we tend to house our products according to value that we put on them
Yesterday my wife and I drove up to Beautiful Beaufort by the Sea, South Carolina for the Friends of the Beaufort County Library Book Sale.
It was held in the waterfront pavilion in downtown Beaufort.
I have been to and taken part in a lot of Friends of the Library book sales in my day but never one outdoors, along the coast, and in November.
I am at a time in my life when divesting of accumulated books is more on my mind than accumulating more physical books (As I buy more and more tablets to hold more and more e books – and for those who wag a finger, I also have a solar power tablet charger for when my Twilight Zone ‘Time enough at Last’ event happens) but then you just never know what a book sale might have and what I might find.
And what I found was a biography of the great …. MAX PERKINS!
Most likely you have never heard of him which is the way it should be.
He was a book editor and it was his job to remain anonymous while making an author’s writing better.
The author’s Mr. Perkins edited include F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Wolfe.
I got through the first page, just the first page, where the author described the Charles Scribner and Son’s bookstore in New York City.
A bookstore that is no longer around, but it is still remembered as being in the top five of bookstores ever in the world.
Wikipedia writes: “The building opened by May 18, 1913, and became the seventh headquarters of Charles Scribner’s Sons. In addition to the bookstore and offices at 597 Fifth Avenue, Scribner’s had a building at 311–319 West 43rd Street for its printing press. The development of the 597 Fifth Avenue building was described by architectural writer Robert A. M. Stern in 1983 as “sure testimony to the rapid march of commerce to upper Fifth Avenue”. New York Times journalist David W. Dunlap, writing in 2012, said 597 Fifth Avenue was like “the Apple store of its day”. At opening, the bookstore contained shelves of books arranged along both the ground floor and the balconies.”
I went looking online for photographs of the store and came across the blog, Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York which on February 8, 2010, had a post titled, Scribner’s Bookstore, where the Jeremiah discusses the store and its contents.
The author wrote, It’s difficult to imagine anyone in New York today providing such an opulent setting in which to sell books. We tend to house our products according to the value we put on them.
I like that line as I think of the bookstores that are left to us today.
And then I thought about the book sale had just left.
In an open air pavilion.
In a park.
Along the waterfront, 2 miles from the Atlantic Ocean.
Such an opulent setting in which to sell books.
We do tend to house our products according to the value we put on them.
begin the hours of this day slow and make the day seem to us less brief
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
October by Robert Frost, The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged, edited by Edward Connery Lathem (New York: Holt, 1969)
Fall in South Carolina
I came across the poem and saved it for use in October, but I woke up this morning, and it was November and I didn’t want to wait a year to use it.
because she knew that it’s foolish to shut oneself in any wardrobe
Adapted from the passage:
Looking into the inside, she saw several coats hanging up—mostly long fur coats. There was nothing Lucy liked so much as the smell and feel of fur. She immediately stepped into the wardrobe and got in among the coats and rubbed her face against them, leaving the door open, of course, because she knew that it is very foolish to shut oneself into any wardrobe. Soon she went further in and found that there was a second row of coats hanging up behind the first one. It was almost quite dark in there and she kept her arms stretched out in front of her so as not to bump her face into the back of the wardrobe. She took a step further in—then two or three steps—always expecting to feel woodwork against the tips of her fingers. But she could not feel it.
From the book, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by CS Lewis, released in the United States, 75 years ago.
There is a bookstore in Richmond Hill, Ga (the town once owned by Henry Ford) where you can walk through the Wardrobe.
I would go to this bookstore just to walk into the wardrobe even if all the books were priced $2/paperback and $4/hardcover.
More so than “The Hobbit” or Tolkien’s books, Lewis’s books felt aspirational. I didn’t want to go on adventures that involved spiders and dwarves and Ringwraiths, much as I enjoyed hearing about them. But I did long to have a closet that led to another world, to meet a faun and to try Turkish delight.
Now I’m old and even more of a hobbit than I used to be, and I still want a closet bigger on the inside than the outside. I’d still like to meet Mr. Tumnus. I have, at least, tried Turkish delight.
I like that I still want a closet bigger on the inside than the outside.
In his dedication, Mr. Lewis wrote:
My dear Lucy,
I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I shall still be
your affectionate Godfather, C. S. Lewis
But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.
Is that not fabulous?
Something to remember, much like the advice to leave the door open, of course, because it is very foolish to shut oneself into any wardrobe.
Maybe worth the entire series of seven books.
Right up there with JRR Tolkien’s, “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”
this great nation will endure as it has endured will revive, prosper
This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself–nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.
Yet our distress comes from no failure of substance. We are stricken by no plague of locusts. Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered because they believed and were not afraid, we have still much to be thankful for. Nature still offers her bounty and human efforts have multiplied it. Plenty is at our doorstep, but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply. Primarily this is because the rulers of the exchange of mankind’s goods have failed, through their own stubbornness and their own incompetence, have admitted their failure, and abdicated. Practices of the unscrupulous money changers stand indicted in the court of public opinion, rejected by the hearts and minds of men.
