /><br />Not a problem at all. Here, I was thinking <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_the_Month_Club">Book-of-the-Month Club</a> editions of popular novels; after all, that’s what I usually encounter on missions of this kind. We made the appointment and I went to visit her early in the week.<br /><br />We went straight to the garage and I confirmed immediately that her definition of erotica and mine were, indeed, different. There were the <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Playboy</span>s, as advertised. Hundreds of them, actually. Pretty much every issue from 1967 through 2005; almost 40 years. And they were pristine. The later years looked like they’d never been out of the plastic mailing sleeves. A few other titles, too, but nothing too outrageous.<br /><br />But she wasn’t talking about the magazines when she told me of erotica. She was talking about the books. And those didn’t quite fit my idea of erotica. In fact, they were pretty darn close to my idea of straight-out, no-holds-barred (literally) porn.<br /><br />Mass market paperbacks, with and without pictures. Trade paperbacks, with and (primarily) without text. Hardcover books in dust jackets and plain, brown wrappers. The kind of stuff that, in an earlier day and age, would have drawn jail time if they were sent through the mails.<br /><br />Yowza.<br /><br />Publishing restrictions had tightened up quite a bit during the 1960s. The Supreme Court was wrestling with their own definitions of obscenity. “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zTS33ZjWEtmFqHw2SBl2hMmWWoixM-8-uw-rnI53aSkyMwNlkQre21rFAPIdyDvJpP83wMmW_6qsjSUDZCebdAiYGqfPYBuoWDLJIVoiZJWgWKoSXsiSvbFKZhYAOC3zGy-GJtpcKQ/s1600/porn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zTS33ZjWEtmFqHw2SBl2hMmWWoixM-8-uw-rnI53aSkyMwNlkQre21rFAPIdyDvJpP83wMmW_6qsjSUDZCebdAiYGqfPYBuoWDLJIVoiZJWgWKoSXsiSvbFKZhYAOC3zGy-GJtpcKQ/s320/porn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573222123121111138" border="0" /></a> Nebulous lines in the sand regarding local standards. And statements of “redeeming social value.” Obviously, no one wanted to go to jail for publishing this stuff.<br /><br />Still, there was a market. So titles were presented as pseudo-sociological and pseudo-psychological treatises, and were invariably written by people who could string “M.A.” or “Ph.D.” after their nom de plumes in an attempt to give the material the stamp of respectability. And if it turned out that folks were reviewing the literature with aims other than pure scientific curiosity, well, that certainly was beyond the control of the publishers.<br /><br />So, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Oral Sex and the Law</span>, and <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The SwappersThe Sexually Aggressive Male</span>, along with others of their ilk, came into general circulation. All were emblazoned with “EDUCATIONAL MATERIAL FOR ADULTS ONLY• Sale to minors prohibited”, or words to that effect, on the covers. Perhaps that was a sop to the censors. Or perhaps that was a bit of added promotion, for those who just didn’t get it. Maybe a little of both.<br /><br />In any case, I now had three boxes of it. Along with about 15 years of <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Playboy</span>s.<br /><br />After I had finished loading it all into the car, I returned to the garage to finish the transaction. I wrote out the receipt, thanked her and said all the nice things.<br /><br />But as I was driving away, it occurred to me that this “erotica” hadn’t necessarily belonged to her husband. I’m not quite sure how I got the idea that at least some of these books were actually hers.<br /><br />Maybe it was because she winked at me.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-3706446560648028062010-10-08T21:05:00.002-04:002010-10-08T21:20:12.722-04:00Birth of a bibliophile.A young gentleman came into the shop this afternoon; I'd guess he was about 14 or 15 or thereabouts. He was with his Mom. They were both “first-timers,” and were just poking about to see what they could see. After offering to show them where things were (“No thanks.”), I pointed out the coffee, invited them to help themselves and left them alone to poke.<br /><br />A couple of minutes later he came up to the counter and asked about one of the books in our front display case. That’s the case that we keep locked since it contains some of our older and more expensive books.<br /><br />We walked over to take a better look and when he pointed it out to me I saw what had drawn his attention.<br /><br />It wasn’t prominently displayed, and it was one of the older volumes; and just a bit beat-up, actually. It wasn’t in tatters, but it did show its age. It was lying on its side and so it was a little difficult to tell what it was.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Elocutions</span> was stamped in gilt on the spine. <br /><br />I opened the case and handed it to him. He opened it and his eyes got very wide when he saw it had been published in 1774. There were hand-written notes from previous owners on the inside front cover, and the pages were browned and foxed with age. The ink was starting to fade to sepia.<br /><br />“Mom! You’ve got to see this!”<br /><br />She came over and marveled with him, turning the pages gingerly. I just stood and watched. At this point they didn’t need any extra commentary from me.<br /><br />“Can I get it?”<br /><br />“Well, I don’t know. How much is it?”<br /><br />It wasn’t cheap. This isn’t the case where I keep the $3 paperbacks, after all.<br /><br />When I showed them the price written on a post-it note inside the front cover, she groaned. But he really wanted it, and she really wanted him to have it. And we have the Fall Sale coming next week anyway. So I cut them a pretty good deal and quoted a price that was about what I had originally paid for it. That sealed the transaction.<br /><br />Later, after everything had been bagged and they were heading for the door, I asked him if he knew how to care for it.<br /><br />He asked how, and that was a good sign.<br /><br />“Well, for starters, you don’t carry it around like your Mom is carrying it now.” I indicated the plastic bag she was holding by the handles. He immediately took it from her and brought it to me.<br /><br />“The first thing you do is make sure it stays laying on its side,” I said. “Gravity is the enemy and if you have it standing up on a bookshelf, gravity will tug at the pages and will start to pull them from the binding.”<br /><br />“Next, keep it out of the sun. And, when you are done with it, keep it safe. Ideally, wrap it in acid-free paper. But at the very least, find a sturdy box when it can be kept safe from everyday wear and tear.”<br /><br />I told him that the goal was not to restore it. “You’re not good enough at it; I’m not good enough at it.” His goal was to try to preserve it just as it is.<br /><br />“Look at it this way,” I said. “In 150 years or so, there’s going to be a guy just like you who will want this book. Your job is to take care of it for him.”<br /><br />He just looked at me and nodded. He <span style="font-weight: bold;">got</span> it.<br /><br />Now, I can’t know for sure of course, but I have a suspicion that today I witnessed the birth of a bibliophile.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-11295969641439214362010-09-19T20:32:00.004-04:002010-09-19T20:49:49.315-04:00Brian Keene is not the spookiest guy I know, but he does rank right up there in the general categories of <span style="font-style: italic;">creepy</span> and, not parenthetically, <span style="font-style: italic;">talented</span>. A two-time winner of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bram_Stoker_Award">Bram Stoker Award</a>, he is an up-and-comer in the field of horror fiction.<br /><br />A novelist of some repute, he has published about a dozen titles, many short stories, and now he’s writing comics, too, for the likes of DC and Marvel. Several of his novels have been made into movies.<br /><br />I am proud to say that Brian also frequents (haunts?) our shop. He <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb18awqQQcFJ4Dl8k9cjXvw7Yvo7AQq16nMWZXRqjsLJCRvBw4XsO2zXIkaNRgIW_CyL4tvhcChFjOy2euNeHbp2aSDvJ_8AL1uudTkxhfuOWZnKtsQZepnKzS29CxafrZ8fFFITMPeA/s1600/keene.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb18awqQQcFJ4Dl8k9cjXvw7Yvo7AQq16nMWZXRqjsLJCRvBw4XsO2zXIkaNRgIW_CyL4tvhcChFjOy2euNeHbp2aSDvJ_8AL1uudTkxhfuOWZnKtsQZepnKzS29CxafrZ8fFFITMPeA/s320/keene.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518787522678553682" border="0" /></a>will, on occasion, attend one of our events. Sometimes he has a troupe of other writers and friends with him. But more than once I’ve looked up to see him just poking around the stacks.<br /><br />(And I keep trying to sell him on this idea of a story set in a used book shop with the kindly old—and wise—book seller being the hero who saves the day and possibly the world. He just gives me a smile and moves on. But I digress…)<br /><br />Since Brian is a local guy, we have been lucky enough to host him for readings and signings. He was the Guest of Honor for our first <span style="font-weight: bold;">HORRIBLE SATURDAY</span> in 2008. That was a coup because he’s rather busy these days, squeezing in appearances at various and far-flung conventions when he can be pried away from his writer’s studio.<br /><br />He was, in fact, the inspiration for our annual, day-long <span style="font-weight: bold;">HORRIBLE SATURDAY</span> event. It was during one of his visits that we were chatting and the idea popped up. He’s been a supporter ever since.<br /><br />So when his latest book, <a href="http://www.famousmonstersoffilmland.com/book-review-a-gathering-of-crows-by-brian-keene/"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Gathering of Crows</span></a>, was published last month, I decided that I had to have it so it would be ready and at-hand for an autograph the next time he stopped in. After closing up last night I stopped on the way home to pick up a copy from one of the chain stores (yes, a “real” retail book store and, yes, I paid the full retail price; but <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFagCTyd2HkqJu_Lfu6AUgzbCCapM3K2CNhWz0eRQOnsW7lrYWQ0O6ASMjAD8hhOnGZKXK02G_lGSKTu8bYp1j7FHoh0yWUfTrCiCNIq1aNFykiq1L2zAbznBTLIwCIIutAzEzOSHNg/s1600/acknowledgments.