Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: bistro (Page 24 of 105)

The Edition before the First Edition.

A lot of crazy stuff going on in the 1950s. Television was a new thing, really. There were radios in every home, but most of the living rooms with TVs were located in New York City – that’s where the few TV stations that existed were broadcasting.

Books?

Who knew what was going to happen with those old throw-backs?

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There was that whole Cold War thing, worrying about nuclear bombs and Communists. The world was playing out like Science Fiction, except most libraries didn’t even stock the genre. They weren’t considered literary enough.

All those scenarios were playing on the mind of Ray Bradbury, who combined several of the elements to create a short work of fiction called The Fireman. In the novella, Bradbury expanded a book-burning premise and a totalitarian government element from two of his previously published stories.

He had rented a typewriter in the UCLA library’s basement for twenty cents an hour and spent a couple of weeks pounding the keys and cranking out his tale. Galaxy Science Fiction was a new magazine at the time, and Bradbury’s story was the featured fiction in the February 1951 issue.

An editor at Ballantine Books read it and immediately contacted Bradbury, urging him to add enough to the narrative to double its size. Fahrenheit 451 was the resulting novel, said to have been completed in nine days in that same basement at UCLA.

It took a little time to get the manuscript onto the printed page, but it has been in print ever since. It has held its own against other cautionary tales concerning government involvement in conformity and censorship. Ironically, the work itself was censored for years before a friend pointed out to Bradbury that the publisher had taken a red-pen to eliminate words considered too adult for teen readers.

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Fahrenheit 451 is required reading for some high school classes, and while it has been around for more than sixty years now, it is certainly a less-dated classic than some of the 19th Century titles on school reading lists.

It made quite the impression on me as a young reader.

Needless to say, First Edition copies of the book are fairly expensive to come by – that’s why I was tickled when a copy of The Fireman – the story that became Fahrenheit 451 – landed on the front counter. It’s in the 1951 issue of Galaxy magazine which arrived with Scotch-tape on the cover along with some creases and age-tanned pages.

That’s okay.

If it wasn’t for the little magazine and the story it contained back then, I would not be selling copies of Fahrenheit 451 this week to back-to-school English students.

Oh, and by the way – if the title has never been explained – 451 degrees is the average temperature at which a book will burst into flames. (A scary thought for booksellers to consider!)

We’ve got plenty of other hot book ‘round here, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

A tune up and fresh coat o’ paint. Book band-aids.

My suggestion to her was – get a nice ribbon to tie around it and put in on the shelf as a keepsake. She didn’t go for that.

It was her father’s book, when he was a young boy. Still has some of his scribbles in it, along with his name in grandma’s penmanship. The lady who brought the book into the shop wanted to be able to open the front cover and read it. She was hoping for a book that wouldn’t shed paper scraps every time it was picked up.

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So, here we are.

I’ve never professed to being a book doctor. More like a first aid station. There are some old world bookbinders around the Tulsa area that can put your ancient family bible back to rights, but I’m more of a practical restorer. Usually I can get a book up and reading without a lot of fanfare, but in a condition sturdy enough to last another fifty years, give or take.

Today’s specimen had already lost the front cover and four of the initial pages of the book. The back cover was hanging by a couple of threads, so I went ahead and pulled that loose tooth.

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The ribbon suggestion on my part was simply to allow the book to remain as a keepsake, with the remains – such as they were – in exactly the same condition as it was when the book was passed into her possession.

But I’m certainly in favor of getting a Model T back on the highway. Maybe sporting a new paint job.

I’ve included a couple of pictures of the early stages of the project. Loose boards (the front and back covers), and the book block in a press. The other image is the artwork that will replace the old on the front cover.

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Had to decide whether I should put the book back the way it arrived or to upgrade it a little. It’s sort of like a car restoration that includes new tires and a tune up, but leaves the old paint job and some rust around the edges. I opted for sanding and painting. You can see in the image how difficult it was to even see the cover art for all the scuffing.

I’ll turn over a copy of the faded front cover with the finished project to preserve the sentiment, and attach the restored version of the art to the book’s front.

A leather spine and cloth binding are in the plans and should be in the works in the next day or two.

Hopefully, the repaired book will keep honor the memory of the woman’s late father, while providing a bright and tightly-bound reading source for decades to come.

Plenty of books in great reading-shape on the shelves here at the shop, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Patches of History.

My friend Craig said something about Woodstock and how he wished we could go. I had no idea what he was talking about. A music festival, he said. In New York. Well, it may as well have been on the moon. There was no way my parents would let me cross the country for some dang-fool concert.

Turns out I wouldn’t have recognized most of the acts anyway. I loved music – still do – but it was limited to the radio songs and the biggies of the time. Beatles, Stones, Beach Boys.

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Somehow or another, Craig was in the music loop and introduced me to Zeppelin, Hendrix, the Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was my friend David who brought Woodstock to my ears. He bought the soundtrack and we must have worn out that tape (a prehistoric way of streaming music) from the many times we repeatedly played it in his car. David was a world-class steering wheel guitarist who talked his boss into giving me my first job at Allen’s IGA in McAlester.

In our neighborhood, I was the only one my age, it seemed. Craig and David and Michael were all a year older. Car-driving age.

Occasionally, one of them would talk a parent into giving up the car for a Saturday and we’d make a day-trip to Tulsa. There was a new shopping center called Southroads Mall that had stores with the sort of things we small town boys had never laid eyes on before. I had never even heard the term ‘mall’ associated with a shopping center at the time, it was that long ago.

The “Mall” had record stores and novelty shops, where retailers offered things like Woodstock patches. And I bought one.

Never got around to sewing it on anything, and never got around to throwing it out either. It was in a box with some of my books and when I opened the bookstore it wound up as a shelf-top doodad – a reminder of the Three Days of Peace and Music that wrapped up 46 years ago today.

Next to the Woodstock patch I have another with a slightly more local sentiment, although it is likely becoming obscure. It has been ten years this summer since KRMG’s John Erling signed off for the last time. His twenty-nine years at AM-740 was nearly a decade longer than my entire broadcasting career.

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Erling was a fixture by the time I found a spot in Tulsa’s morning drive radio, and it was an era of spoofs and gags and general zaniness. (Zany was a word we used –sparingly- back then.) I don’t remember who it was, but some morning deejay was tossing money along Riverside Drive during rush hour. The pranks calls were going out on KMOD.

And John Erling was encouraging tourists and locals alike to Ski the Tulsa Mountains.

His regular listeners were likely in on the joke, but no telling how many others were surprised that they had never seen the ski lifts or snow caps. Or the mountains themselves, come to think of it.

I remember seeing the phrase on bumper stickers around town, a tribute to the influence of a man behind a microphone whose followers knew exactly what it was about, without mentioning his name or his radio station’s call letters.

Am I way off, thinking that there were Glory Days of Radio, and Music?

No mountains here, but you can Skate the Rose District – and Chef Dustin and I will be serving it up at lunchtime, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro

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