Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: book stores (Page 14 of 113)

Must be Spring Cleaning time!

I was riding on two wheels when Schwinn was advertising the Sting Ray and Krate bicycles. My ride had a little engine on it, but it wasn’t a lot bigger than those in the Schwinn ad on the back of the Boy’s Life magazine.

There are all sorts of odd-ball things that come in through the front door. Mostly books, but I’ve looked over everything from puzzles, games, documents, and sheet music – to statuettes and coffee mugs. They call it spring cleaning, but whatever the occasion, we seem to be offered more items for purchase this time of year. There were a few books in this load, but the greater part of it was old magazines.

Hate to call them old, because I remember the time well. Boy’s Life was a magazine that was delivered to our house for a time and I remember the excitement of something arriving in the mailbox with my name on it. I have a vague recollection of the Krate bicycle as shown in the image – but I might have been paying more attention to motorized transportation by then.

aBikeSchwinn

The Sting Ray, though… that was the stylish ride when I was a young and on the pedals. I didn’t have the real-deal, but created one – Frankenstein style – by cannibalizing an older bike and buying a set of high-rise handlebars. There was a kid in McAlester who could pop a wheelie and ride on the back wheel alone for as long as he wanted. City blocks.

I wanted to be able to do that.

aBikeSchwinn2

So, I practiced and crashed, practiced and crashed – but finally got to the point I could keep a “wheelie” going for about as long as I wanted. Got good enough that I started trying to do it on the front wheel by bumping up against the handlebars. That didn’t work out so well.

If I had been a bit younger, I would have been fantasizing over the Krate and its available models: the Orange Krate, the Lemon Peeler, the Apple Krate, the Pea Picker, and the Cotton Picker. Shock absorbers. Shift lever, five-speed. Dual brakes.

And a price tag that had to have been startling back then.

A hundred bucks.

That amount was more than my monthly rent for the little garage apartment I had just a couple of years after the Schwinn ad came out. Of course, I’ve not priced bicycles lately, and it could be that they cost as much as a month’s rent.

The Boy’s Life magazine had a cover price of forty-cents, which is proof of its age. There aren’t many publications to be had for under a dollar these days, and back when I tried stocking magazine titles, most were closer to five bucks each.

These however, can be had for a song – if you happen to be in the market for some memories. Don’t have the space to keep them around so I’ll be working to find a home for them. There is a passion among book people to keep printed materials out of the landfill.
The magazines may be cheap, but the bicycles certainly aren’t. The second image is from a couple of current eBay auctions, which proves that the bike might have been a pretty good investment back then.

We’ll be wheeling at lunchtime, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

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

Long ago. Back in the time we ate dirt. And loved it.

The four little words that carry the burden of years: Never Heard of It. It happened most recently while talking cars, when I mentioned the Datsun 240Z.

“A what?” he asked.

“Datsun 240Z,” I replied, figuring I had spoken it clearly enough, assuming that the car was an icon of sorts. Like saying, Corvette. People usually know what you’re talking about.

“Datsun?” he repeated, and frowned. “Never heard of it.”

BANG!

zCar

The hammer of aging. Remembering clearly the stuff people have never even heard of. Like the car model called Datsun before it morphed into Nissan. Used to own a boxy little Datsun and used to drive a Z-car.

But that was after they became known as Nissan in the US market.

The fellow and I were talking about the demise of British sports cars – those little convertibles of the sort I drove in high school. I suggested that the failure of the English cars was in part due to the introduction of the Japanese Z car.

It was the end of the 1960s and the US was clamping down for the first time on vehicle emissions. British car companies bolted on some emission control devices to meet the new standards – resulting in a lower-horsepower version of the previous year’s model. Since they were practically sewing machine motors to begin with, they no longer made for that zippy, happy, driving experience.

The Z-Car was designed with an anticipation of the new standards. Result: zippy, happy, driving experiences.

Needless to say, long-gone are the Triumphs, the MGs, and the Austin Healeys. The Nissan 370Z for 2016 has a suggested retail of 30K, and I bet it is even more zippy than before.

Some of the Tulsa media folks might remember the K95FM news car back in the early days of that incarnation of 95.5. The format had recently changed to contemporary country, with a news department. It was a kick to pull up to the scene in that sporty little blue Z.

It had one of the early mobile phones installed in it. That’s what we called them back then. Mobile phones. They were mobile as long as the car was moving, those first ones. Big as a cinder block and about as heavy.

But that car served to remind me that work can be fun, too. Especially for someone who is a fan of sports cars. Even if it was just a local press conference about the latest fund-raiser. It was a kick for me to drive to it.

So, today’s image is for those of you who don’t remember when the Nissan car company sold vehicles with the name Datsun stuck on the fender. The Datsun 240Z was the first in a long line of imported sports cars.

One of which once roamed the streets and byways of Tulsa County with a big K95FM emblazoned on the hood.

That was back in the days of good news, huh?

Come visit!

McHuston

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

Faith an’ Begorrah! Another St. Paddy’s Day in the Books.

If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, then you’re lucky enough. And EVERYBODY is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. I’m writing this thinking back on the days of Paddy’s Irish in Tulsa, when the lunch hour was over and we could begin gearing up for the big night.

Because it was during the evening hours that everything kicked into gear. Standing room only, five-deep around the bar, plates and plates of corned beef, live music, and the annual march-through of the kilt-clad bagpipers.

StPat2

My kilt still fits, as it turns out. (It hasn’t changed, but I have – and I’m lucky to be back down to once-a-year-kilt-wearing-size.) I didn’t march around with any bagpipes, but I did run behind my daughter on several occasions carrying drinks and plates of corned beef.

They were plates to be proud of, to my way of thinking. I made a lot of corned beef in my Tulsa restaurant days at Paddy’s Irish (not just a once-a-year thing), and Dustin’s offering at our St. Patrick’s lunch today was everything you’d expect. Attractive on the plate, delicious to the taste. And as our neighbor at Hollow Tree Gifts (a find shopping boutique in the Rose District!) – as JoAnn reported back, “it’s so tender a baby could eat it!”

We sold out, needless to say, but made it almost through the lunch service before switching to the shepherd’s pies and the regular menu. Better to run out than throw out, the way I look at it.

A public Thanks! to Kristen for waiting the tables today, and another big Thanks! to Dustin for all his hard work in the kitchen. There is no question that – as fun as St. Patrick’s Day was at Paddy’s back in the day – I enjoyed our shamrock and corned beef lunch party a lot more. Less stress. Shorter hours.

And fewer Irish-revelers hanging on to the floor for dear life and partying into the wee hours.

So, I’ll be putting some of the party decorations away. Others stay put. We’re Irish everyday here, not just around the seventeenth of March. Remember, there are no strangers here, only friends you’ve not yet met. So,

Come visit!

McHuston

(PS The strangers and friends line is courtesy of our Irish poet friend W.B Yeats, from whom I borrow with gratitude.)

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