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFagCTyd2HkqJu_Lfu6AUgzbCCapM3K2CNhWz0eRQOnsW7lrYWQ0O6ASMjAD8hhOnGZKXK02G_lGSKTu8bYp1j7FHoh0yWUfTrCiCNIq1aNFykiq1L2zAbznBTLIwCIIutAzEzOSHNg/s320/acknowledgments.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518787853037331346" border="0" /></a>no, I didn’t join their frequent buyer’s club).<br /><br />Later in the evening sitting at the kitchen table I opened the book and started the process. I began by reading the Acknowledgments, and thought it was pretty neat. Though my connection with Brian, I know a lot of the people he mentions there. In fact, we’ve hosted a number of them in the shop for readings, during<span style="font-weight: bold;"> HORRIBLE SATURDAY</span>s and otherwise. Pretty neat, I thought.<br /><br />And then I got down to the end of the list and there, right in front of the publishers and everyone, he lists “Jim Lewin of The York Emporium.” <br /><br />That goes somewhat beyond the label of “neat.” So I herewith take back that crack about him being creepy.<br /><br />I was surprised. I am truly flattered. I may have to go buy another copy so I can send it to my Mom.<br /><br />If you should bump into Mr. Keene before I do, please tell him how I feel. (And, if you wouldn’t mind, would you put in a plug for the story line about the kindly old book seller (did I mention wise?) who uses his great mental agility and physical prowess to save the world and stuff. I can see a continuing saga here.)<br /><br />In the meantime: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gathering-Crows-Brian-Keene/dp/0843960922">buy the book</a>.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-56873737273046209672010-07-17T21:47:00.001-04:002010-07-17T21:49:55.035-04:00Just ink and paper“I don’t know if you remember my father or not, but he used to just love coming in here.”<br /><br />I was helping to unload the car. Four good-sized boxes of books. There were already so many boxes at the front of the shop this afternoon that I had a hard time finding space for four more. It has been that kind of week.<br /><br />So I made non-committal noises about remembering who the gentleman was.<br /><br />“He’d been pretty sick, so he hasn’t been in for at least a year,” he said.<br /><br />“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said. I finally found a clear space over by the coke machine and set the box down. There were more out in the car and I was ready for the next trip.<br /><br />“He did love to come here.”<br /><br />I straightened up and gave him a questioning look. There was more to come, I knew.<br /><br />“He died last December, just two days after Christmas.”<br /><br />“Oh. I’m really sorry.” <br /><br />We stood looking at each other for a moment. <br /><br />“It was his heart,” he said. “He had a heart attack last summer. Probably a stroke, too. And he started slipping after that. He really went downhill quickly after Thanksgiving. We didn’t think he’d make it to Christmas.” He shrugged; smiled. “But he did.”<br /><br />I just nodded.<br /><br />“This is the start of his library. There’s more. I’ll be boxing it up and bringing it in.”<br /><br />“OK. We’ll try to find a good home for it.” I smiled.<br /><br />“I know you will. So did he.”<br /><br />“What do you mean?”<br /><br />“I asked him, a couple of weeks before he died, what he wanted me to do with his library. He told me to take the books back to the Emporium. He got most of them here to begin with, and he said that you would know what to do…that you’d take good care of his books.”<br /><br />“I will.” I said it in a whisper. It was almost a vow.<br /><br />He nodded. “I know.” It was almost a prayer. <br /><br />Sometimes I am not at all sure that what we are selling here is just ink and paper.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-80078524859578900402010-06-15T10:27:00.005-04:002010-06-15T10:50:31.609-04:00It was just a couple of weeks ago that a lady walked into the shop with some autographs to sell. Usually I steer clear of those. They are hard to authenticate, and I have been burned before. Even when they are authenticated, they are hard to sell. York doesn’t seem to be a real hotbed of autograph hounds.<br /><br />But this grouping was a little different. She had collected these herself, she said, during a trip to Hollywood some years ago. And included in the lot was Walter Lantz, complete with a sketch of Woody Woodpecker.<br /><br />Woody Woodpecker is not now nearly as popular as he once was. But during his day, he was a pretty big deal. Not as big as Mickey Mouse, of course (but then, who was?)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ36-6mvDe3b4TS_h1b_ntlNdbKIO2HHcsiwBcgWbJWe4gtn2IgsB2yNivmCfF6n64-CyyZaQLCb27X7M1GrjUnPfNME646jTj0CUfz3HDk-KHC_vwHIsjobMDwXUEL6m-ub3KIdFYBw/s1600/Woody.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ36-6mvDe3b4TS_h1b_ntlNdbKIO2HHcsiwBcgWbJWe4gtn2IgsB2yNivmCfF6n64-CyyZaQLCb27X7M1GrjUnPfNME646jTj0CUfz3HDk-KHC_vwHIsjobMDwXUEL6m-ub3KIdFYBw/s320/Woody.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483009316199856738" border="0" /></a>, but during the 40s, 50s and even into the 60s, he was a “star” in the cartoon world. He had his own TV show, and a number of his shorts played regularly in the movie theatres.<br /><br />Walter Lantz (1899 – 1994) got into the business early, with his first job when he was just 16. During the years of the Great Depression, he worked at Universal Studios first in the production department, then as a producer. He became an independent producer in 1940. That was the year Woody Woodpecker was developed.<br /><br />The story goes that while on his honeymoon, Lantz and his bride Grace were continually disturbed by a woodpecker outside the window. It may have been kismet, because Lantz was searching for a new character at the time. Grace eventually became the voice of Woody.<br /><br />I am a big believer in synergy. So I bought the autograph collection because there was synergy here.<br /><br />We were in the process of planning our annual <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1525034826&ref=name#%21/notes/the-york-emporium/sci-fi-saturday-schedule-of-events/10150188353165492">SCI-FI SATURDAY</a> event (scheduled to take place this coming weekend). One element of the event will be the screening of <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span>. This is a classic, though seldom seen, science fiction movie.<br /><br />The movie is notable on several accounts. It took over two years to produce (a long time back then), primarily because the technical problems were enormous. Simulating weightlessness, for example, in an age before computer animation was a real challenge. As was a realistic depiction of stars against the backdrop (they had to rig special lights—car headlights as it turned out—that would be bright enough without turning to odd colors when filmed in Technicolor). The detail went down to picking the right location on the moon for landing, so the earth would hang in the proper spot in the sky. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span> won the Academy Award for “Best Special Effects” in 1950.)<br /><br />This was all done with technical and mathematical precision, and it was hailed at the time for its attention to scientific detail. One of the reasons for this was that the technical advisor, and the screenwriter, was a real noodge about such things.<br /><br />His name was Robert A. Heinlein.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGRPgjOKa1iBkTBjnn-jlTf4AXlutqh4sF_CmCn28tbA0Sz63Q6Pdhjc9rgO2TTxt8ePJ5xGqwzchj5EE9UrbMUwkX9zJW6shBW5m8K3zo-qwGtoK4hrjI9p1jNegd62tROQRzrGOcA/s1600/DestinatonMoon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGRPgjOKa1iBkTBjnn-jlTf4AXlutqh4sF_CmCn28tbA0Sz63Q6Pdhjc9rgO2TTxt8ePJ5xGqwzchj5EE9UrbMUwkX9zJW6shBW5m8K3zo-qwGtoK4hrjI9p1jNegd62tROQRzrGOcA/s320/DestinatonMoon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483009763919345490" border="0" /></a><br />Heinlein inspired cast and crew and imparted his determination for precision to them, and to the production. <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span> was Heinlein’s only screenplay.<br /><br />Heinlein, of course, was one of the BIG THREE of science fiction writers in the middle years of the 20th Century (the other two being Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke). I happen to have a connection with Heinlein through the work I’ve done on <a href="http://bookflaps.blogspot.com/2009/09/virginia-project.html">The Virginia Project</a>, which I’ve blogged about before.<br /><br />There were parts of this whole space flight business that were wholly alien to the audiences of the time. This was a solid 10 years before the Mercury and Gemini missions and 20 years before Apollo actually went to the moon. The concepts of weightlessness, air locks and all the rest, along with their resulting problems, hadn’t come into public awareness. Some education was required so audiences could grasp the levels of difficulty.<br /><br />The same thing was required when <span style="font-style: italic;">Jurassic Park</span> was produced. Some of the concepts of genetic manipulation and gene-splicing needed to be explained so audiences would know how dinosaurs could possibly be roaming around an island park off the coast of Central America.<br /><br />In that movie, they spliced a bit of animation into the narrative. It was a technique they copied from <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span>.<br /><br />A special guest star was hired for <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span>. They used Woody Woodpecker. It is a bit of animation stuck in the middle of a serious movie.