True they have tried, but their efforts have been cast in the pattern of an outworn tradition. Faced by failure of credit they have proposed only the lending of more money. Stripped of the lure of profit by which to induce our people to follow their false leadership, they have resorted to exhortations, pleading tearfully for restored confidence. They know only the rules of a generation of self-seekers. They have no vision, and when there is no vision the people perish.
The money changers have fled from their high seats in the temple of our civilization. We may now restore that temple to the ancient truths. The measure of the restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit.
Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort. The joy and moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten in the mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men.
Recognition of the falsity of material wealth as the standard of success goes hand in hand with the abandonment of the false belief that public office and high political position are to be valued only by the standards of pride of place and personal profit; and there must be an end to a conduct in banking and in business which too often has given to a sacred trust the likeness of callous and selfish wrongdoing. Small wonder that confidence languishes, for it thrives only on honesty, on honor, on the sacredness of obligations, on faithful protection, on unselfish performance; without them it cannot live.
Restoration calls, however, not for changes in ethics alone. This Nation asks for action, and action now.
From the 1st inaugural address of Franklin Roosevelt, March 4, 1933.
Please allow me to hit some of those points again.
This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper.
Practices of the unscrupulous money changers stand indicted in the court of public opinion, rejected by the hearts and minds of men.
They know only the rules of a generation of self-seekers. They have no vision, and when there is no vision the people perish.
The measure of the restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit.
Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort.
Small wonder that confidence languishes, for it thrives only on honesty, on honor, on the sacredness of obligations, on faithful protection, on unselfish performance; without them it cannot live.
Restoration calls, however, not for changes in ethics alone. This Nation asks for action, and action now.
As an aside, my wife and I marvel when faced with people in elected office who can speak in complete sentences.
And such sentences.
I do long for that day of newspapers and reporting and not the 140 character sound bite.
But I digress.
It was Franklin Roosevelt who had a hand in designing and building what became known as the Oval Office.
The West Wing had been built by his 5th cousin, Theodore Roosevelt and the President’s office was centrally located and windowless near what is now known as the Roosevelt Room.
President Theodore Roosevelt liked to have his work space distractions limited.
In other words he was so A.D.D. that anything like a window made it impossible to concentrate on any one thing for long. (Maybe A.D.D. is too strong a word and I should say that he was so intellectually stimulated, author of 40 books, spoke 5 languages and a near photographic memory that he was easily bored but I digress again).
It was President Taft who moved the Presidents office to a room on the outside wall and added bay windows that looked out on the south lawn.
This office was still center aligned and used by all the President’s from Taft to Hoover.
Late in the Hoover years, a fire broke out in the West Wing and reconstruction was in progress when FDR moved in and he had the office moved to the corner of the West Wing and fashioned into an oval.
The room took its power from the person in the office.
It became known as the most powerful room in the western or free (non-Soviet-aligned) world.
In the 1995 movie, “The American President”, President Andrew Shephard, played by Michael Douglas has the line, The White House is the single greatest home court advantage in the modern world.
It wasn’t until today, 82 years after FDR built it, the any one felt that folks needed a sign to let them know where they where when they had reason to be in that office.
That says something about insufficient or inadequate stature felt by the current occupant.
Small wonder that confidence languishes …
for it thrives only on honesty …
on honor …
on the sacredness of obligations …
on faithful protection …
on unselfish performance …
without them it cannot live.
Reading over this speech I ask, why can’t THOSE folks read this and feel some conviction?
But then I am reminded of a quote of President Warren Harding when he said, “Somewhere there must be a book that tells all about it, where I could go to straighten it out in my mind. But I don’t know where the book is, and maybe I couldn’t read it if I found it.”
They just don’t get it.
Deep down, though, I think THEY DO GET IT and they know it and they know that they know it and I know that they know that they know it.
And what do I know.
They have sold out.
I also know that this great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper.
We need restoration.
Restoration calls, however, not for changes in ethics alone.
careless people, they let other people clean up the mess they have made
Adapted from the passage:
I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused.
They were careless people, Tom and Daisy — they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made. . . .
From the book The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1925).
Celestial Eyes, the original 1925 dust jacket for The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, was the work of Francis Cugat, also known as Francisco Coradal-Cougat (May 24, 1893 – July 13, 1981). Cougat was a painter and graphic designer whose most famous work was this book cover.
In the realm of life imitating art, the line; I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused., sends shivers down my spine.
As it goes on, the more I believe it has to be a hot house phenomena.
Like the Roading 20’s, the USA rose up and passed Prohibition.
I look for and feel a growing wave of resentment that will wash away the carelessness of this current era.
But for now, it’s all careless and confused.
They will smash up things and creatures and then retreat back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that keeps them together.
And let us clean up the mess they have made.
*Thanks to good friend Bryan whose post reminded me of the passage.
No Haiku For You 