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnKRFtWv6Z7qBmatYpTxV-GBwPWyqgNqzB5_nQxDqQ9xH1dvVKBqfOxj9cF-mvwcTave58dw_x4JF1lukoIm3ZMzdweHC9Rbsje-k6yuiR2TPyMcGBmfNHox6yyCPHmqbNU6gVCqvBA/s1600/Woody-Moon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnKRFtWv6Z7qBmatYpTxV-GBwPWyqgNqzB5_nQxDqQ9xH1dvVKBqfOxj9cF-mvwcTave58dw_x4JF1lukoIm3ZMzdweHC9Rbsje-k6yuiR2TPyMcGBmfNHox6yyCPHmqbNU6gVCqvBA/s320/Woody-Moon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483012634131032146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So when the Walter Lantz autograph, complete with a sketch of Mr. Woodpecker, walked in the door…yeah, I bought it.<br /><br />But the synergy didn’t end there.<br /><br />Last week I received a call from <a href="http://www.windhaven.com/home/">Windhaven Press</a>, the good folks who brought me into The Virginia Project to begin with. Seems there’s one more piece they want me to do for them.<br /><br />This week I am to receive Heinlein’s original manuscript for his only screenplay. They have now decided to include it in the project. So this week I am to undertake the conversion of the original script of <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Moon</span> from analog (i.e., typewritten sheets of paper) to digital files.<br /><br />Douglas Adams, creator of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, wrote another series of books about Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. The series is based on the detective’s conviction of “the fundamental interconnectedness of things.”<br /><br />Walter Lantz-Woody Woodpecker-Destination Moon-Robert A. Heinlein-The Virginia Project-<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1525034826&ref=name#%21/album.php?aid=179815&id=56235580344&ref=mf">SCI-FI SATURDAY</a>-the fundamental interconnectedness of things.<br /><br />I may be in science fiction heaven.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-91061224834686048162010-06-09T17:10:00.002-04:002010-06-09T17:26:09.404-04:00The Lady in WhiteThe Lady in White made an appearance in here on Sunday. It was her first in several months, at least the first of which I am aware.<br /><br />I’ve blogged in the past about our alleged ghosts. Most of those posts have focused on one single entity and our attempts to communicate with him. His name, we have been led to believe, is Elmer. Those who know him tell me that he is comfortable in here and is actually rather friendly (as far as ghosts go). He has made himself known to visitors of the shop (although never to me), on several occasions going so far as to lead folks directly to a specific book that was sought.<br /><br />{Ahem.}<br /><br />I will admit to being frankly, and openly, skeptical about Elmer. Even if I were able to get my arms around and fully embrace the concept of a ghost--or some spectral entity that continues to possess individual consciousness--I very much doubt that such an entity would bother to show people around The York Emporium. <br /><br />Yes, this is a fun place with lots of neat stuff to look at. But surely he/she/it would have better things to do than be a tour guide to our shop. In all the universe; in all of creation, there must be places that are even neater and more fun than The York Emporium. As much as it pains me to say this, I know it to be true. <br /><br />And if I know that, Elmer must certainly know it.<br /><br />So to say that I am skeptical about Elmer, well…that puts a positive spin on “skeptical.” I’m not buying it.<br /><br />The Lady in White, however, may be something different.<br /><br />Sunday afternoon a young lady, aged 9 or 10, came up to me and asked if we had any books about ghosts.<br /><br />“Yes we do,” I replied. “Let’s go take a look.”<br /><br />As we walked back to the juvenile section she told me that she wanted something about real ghosts, and not ghost stories.<br /><br />“My Daddy doesn’t believe in ghosts,” she said. “But I do. I’ve seen them.”<br /><br />“Oh? Have you really?” I said.<br /><br />“Yes. I just saw one in here,” she told me.<br /><br />“You did?”<br /><br />“Yes. She was looking at a book over there,” she pointed. “She was just putting the book back on the shelf when she saw me. Then she went away.”<br /><br />“What did she look like?”<br /><br />“She was wearing a long white dress, with long sleeves. And she had a big white floppy hat.”<br /><br />There is no way that this little girl could know that her description exactly matched every other description I’ve received of the Lady in White. Those descriptions came from people who did know each other, but who have each seen the Lady in White. Over the past year, there have been 3 or 4 individual and distinct sightings.<br /><br />On each occasion she is in the same general area of the shop, but she isn’t always in the same spot or near the same book shelf. Sometimes she is looking at a book, other times she is walking down the aisles.<br /><br />And on each occasion, the Lady in White has “gone away” just as soon as she becomes aware that she has been seen. She has been described as shy and skittish.<br /><br />There are a number of implications here, all of them just a bit disquieting. The first is that she is aware of her surroundings (she examines books on a shelf, or walks down an aisle). Presumably she can read English (otherwise why would she look at a book?). This, in turn, means she can interact with these physical surroundings when she chooses (she appears to read book titles, she moves books on a shelf). And she is aware of people (she turns her head to look at them), and she is self-aware (she “goes away” when she becomes aware that she is seen). She makes choices. She changes her behavior depending upon circumstances. There is a "now" and a "here" for her. And she knows it. This would seem to imply individual consciousness.<br /><br />I can laugh and joke about Elmer and his penchant as a tour guide. But I cannot dismiss the Lady in White quite so easily.<br /><br />And that is the most disquieting thing of all.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-82354075056553899132010-02-17T22:20:00.004-05:002010-02-17T22:27:04.225-05:00A 'Record Riot'I know a guy who has a million records. That’s not hyperbole. In fact, when I say he has a million records, it is probably an understatement.<br /><br />He lives in a 3-story house in the suburbs, and he barely has room for his kitchen table, TV and bed. Everywhere else, there’s records. You will see some on turntables (which are on the kitchen table and on the TV), but most are in boxes, stacked three or four high. And the boxes are everywhere, from the outer walls to the middle of the room. You walk from the kitchen, through the living room to the stairs and through the upstairs rooms following paths through the boxes.<br /><br />Don’t even think about going into the basement.<br /><br />And those are just the records he needs for everyday use. For the others, he has an off-site warehouse (again three stories, but with an elevator) and two additional storage facilities.<br /><br />I know another guy who collects vintage recordings. Edison cylinders. Old Victrola platters (they only had recordings on one side). Early 78s of vaudeville routines and minstrel tunes. On the rare occasions when we’ve managed to get something in the shop that he doesn’t already have but needs to add to his collection, I am not allowed to tell his wife (1) how many pieces he’s bought (this time) or (2) how much he has paid. On at least one occasion, we’ve had to hold onto one of his purchases until he knew she wasn’t going to be around for a day, so he could bring it into the house without a lot of excess conversation.<br /><br />It wouldn’t be accurate to say that he is hiding his acquisitions. But he is a wise man and he has learned that, in the interests of domestic tranquility, there are times when it is best not to flaunt his, er, independence in this regard.<br /><br />These two gentlemen are well known, liked and even respected in their individual spheres of acquaintance. If you were to pass either on the street, you wouldn’t give either a second glance if you were unaware of their passion for their collections.<br /><br />They aren’t alone.<br /><br />Last September we re-set the store and were able to devote a room to music. We have cassettes and CDs, and even a few 8-tracks. We have books, of course. And we have some sheet music on the wall, and even a few posters and autographs (Bing Crosby, for example). But what we have more than anything else is vinyl.<br /><br />Rock-and-Roll, Jazz, Classical, Spoken Word, Country, Comedy. And from the day we put that together, I have been amazed at how much we sell.<br /><br />At first I thought that only the Rock-and-Roll would sell, so that’s where we put our focus. We had a few Classical albums stuck off in a corner, but then they started to sell (autographs, too…Pavarotti lasted less than a week). So we expanded our selection and sales expanded likewise.<br /><br />Then we got a large selection of Jazz albums from an estate and those started to sell before I could even put them away. The same thing happened with Country.<br /><br />On at least two Sundays last fall, the sales out of the record room exceeded the sales of the rest of the shop, combined. That, to me, was amazing. We have almost 19,000 sq. ft. of books and stuff, and only about 300 sq. ft. of records. Yet, there are times when more people are in the record room than there are in the rest of the shop.<br /><br />So yes, I noticed. There is something going on here.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYwV_QPnoS7ROQbOwrOtM7eSO06tLGK1e8Yb4Igumu-KTx2G__6bM28uJxm1XW1Yo6DgLP3iHso-uPdKdupniCpJJrIlgJyrKCz_iYCGgYsQLv6RyzNTFB29E0WFL80mrbQdXoPIRtg/s1600-h/Record+Riot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYwV_QPnoS7ROQbOwrOtM7eSO06tLGK1e8Yb4Igumu-KTx2G__6bM28uJxm1XW1Yo6DgLP3iHso-uPdKdupniCpJJrIlgJyrKCz_iYCGgYsQLv6RyzNTFB29E0WFL80mrbQdXoPIRtg/s320/Record+Riot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439419185782887074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And that’s why, when another avid collector approached me in January with the idea of a vinyl swap meet, I agreed.<br /><br />Publicly, we’re calling it a ‘Record Riot’. Privately, I am calling it an experiment. I am really very curious to see who is going to show up. Supposedly there are dealers coming from Baltimore, Lancaster and Harrisburg, in addition to York. I’m not charging anybody to set up or to get in. In fact, I will be spending money on coffee and goodies to be given away. (And it is likely that I may wind up holding onto purchases for a week or two, until wives will be out of town.)<br /><br />It will be a worthwhile investment. I want to know what it is about vinyl that fosters this passion. This is old technology, several generations old. Cassette tapes and 8-tracks have come and gone. Audio CDs are almost a thing of the past at this point. Yet vinyl lives.<br /><br />Purists will tell you the sound is better, and this may be true if you’re using a high-end system (most collectors don’t). Is it the “pops” and “crackling”? The whole routine of taking the disc out of the jacket, dusting it off, placing it on the turntable, hoping there are no scratches, and then sitting back for 20 minutes or so before you have to do it again? The graphics and liner notes on an album? Some connection with a lost and, perhaps, more innocent time in one’s life?<br /><br />I hope to find out next Wednesday evening.<br /><br />Besides, my P,LSB* mentioned that she may be going out of town for a weekend here in the next month or so.<br /><br /><br />*Poor, Long-Suffering Bride™Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-23985908058286976592009-12-18T08:14:00.002-05:002009-12-18T08:23:20.947-05:00Names in the Books“About ten years ago I dropped off a box of books here and I am wondering if you still have any of them.”<br /><br />I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. It was obviously going to be an interesting day.<br /><br />“Well, frankly sir, I hope not. I would like to think that my inventory turns over a little more frequently than once every 10 years.”<br /><br />Now I will freely admit that I was just a little grumpy yesterday morning. Maybe it was the jerk who cut me off on the drive in. Maybe it was the grounds that I spilled when I was making the coffee. Maybe it was the snowstorm that is supposed to arrive this weekend, on the Saturday before Christmas yet. Maybe it was a combination of things. But for whatever reason, I simply wasn’t in the mood for foolishness at that point. <br /><br />“I cleaned out my grandfather’s house after he died, and they were his textbooks,” he said. “I just needed to get rid of them then, but I’m kind of sorry that I did, now.”<br /><br />It turns out that this gentleman had grown up in York, but had moved to North Carolina twenty-some years ago. He comes back every so often to see relatives and visit the old haunts. On a whim, he stopped into the shop yesterday to see if any of those books were still here. It wasn’t unreasonable.<br /><br />So I tried to appear enthusiastic as we headed back to where the books might be hiding. I pointed out the sections on medicine, on mathematics, on general science and on chemistry/physics. We do have some rather old textbooks on the shelves, so it was possible he could find something. I offered him a cuppa joe and then left him to his browsing. I went back to what I had been doing, muttering darkly to myself. <br /><br />Honestly, I forget he was in the shop.<br /><br />About an hour later he came up to the counter with a pile of books.<br /><br />“I found one,” he said. He opened the front cover of the book and showed me his grandfather’s name. He seemed pleased.<br /><br />“Great,” I said. “Looks like it’s a good day.”<br /><br />He smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”<br /><br />“Looks like you found some others, too” I said, pointing to his pile. It was a stack of old Child Craft books. This is a set of about 10 books full of children’s stories. We have several sets in the store and they are not the sort of thing that fly off the shelves. I was happy that he was going to take these. We have two or three other sets in the store and I wasn’t going to miss this particular set.<br /><br />“I had these when I was a kid,” he said.<br /><br />“Oh, good! And now you’ve got another set.”<br /><br />“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “I had these.”<br /><br />He opened up the front cover of one and pointed to the name, written in a child’s scrawl. <br /><br />“That’s me. These were mine.”<br /><br />I just stood and blinked.<br /><br />“I have no idea how these got here. I haven’t lived in York in over twenty years. I didn’t bring these in., but here they are. And I need to take these with me.”<br /><br />And he did.<br /><br />And suddenly I didn’t feel quite as grumpy.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-17506529006308157982009-09-27T10:45:00.004-04:002009-09-27T10:51:40.866-04:00The Dead Are MineEarlier this summer, we were called to help clean the books out an estate here in York. There were hundreds and hundreds of paperbacks involved; nearly 600 as I recall.<br /><br />In the heat of battle, as it were, you don’t stop and examine every book in detail. There simply isn’t time. Often we’re one of the last calls, and when we get there we’re informed that everything has got to be out in just a few days, so it is either us or the dumpster. And if the book isn’t falling apart, it goes into the box to be sorted out later.<br /><br />Such was the case with this estate. When I did finally get around to going through the boxes I came across a rather interesting novel, published in 1965, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The Dead Are Mine</span> by James E. Ross.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrx7Tbjr1bGCYqlYGQu8pxqqy85Q0rTnAWWYRYPqsXHG8QwKeDuYQ_l2WQooQx9fRNVUMbiha8Mgk7Dkxf0eTqWO8akZ-CkD4AY5FAu0cj7d2SQQi096rYZJ4s3buXTlB5cOzK5IlfQ/s1600-h/dead.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrx7Tbjr1bGCYqlYGQu8pxqqy85Q0rTnAWWYRYPqsXHG8QwKeDuYQ_l2WQooQx9fRNVUMbiha8Mgk7Dkxf0eTqWO8akZ-CkD4AY5FAu0cj7d2SQQi096rYZJ4s3buXTlB5cOzK5IlfQ/s320/dead.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386158648018225346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It is the story of a combat man, a sergeant of the regular army during World War II; specifically during the action at the Anzio beachhead during the early months of 1944. That was a particularly brutal period of the war, and this is a particularly brutal book about the everyday life and duties of a grave registration squad. It was their job to pick-up the bodies, German as well as American, and deliver them to the cemeteries for internment.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Dead Are Mine</span> is an extremely well written book. Originally published by David McKay Company, Inc. in 1963, the paperback edition from the estate (Cardinal #50075) was published in 1965. As far as I can determine, there was only one printing of each edition.<br /><br />It tells a bleak and depressing story. And it has the ring of authority, with the sort of detail and color that doesn’t come from sterile research. Unlike Harriet Beecher Stowe, for example (who never saw a plantation nor had met a slave prior to writing <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Uncle Tom’s Cabin</span>), it was clear to me that Mr. Ross had seen this side of the war.<br /><br />Which led me to wonder what else he had written. The answer, apparently, is nothing. Searches on various online databases only made reference to this one book. And there is virtually no biographical information available at all. There was one reference, however, to a story about him published in the December 3, 1963 edition of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Life</span> magazine.<br /><br />Finding an old issue of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Life</span> isn’t that big a problem, if you happen to be in the used book business. One of the fringe benefits of the business is that I often come in contact with old issues of magazines. And this past Tuesday, while visiting yet another estate, the issue presented itself. And there was the article, buried deep (page 110) within.<br /><br />It turns out that Mr. Ross wasn’t a particularly nice man. The article was written because the book was just being published. He was 43 at the time, and had spent 20 of those 43 years in prison for a variety of reasons. He was a pool hustler, a con man, a thief and a murderer. As a sideline, he was also an alcoholic and borderline drug addict. He wrote the b<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCNCze31aSp6ZP5LqNc3AyTeYgJBHz2Pnu5oOwSqpSn-tU8D1guI3RWKa5ghg9c0blw4k4ebhXochA_uyuXfsleL4jveU8WjoUZ1Iui-HGhfOJtPam9-x7C2CG-qnBxDEj2icKy1Q6g/s1600-h/Ross.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCNCze31aSp6ZP5LqNc3AyTeYgJBHz2Pnu5oOwSqpSn-tU8D1guI3RWKa5ghg9c0blw4k4ebhXochA_uyuXfsleL4jveU8WjoUZ1Iui-HGhfOJtPam9-x7C2CG-qnBxDEj2icKy1Q6g/s320/Ross.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386158908347462338" border="0" /></a>ook in his cell, on a dare.<br /><br />The book really was his story.<br /><br />He was in the army, as a sergeant, and he was at Anzio. As punishment for deserting the battlefield, he had been assigned to pick-up bodies and deliver them to the cemetery at the beachhead. There is no black humor here, as there is in <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Catch 22</span>, or in Bill Mauldin’s Willy and Joe cartoons. There is no we’ll-get-through-this-togetherness, as there is in Audie Murphy’s <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To Hell And Back</span>. But there is detail and color--the mud and the slime, the bleak occurrences, the descriptions of newly-dead bodies and mangled body parts and wounds and bloody, burned uniforms and the aftermath of sudden and violent death. And the outlook of a short and bleak future with no end, other than the very real probability of adding yet another body to the pile, in sight.<br /><br />Mr. Ross’ descriptions were accurate because they were real. He had seen and experienced them all firsthand. There was little that came from his imagination; most of it just came from his memory. And the man had a talent for putting it all down on paper in vivid and horrible detail.<br /><br />I don’t know what happened to Mr. Ross; I can find nothing more recent than that one article. He may be living still, perhaps in a prison cell. If he is, he would be close to 90 now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Life</span> said an agent was attempting to sell the book to a movie studio, but no movie was ever made.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Life</span> also said that Mr. Ross was working on a second novel, but if that was ever finished it was never published.<br /><br />But I do know that, if he did nothing else, Mr. Ross delivered one truly remarkable book. Maybe that was enough.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-70356354667105811062009-09-21T10:04:00.004-04:002009-09-21T10:15:20.035-04:00The Virginia ProjectFor the better part of the past two years, Pam and I have been involved in The Virginia Project. Our moonlighting efforts were wrapped up a week or two ago, and now the story can be told.<br /><br />The project involves the work of novelist <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_A._Heinlein">Robert A. Heinlein</a>, and our small part in it is something of which we are really quite proud.<br /><br />Robert A. Heinlein, of course, was one of the biggest names in science fiction du<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9AshvPjss51-PgH9TScUIDgIiQLZ3mQmhe5m9ItLMoc9vjWbLblTcnZhWGud4Os4RFtJ1Mhd-_edRLHeox_RQDcb7ENZ_xspti49VNVrxigtrpRhScHN8zK2HZ0w_UZtclENwUBBOg/s1600-h/robert.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9AshvPjss51-PgH9TScUIDgIiQLZ3mQmhe5m9ItLMoc9vjWbLblTcnZhWGud4Os4RFtJ1Mhd-_edRLHeox_RQDcb7ENZ_xspti49VNVrxigtrpRhScHN8zK2HZ0w_UZtclENwUBBOg/s320/robert.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383923241213082930" border="0" /></a>ring the middle years of the 20th century. If he wasn’t the biggest, he was certainly up there in the top 5, or even the top 3…his only real competition came from the likes of Arthur C. Clarke and Isaac Asimov.<br /><br />Heinlein (pronounced <span style="font-style: italic;">Hine-line</span>) is probably best known for <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Stranger in a Strange Land</span>. Originally published in 1961, the novel relates the experiences of Valentine Michael Smith, a human raised on Mars who journeys back to Earth and makes some profound changes in our alleged culture. The book tackles a variety of topics including organized religion, big government, individual responsibility, money, sexual freedom and morality offering (for the time) some rather radical views. It was a certified BIG DEAL during the 60s and wildly popular among the counter-culture of the time.<br /><br />Since its original publication, it has never been out of print. In 1991 an unexpunged edition was published. Putnam, who first published the book, had demanded some 60,000 words (nearly one quarter of the original manuscript) be deleted because they feared some of the references were just too far over the top. Critics are still quibbling about whether or not it was a good idea to put those 60,000 words back.<br /><br />It wasn’t his only book, of course. Heinlein’s first professional publication came in <span style="font-style: italic;">Astounding Science Fiction</span> magazine in 1939 with a short story, “<span style="font-weight: bold;">Life Line</span>.” He was prolific, turning out short stories, novels and screen plays through the 40s (with time off to serve during World War II), 50s, 60s, 70s and into the 80s. He died in 1988.<br /><br />Upon his death, Virginia, his wife of 40 years, had the presence of mind to renew his copyrights. She supervised the posthumous publication of a number of his short stores with such works as <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">For Us The Living</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tramp Royale</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Grumbles From The Grave</span> and <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Requiem</span>. She died in 2003.<br /><br />The work of the Heinlein Trust continues. Called “The Virginia Project” in honor of Mrs. Heinlein, the Trust is reissuing the complete works of Robert A. Heinlein as a set of premium quality (acid-free paper; leather bound) books. There will be 44 volumes when it is complete, and the set carries a rather hefty price tag of $1,500. The press run is limited to 2,000 copies of each volume.<br /><br />Each volume is going back to the original-original, just the way Robert and God had intended…and before various editors got their hands on it. To do this, scholars are working with the Heinlein archives, sometimes pouring over the typewritten manuscripts, to ensure that everything is, indeed, original.<br /><br />The heavy-lifting on the project is being undertaken by <a href="http://www.windhaven.com/home/">Windhaven Press</a> of Auburn, NH. Nancy Hanger and Andrew Phillips, owners of Windhaven, are well-qualified for the task. Authors in their own right, they bring years of editing and production experience to the project. Nancy is the person we thank for allowing us to participate.<br /><br />In preparing the various volumes for the printing press, 1st printings of 1st editions have been secured. The good news is that hardcopies of these books have been found (a number of them, Robert’s personal copies). The bad news is that these are hardcopies, produced long before contemporary electronic print production methods were developed. The hardcopies needed to be converted to digital files before production could proceed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIenJtAAqjdP5csdEwlMHy49PQfScKNhZ949zykzlK6aFO77lTj4fn6C09eT2Jo_ZxmabddyOwhQWpYhsDTj-OQwJi2WKUHVHEd7SaKz25jsUt0Vc4euxSyqWG4dI2T6doOSlHBhAuw/s1600-h/cds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIenJtAAqjdP5csdEwlMHy49PQfScKNhZ949zykzlK6aFO77lTj4fn6C09eT2Jo_ZxmabddyOwhQWpYhsDTj-OQwJi2WKUHVHEd7SaKz25jsUt0Vc4euxSyqWG4dI2T6doOSlHBhAuw/s320/cds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383923615292950146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And that’s where we came in. We did the conversions.<br /><br />Every couple of months a box would arrive at our doorstep (well, actually to the shop). Contained in each box were 1st-1st’s. We actually had Heinlein’s personal copies of some of his books in our hot little hands. We would clean them, scan them and do first-pass editing (spell-checking, etc.). The completed files would be compiled onto CDs and returned (along with the hardcopies, alas) so Nancy and Andrew could work their additional magic.<br /><br />We did 32 titles in the series. Our names won’t appear anywhere in the credits; our roles were minor and downstream. Still, they were <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>roles. <span style="font-style: italic;">We</span> did it. And there is a degree of quiet satisfaction that comes from knowing that we had a part in preserving the work of the Grand Master.<br /><br />Thank you Robert, for the work you gave us. Thank you Virginia, for preserving it. And thank you Nancy and Andrew, for allowing us to participate.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-37268267128372677912009-09-14T11:04:00.005-04:002009-09-14T11:24:57.739-04:00Codici SegretiA week or so ago, the more-or-less daily mail delivery brought us a happy little package from HarperCollins Publishers.<br /><br />Does it sound too high-falutin’ to say that HarperCollins is our publisher? Perhaps. It is not quite accurate in any case. More properly, I should say that HarperCollins <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> our publisher.<br /><br />Pam and I were fortunate enough to have signed a multiple book deal with HarperCollins several years ago. Under the pen names of “P.J. Huff and J.G. Lewin” we wrote four books of popular history: <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">How To Feed An Army</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Witness To The Civil War</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">How To Tell A Secret</span> and <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Lines of Contention: Political Cartoons of the Civil War</span>. In conjunction with The Smithsonian Institution, HarperCollins was the publisher.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabj6RjkpPhdICA-ynMTnNIoZKtFhoW67RoF-R53ZIXTYBxIPo1xWv7bI3DVqbKn8yUgbmquVIDCId_G935tdyTv77U3iy7Zw7z_El6Pq47tAx57LbrMZ9C3xQT9VaeAZF8bcn57aehg/s1600-h/How+To+Tell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabj6RjkpPhdICA-ynMTnNIoZKtFhoW67RoF-R53ZIXTYBxIPo1xWv7bI3DVqbKn8yUgbmquVIDCId_G935tdyTv77U3iy7Zw7z_El6Pq47tAx57LbrMZ9C3xQT9VaeAZF8bcn57aehg/s320/How+To+Tell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381340583013502130" border="0" /></a><br />The genre was “popular history”, which means the books were long on stories and short on footnotes. They were all accurate, of course. Various curators from The Smithsonian read the pre-publication drafts and made suggestions and requested changes; we needed their approval before going to press. Everything we said required documentation and we were prepared with at least two sources to backup the facts and conclusions we made. Still, the books were designed to be fun reads, and not serious, ground-breaking works of history. (Although I pride myself as having been first to make the connection in print between Watergate's "Deep Throat" and the so-called "Smoking Gun" tape.) <br /><br />Writing the books was a fun exercise. And we made a few bucks. But not a lot, actually. The contracts stated that HarperCollins would pay us an advance against future royalties. But in order for us to actually get any future royalties, the books would need to sell-though their initial print runs. That makes sense. The publishing company is in it for profit, after all, and you can’t expect them to give away money if they’re not making any. Maybe if we'd had an agent we could've gotten a better deal. But that wasn't as important at the time as just getting <span style="font-style: italic;">a</span> deal.<br /><br />None of the books sold-through. One of them, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Witness To The Civil War</span>, did generate additional revenues. It was featured one month by the History Book Club and Easton Press bought the rights (from HarperCollins) to produce a beautiful leather-bound edition. We didn’t get anything extra for that, other than a copy of that edition (now on display inside the shop), and, perhaps, some bragging rights.<br /><br />But it was all a pretty wild ride.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">How To Feed An Army</span> got us on national television when the Food Network did a show on military cookery. We were on for all of about 90-seconds. But…we were on.<br /><br />And, when <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">How To Tell A Secret</span> was published, we did a national radio tour. For a period of about three weeks, we were guests on radio shows across the country. Over the phone interviews with upwards of 40 radio talk shows. One was at 5:30 on a Sunday morning (live, or as live as I could be at that hour), but most were mid-day. And they were in some pretty big markets…Boston, Philadelphia, Denver, Los Angeles. One interview was supposed to last 15-minutes, but went on for the better part of an hour-and-a-half (we were a pretty big deal in Cleveland that afternoon). It was all kinda fun.<br /><br />The last of the books, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Lines of Contention</span>, was published in November 2007; just about two years ago now. And while all are still available on Amazon.com, chances are you won’t find many on the shelves of the national chains of book sellers. And that’s OK; they’ve run their course.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79ZriCPgG_cUuU-pMXHX3Z_y996WFYUN0qDvzz1AzF0iXWxcURfdoqQM8TEZpBlv8l0UFOd0YljvAZmhyphenhyphenPlDbgZom5xvne0ZHm4YPLZ8gthPxW5gGVCvBoOr7zBlqpYQZ0UT39mFsKw/s1600-h/Codici+Segreti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79ZriCPgG_cUuU-pMXHX3Z_y996WFYUN0qDvzz1AzF0iXWxcURfdoqQM8TEZpBlv8l0UFOd0YljvAZmhyphenhyphenPlDbgZom5xvne0ZHm4YPLZ8gthPxW5gGVCvBoOr7zBlqpYQZ0UT39mFsKw/s320/Codici+Segreti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381340793220328466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But that’s also why the package from HarperCollins was happy. For it contained authors’ copies of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Codici Segreti</span>. It seems that an Italian publisher, AVALLARDI, bought the reprint rights of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">How To Tell A Secret</span> and issued it in Italian.<br /><br />Yet another notch in the belt, as it were: international publishing. Again, we don’t get a nickel out of it. But that’s OK. We do get more braggin’ rights.<br /><br />And I’ve just exercised those rights. Thank you for participating.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-89192564064067744642009-09-07T12:38:00.004-04:002009-09-07T12:59:02.194-04:00Time to 'bite the bullet'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdq9dsUt3iZhY4zNlgo-BV3-1M5J7gDoxaeLQO8uXZWsZasG8Y_RkkZDEzMFSR2-aIFsTFir2cxk5sgy4W29X0MkhFowg-RKi8F_poDjXzNJt4ZGqUXSIUStv_bxHXm2S2oTDBPWe-g/s1600-h/bullets.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdq9dsUt3iZhY4zNlgo-BV3-1M5J7gDoxaeLQO8uXZWsZasG8Y_RkkZDEzMFSR2-aIFsTFir2cxk5sgy4W29X0MkhFowg-RKi8F_poDjXzNJt4ZGqUXSIUStv_bxHXm2S2oTDBPWe-g/s320/bullets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378766124813559522" border="0" /></a>Our cabinet of curiosities at the front of the shop (I refer to it as my little museum of historical insignificia), contains several Civil War-era bullets. Both are lead. One appears to be a .69 caliber round shot; the other is a Minie Ball. They are moderately interesting in themselves, although not particularly uncommon in this part of the world.<br /><br />What makes these two particularly interesting, at least to me, is that both carry teeth marks.<br /><br />These bullets have a history. Someone, sometime, chewed on them. And that begs the question: why would anyone chew on a lead bullet? Or, in other words, why would anyone, literally, bite the bullet?<br /><br />In common use, “to bite the bullet” means to bear down on a project, usually an onerous one, and just get it done. No matter how unpleasant the prospect is, you’ve got to just bite the bullet and do it.<br /><br />The story goes that the phrase actually originated during the Civil War. On the battlefield, if a soldier was hit in an arm or a leg by a bullet, the bone would just shatter with shards and splinters of bone spreading in all directions. There was no way to repair the damage and the wound was actually life-threatening. The only remedy was amputation.<br /><br />At the same time, anesthesia was rare. So when a soldier saw the surgeon approach in blood-splattered apron, he knew he was in for a hard couple of minutes. He would be laid on what passed for an operating table and his buddies would hold him down while the surgeon would wipe off his saw and begin.<br /><br />Since there were no pain killers, the soldier would have a bullet placed between his teeth so he wouldn’t bite off his tongue or scream with the pain. Hence, teeth marks on the bullets.<br /><br />It is a compelling story. It makes sense. It conforms to our notions of the Civil War and of the then-state of medicine. It conjures images of battlefields and of the times.<br /><br />Turns out it is also wrong.<br /><br />Civil War historian Janet Bucklew was our guest for "First Friday" this past weekend. She’s just written a book about Henry Janes, a country doctor from Vermont who served during the war. Janet, a Research Historian, is a veteran ranger at the Gettysburg National<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiT02XQNggCk2T7Q88GYKqqSqrzf5mPF4yDpnCBJBW-yefza3ueu9b9C32p3Pmq6-pFUsb2_Hi8rTvgHtEcq-PtMgGMWfGJwIwwCm41ic775zdQibPr-o7CilNa4iIWjKXgtnA5pfX7Q/s1600-h/Bucklew.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiT02XQNggCk2T7Q88GYKqqSqrzf5mPF4yDpnCBJBW-yefza3ueu9b9C32p3Pmq6-pFUsb2_Hi8rTvgHtEcq-PtMgGMWfGJwIwwCm41ic775zdQibPr-o7CilNa4iIWjKXgtnA5pfX7Q/s320/Bucklew.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378770789077500626" border="0" /></a> Military Park, and is also on staff at the National Museum of Civil War Medicine in Frederick, MD. You'd think she knows whereof she speaks.<br /><br />Janet's presentation focused on Dr. Janes as a platform for discussing Civil War medicine in general. During the Q&A following her talk, she made a comment—almost as an afterthought—that belied the myth and burst my bubble. Soldiers never chewed bullets during the procedures, she said. The danger of swallowing was too great. Besides, there was anesthesia, so there was no real need.<br /><br />The teeth marks probably came from pigs. According to Janet, the human jaw simply isn’t strong enough to cause the indentations in the bullets, while a pig’s jaw is. She said that swine would root around the battlefield following action, and would dine upon the corpses there and would at times wind up with a bullet in their mouth. That’s rather grizzly, but that makes sense.<br /><br />Frankly, I like my story better. It certainly conjures a more romantic mental image.<br /><br />I’ve tried to verify my version, but I can’t. The sources I’ve checked do repeat my version, but there are no attributions; in fact they all seem to be quoting one another, or talk about “common knowledge”. That’s simply not good enough when it comes to historical accuracy.<br /><br />At the same time, I cannot verify Janet’s version either. But it does make more sense when you stop and think about it.<br /><br />The problem with history is that you’re always studying someone else’s version of the facts. Even if you go back to primary sources, you’re dealing with someone’s impression or memory or view of what was said or what happened where. And you have to judge the source: how close were they to the event? Is their story self-serving or embellished? Are they telling the entire story or just what they want their audience to know?<br /><br />So which version of the story do I tell when showing off our cabinet of curiosities? Maybe both, with an emphasis on history being what you make of it.<br /><br />And that’s pretty much the point anyway, isn’t it?Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-6674318981416836912009-07-09T13:54:00.005-04:002009-07-09T14:31:10.720-04:00So...we might have a ghost?Last night the crack ghost hunting team from PARA (the Paranormal Activity Research Association) took up residence within the confines of the shop to see who else might be in residence. Armed with audio and video recorders and a variety of electronic gizmos, they looked and probed and questioned and were generally open to communicating with anyone on the “other side” who may have been here.<br /><br />I must confess to a considerable amount of skepticism about all this. I don’t believe in ghosts. And I honestly don’t think we’ve got one. At the same time, there are people I respect who tell me that I am 100% wrong on this score. So I’ve elected to doubt my infallibility, and follow this through to the end.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hZ5B32xg5bY2rKbyrapQwoN2QRACqD8xq6tbzJiWUFFlJ9-9XZbb0azuORMT9bIpkG-8XNEAod_iZmi40JF_yIwGfSvtNXEWOIIgHbhar40L5fswfwHJCXg9LTg5ze7ueh6h7-P1yQ/s1600-h/NotAGhost.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hZ5B32xg5bY2rKbyrapQwoN2QRACqD8xq6tbzJiWUFFlJ9-9XZbb0azuORMT9bIpkG-8XNEAod_iZmi40JF_yIwGfSvtNXEWOIIgHbhar40L5fswfwHJCXg9LTg5ze7ueh6h7-P1yQ/s320/NotAGhost.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356521524705584946" border="0" /></a><br />(In case you’re just now coming in on our paranormal exploits, you may want to read some of my other blog posts, from <a href="http://bookflaps.blogspot.com/2009/01/we-have-ghost.html">January 3</a> and <a href="http://bookflaps.blogspot.com/2009/07/really-we-do-have-ghost.html">July 7</a>, for some background.)<br /><br />We turned off most of the lights, and the stereo, and sat quietly. And we asked questions; simple, direct questions. Things along the lines of, “What is your name?” And “Do you like it here?” And “Do you mind answering some questions for us?” Each question was followed by a period of silence when we waited for an answer.<br /><br />We did three different recording sessions, in three different areas of the shop: one by the Westerns and comic books, once in the Whodunits and once up-front near the coffee table. Each session lasted about 30-minutes.<br /><br />Three different digital audio recorders were going during each session. The theory is that although we might not hear an answer, the recorders would. The files were to be downloaded into a computer and analyzed using special software. Any responses we received (called EVPs, or Electronic Voice Phenomena) would be isolated and enhanced.<br /><br />I took some pictures of all this, and posted them on our facebook page. If you'd like to take a look, click <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/York-PA/The-York-Emporium/56235580344#/album.php?aid=95054&id=56235580344">here</a>.<br /><br />Kathy Rothenberger, the team’s sensitive member, said she was receiving a number of impressions. She claimed to feel a “psychic pressure” which indicated, to her, a presence. She said that she believed that there were actually multiple entities in here.<br /><br />Much of this eminated, she said, from our “Blue Monster” display of military artifacts and political buttons. But not all.<br /><br />She said that she was hearing a muffled conversation between men (two or more) and a woman. It was faint, though, and she couldn’t make out what they were saying…rather like the sound you’d hear from a TV set several rooms away. It sounded, she said, animated and jovial.<br /><br />She also said that she was getting the feeling of some sort of medical emergency. She had the impression of bandages and either alcohol or ether and something (someone?) being crushed.<br /><br />Brett Nease was the guy with the electronic gear. After we had finished the third session, he downloaded the audio from one of the recorders to his laptop, and started running it through the analyzing software.<br /><br />One minute and thirty-five seconds into our first session he detected the first EVP.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWR3ng-JRodzHn0aTQLVeoDlC1vdP6_VDX9RFFNy91nvAwnAaG_BPfuYjuGToP_eRIZuQiO91S5gMQXXa2wksVvrIovLBvOSzWxSGW0AA1ARL5lZFG6zjKmPJhdrO3JEHThv0X9fpdw/s1600-h/EVP.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWR3ng-JRodzHn0aTQLVeoDlC1vdP6_VDX9RFFNy91nvAwnAaG_BPfuYjuGToP_eRIZuQiO91S5gMQXXa2wksVvrIovLBvOSzWxSGW0AA1ARL5lZFG6zjKmPJhdrO3JEHThv0X9fpdw/s320/EVP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356521825601886866" border="0" /></a> He found the second about a minute later in that same session.<br /><br />I heard them. They are distinct and they do sound like a male voice answering a question… but they are pretty faint, and I couldn't make out what was being said. I've got to say that it did sound like the voice way saying <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>. According to Brett, more work needs to be done to hear exactly what is being said.<br /><br />He’s going to do the work. He anticipates that by this time next week, he will have at least the preliminary results. I am to look for a report from them then.<br /><br />When I get those results, I will pass them along.<br /><br />And all this is to say: we <span style="font-style: italic;">might</span> have a ghost.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-47042470371421491112009-07-07T21:40:00.003-04:002009-07-07T21:49:54.750-04:00Really? We do have a ghost?Earlier this year I was informed that we have a ghost in the shop. Two customers told me as much after they had actually interacted with it when they were shopping this past January. (If you care to check my blog post of <a href="http://bookflaps.blogspot.com/2009/01/we-have-ghost.html">January 3</a>, you’ll find the story). Frankly, I hadn’t given it much thought since then. If we do have one, he’s never said anything to me and I am pretty OK with that.<br /><br />But two weeks or so ago, our entity made himself known once again during our <a href="http://bookflaps.blogspot.com/2009/06/horrible-saturday-for-love-of-pathos.html">Horrible Saturday</a> event in late June.<br /><br />One of our invited guests for the day was PARA (the Paranormal Activity Research Association). These guys are a pair of York-based ghost hunters. Brett does his hunting with technology…special cameras and recorders and gizmos and such. Kathy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuxgKl2sjd2dFdKiBsU-gPvPmYjjBD5OQ4ZC7xCqXbRRk1kGTMb5VT1KnwbFmYSx1wcKwqAWQ2k7EdXD46AJZA41e6gwUKh-qB84yIA6TD2A3PyoF-ifpuSD83MNNZhSqkPsbC-sYtA/s1600-h/PARA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuxgKl2sjd2dFdKiBsU-gPvPmYjjBD5OQ4ZC7xCqXbRRk1kGTMb5VT1KnwbFmYSx1wcKwqAWQ2k7EdXD46AJZA41e6gwUKh-qB84yIA6TD2A3PyoF-ifpuSD83MNNZhSqkPsbC-sYtA/s320/PARA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355900072377968818" border="0" /></a> does her hunting with impressions, since she claims to be sensitive.<br /><br />Prior to them taking the stage, as it were, for their presentation, Kathy was looking around the shop. Just as she was reaching for one book, another slid/jumped/fell/flew off the shelf (you can pick the appropriate term) and hit her in the arm. It turns out, she says, that this is the one she was supposed to have. Kathy told me about the incident just a few minutes later as I happened to be walking past. At that point, I had not told her about the report I had already received on our alleged ghost.<br /><br />She also told me that she believes that our entity’s name is Elmer. (That also happens to be my son-in-law’s name and, if he is reading this: Elmer, I swear that I am not making this up.)<br /><br />This past weekend one of the ladies who first reported the entity’s presence came into the shop. I was bringing her up-to-date on what Kathy of PARA had told me. And she said,”Oh yeah! But I’ve forgotten…didn’t his name start with ‘E’?”<br /><br />Pause.<br /><br />In January she didn’t know a name. In January, she couldn’t tell me if our ghost was a he or a she.<br /><br />And when she was in the shop this past weekend, I hadn’t yet said anything about the ghost being named Elmer.<br /><br />I think it may be time for some spooky music.<br /><br />What the heck is going on here?<br /><br />We are going to attempt to find out. Tomorrow night PARA is coming to do a full-fledged investigation. They will be setting up after we close shop for the night and after all the distracting day-time noises are gone.<br /><br />They’re bringing special cameras. And recorders. And gizmos. And Kathy.<br /><br />And I will be there, too. I may not be excited about it, but I will be there. (If you should ever see a video, you will know it is me because I will be the guy sitting in the corner being very <span style="font-style: italic;">VERY</span> aware of every noise and every flying book in the place.)<br /><br />Stay tuned. I will keep you posted……Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-87682182510030114012009-07-03T16:56:00.004-04:002009-07-03T22:53:39.235-04:00Mr. AdamA week or so ago we were working our way through another estate. We had boxed literally hundreds of paperbacks to bring back to the store. During the heat of battle, we don’t really stop to look at what’s there. The mission is to get it out of there, and then back to the shop where we could go through it.<br /><br />As we were going through it, some pretty interesting things started to emerge. The paperbacks were vintage; many of them pre-1960. This doesn’t necessarily make them more valuable (often it is just the opposite), but it does make them much more fun.<br /><br />With all due respect to the artists and writers working today (and much respect is, indeed, due), there’s nothing quite like the sensational artwork to be found on a 25¢ paperback novel of the early 1950s.<br /><br />So as I was sitting and sifting through the piles and enjoying the covers, I came across one that just made me stop and grin. It is one of the (now) lesser-known novels of a (now) lesser-known novelist, but it also happens to be one of my favorite books of all time: <span style="font-style: italic;">Mr. Adam</span>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFKjOyZe6AJWKU6lEtSVDCxl4ArF6C4NSgJOLUaerpiHWVYJ9yDOfXCLgf6t7mDrEfX6pg4WAY_QLoxsQmsmzYqySX-5J5_PfK4loZAdviX0alaKnrzNo6rYWJfeutGmqKjUKEJzfRg/s1600-h/MrAdam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFKjOyZe6AJWKU6lEtSVDCxl4ArF6C4NSgJOLUaerpiHWVYJ9yDOfXCLgf6t7mDrEfX6pg4WAY_QLoxsQmsmzYqySX-5J5_PfK4loZAdviX0alaKnrzNo6rYWJfeutGmqKjUKEJzfRg/s320/MrAdam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354341094685034690" border="0" /></a><br />Whenever we get one in here at the shop, it doesn’t last too long because I am always recommending it. “Pushing it” is probably a more accurate way of putting it.<br /><br />It is very much a work of the Cold War. The idea is that one of the major powers conducts a nuclear test that goes wrong. Sub-atomic particles are unleashed and spread across the globe sterilizing every male, including the unborn in the womb.<br /><br />All, that is, except one milquetoast scientist who happened to be inspecting the lower levels of a lead mine at the time of the accident. He is suddenly the only fertile male left on the planet, and he will be the father of the human race. He is Mr. Adam. And just as suddenly this guy is absolutely irresistible to every woman on the planet.<br /><br />That’s how the book begins. What the book is about is what happens to him once the government gets their hands on him, tries to regulate him, and builds a huge bureaucracy around him. It is a very funny book.<br /><br />It was authored by Pat Frank, who was best known for his post-apocalyptic novel <span style="font-style: italic;">Alas, Babylon.</span><br /><br />He was born Harry Hart Frank on May 5, 1908 in Chicago. He started his career as a journalist and fought World War II behind a typewriter for the Office of Strategic Services (the OSS, precursor of the CIA) and the Office of War Information.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuNophW2ebet5MjDhw9Zdje0dQG6IlgB8NvSoJXkpYDC9Lje649yFrEieXZrecuwZ6x_3zMnOMvSjdzAVdOySLf2DCVW1oo0i7H_9UZbSAyILmhcXt2qB76_olBv1xmyjLW9X8dzENQ/s1600-h/PatFrank.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuNophW2ebet5MjDhw9Zdje0dQG6IlgB8NvSoJXkpYDC9Lje649yFrEieXZrecuwZ6x_3zMnOMvSjdzAVdOySLf2DCVW1oo0i7H_9UZbSAyILmhcXt2qB76_olBv1xmyjLW9X8dzENQ/s320/PatFrank.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354341295680252418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mr. Adam</span>, published in 1946, was his first novel. It sold over 2-million copies. And it was followed by <span style="font-style: italic;">Hold Back the Night, An Affair of State, Forbidden Area</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Alas, Babylon</span>. He also wrote and published a non-fiction book, <span style="font-style: italic;">How To Survive The H-bomb And Why</span>, in 1962.<br /><br />He made no bones about the fact that he wrote a book whenever he needed some cash. The rest of his time was devoted to liquor and women…not necessarily in that order. Apparently he was quite a lady killer in his day. There are reports of people coming to visit him who had to make their way through jungles of bottles and ladies (plural) in various stages of decency. And that was pretty much the regular state of affairs around his writing studio.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Alas, Babylon</span> was a whopping success when it was first published in 1959. Fifty years later it is still a staple of high school reading lists.<br /><br />Frank died on October 12, 1964.<br /><br />Doing a quick search of the shop, I find that we have copies of several of his books in here. Some are in our Vintage Fiction area. Others are in Science Fiction. But this particular book is going onto the paperback rack at the front, near the register. I’ll put it there not because it is a place of honor, but because it will make it much easier for me to point it out to the next customer who comes in “just looking for a good read.”<br /><br />I can’t think of a better book to fit that description.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-19329773868156021142009-06-25T19:36:00.003-04:002009-06-25T20:33:22.871-04:00Is My Wife In There?***RING***<br /><br />I’m at the back of the shop working with a customer. Naturally. Just about as far from the phone as I can be while still being in the shop. I make my excuses and start moving toward the desk.<br /><br />***RING***<br /><br />I’m rounding the corner now, moving past the Science Fiction and Horror sections, and I pick up the pace. I don’t like to run in here (me running isn’t a pretty sight, and I am not in great shape), but I know that I only get four rings before the call goes into the answering machine, and most folks hang up rather than leave a message.<br /><br />***RING***<br /><br />Now I break into what passes for “sprinting” on my part. I fly past the vintage paperbacks (OK…”fly” is also a relative term), up past the cash register and get to the desk just as…<br /><br />***RING***<br /><br />“This is the York Emporium.”<br /><br />“Yeah. Hi. Is this a used book store?”<br /><br />“Yes, sir.”<br /><br />“On West Market Street?”<br /><br />“Yep.”<br /><br />“Do you have romance novels in there?”<br /><br />“Uh…well, yes we do.”<br /><br />“Is my wife in there?”<br /><br />Suddenly I know how every bartender in the world feels when they get a call from someone's wife.<br /><br />“Well, uh, she may have been. Can you describe her?”<br /><br />He does. And, yes, she was here. She had just left. Now what do I do?<br /><br />This is a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, I don't want to be caught in a lie. On the other hand, it certainly wouldn't be stellar customer service to be the cause of a customer (a paying customer, I might add) catching the ire of a husband. As a general rule, I try to stay on the good side of husbands. So.....I vamp.<br /><br />“Well, yes she was here. And I've got to say that she <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> felt good about herself, sir. She bought a couple of books, but they are on sale this week and she saved about 35%. She only spent about 6-bucks. She said her husband would be proud of her because that was a lot less than she had spent last time and that she was going to bring him in before the end of the sale.”<br /><br />“Oh! OK. Well...good. Thank you.”<br /><br />“Bye.”<br /><br />Maybe I should start asking folks if they need me to supply alibis. This could be a new profit center.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4504053492907315624.post-24747724091746159982009-06-18T15:38:00.005-04:002009-06-18T16:07:07.552-04:00Horrible Saturday, for the love of pathos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoACzisu2nMb7WLuxKQ84UsSQre-4DMvLIFtMOMrezrWb6gIFllCswsAx55lwAXm1zrCNyMdZA0XDPbGRm0-Y0dgyJDrALicnXB_NovXM7kP7pJAb2Rjsrz_E_oOlKozgPymAMBV-L1w/s1600-h/horrible.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoACzisu2nMb7WLuxKQ84UsSQre-4DMvLIFtMOMrezrWb6gIFllCswsAx55lwAXm1zrCNyMdZA0XDPbGRm0-Y0dgyJDrALicnXB_NovXM7kP7pJAb2Rjsrz_E_oOlKozgPymAMBV-L1w/s320/horrible.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348759469708827010" border="0" /></a><br />This coming weekend we’re hosting “<a href="http://www.theyorkemporium.com/events/horrible/index.html">Horrible Saturday</a>”. It is to be a day-long celebration of the horror genre, and it will include author appearances and book signings (makes sense for a book shop), movie screenings, presentations and, of course, the Screaming Contest.<br /><br />It really isn’t a convention, at least in the contemporary sense of the term. I don’t think we will have too many people in costume (although, having said that, I do know of at least one guy who is coming as the Grim Reaper) and we won’t be printing up special T-shirts of anything like that. It is simply a gathering of like-minded folks to enjoy each other’s company and, if we’re lucky, to scare the bejezus out of each other.<br /><br />I am always struck, when I start putting one of these things together, by the range and depth of individual activities that we can schedule.<br /><br />We have two local (Central PA) authors coming, for example. One of them, <a href="http://www.jfgonzalez.com/">J.F. Gonzalez</a>, is a true “up and comer” in the genre. Last year he made the decision to quit his day job and devote himself full-time to his craft. He’s already published a number of books and he’s got another coming in July (bad timing, that…we won’t have copies in time for this weekend). The other, <a href="http://www.fearzone.com/blog/john-maclays-humor-zone">John Maclay</a>, is considered a true expert in the field. He’s an author himself, but he’s also been a publisher, an editor and a critic. This is fairly big-time stuff.<br /><br />We’ve also got a film historian-turned-author in <a href="http://www.theyorkemporium.com/events/horrible/Wiebel.html">Fred Wiebel</a>. Fred is the guy who tracked down a copy of a “lost” film produced by The Edison Studios. In 1910, they<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0X27tXgb24irkfyj9YvLhALQEaAD1yV606w0V_-ZrMfrFw8HGyGS5ZTopVv9Gfnl2OC54pU4A5KYuEwUwlrh_QsnEBUHIGMAlehJPgYHp0VQ4gOJWORCd8xQS-IwSdWeQ9Ds1vso_RQ/s1600-h/Frankenstein.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0X27tXgb24irkfyj9YvLhALQEaAD1yV606w0V_-ZrMfrFw8HGyGS5ZTopVv9Gfnl2OC54pU4A5KYuEwUwlrh_QsnEBUHIGMAlehJPgYHp0VQ4gOJWORCd8xQS-IwSdWeQ9Ds1vso_RQ/s320/Frankenstein.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348759605632313202" border="0" /></a> produced the first film based on Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. Shot in glorious B&W, Fred has restored the film and put it on DVD. He’ll be telling the tale and showing the film.<br /><br />Then there’s the <a href="http://www.theyorkemporium.com/events/horrible/PARA.html">Paranormal Activity Research Association</a>. Ghost hunters. From York, no less. They’ve just completed a series of investigations into reported activities taking place in some of the historic sites in York County. And they’ve got photos and audio recordings.<br /><br />And <a href="http://www.livinghistorymusic.com/">Kent Courtney</a>, who is almost becoming a regular here, will become Edgar Allen Poe for the day, with readings and a discussion of the writer’s life.<br /><br />Now, none of these folks will be making any money off this. Yeah, they may sell a book or two, but that would hardly be enough to fairly compensate them for their time. They’re really coming to make their presentations for the sheer joy of it. They love this stuff. They like talking about it. They like sharing it.<br /><br />They’re planning to have a good time.<br /><br />And so it is with every “genre” day we do here. We’ve already had our annual <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=80374&id=56235580344">“Butternut and Blue”</a> (Civil War) day. Later this summer, we’ve got “Sci-Fi Saturday” (August 15). And in the fall, our “Celtic Autumnal”.<br /><br />Every day features a line-up of 6, 8 or 20 guests. Nobody makes any real money. But everyone has a good time.<br /><br />We listen to presentations. We play games. We watch movies and eat popcorn. This weekend, we shall even scream a bit (a contest, with braggin’ rights to the title of “Best Screamer in York County” caps the day).<br /><br />And the neat part is that I really don’t have to go seek folks to come and make presentations. It is all very Zen-like: I am merely open to them, and they come to me.<br /><br />From where I sit, “Horrible Saturday” doesn’t look all that horrible to me.Jim Lewinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11933647707212371116noreply@blogger.com10