McHuston Booksellers

Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Catoosa (Page 99 of 101)

My clone at work? Doubtful.

February 9, 2013 /

I could work half as hard or do twice as much if not for doing things twice that I have already done once.

Here in the shop is a big, big book with no price at all. Nada. It needs a little information, so off I go to Google. Imagine my surprise when an exact listing comes up for this volume from 1855. Usually, an exact match is more difficult.

Imagine my further surprise when I see the listing is from a bookstore in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. McHuston Booksellers.

Ooops.

Here is some work come back for a second go-round. You can click on the image for a better look at a pre-Civil War binding.

On the bright side, it does save me the time and effort of investigating the antique book, trying to compare market values and coming up with a price. Boom. There it is, right in the internet listing.

And the photo is already taken!

Having practiced my Roman numerals, I correctly determined that the book was published in 1854, but the heavy leather binding states 1855 – again, something I worked out a second time. It was listed that way in the original listing. I guess there is nothing left to do but put a price card in it, and return it to the shelf.

The Life of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; and the Lives of the Apostles and Evangelists
Date Published: 1854 (Binding states 1855)
Description: By Rev. John Fleetwood, D.D.; Published by Blackie and Son; London. Elaborate illustrated full leather heavy binding with raised bands. Front hinge beginning at lower edge. Water staining throughout. First signature is loose but holding, causing curling and closed tears at page edges. Gilt edges still present at top and bottom. Impressive Blackie and Son reprint of 1837 original, bound with the Lives of the Most Eminent Fathers and Martyrs by William Cave; and A History of the Christian Church by Rev. Thomas Sims M.A. Numerous illustrative lithographic plates.

The Rev. John Fleetwood, who authored the greater part of this three-in-one volume, was a Scottish theologian and biblical critic, but is obscure enough that he doesn’t have a Wikipedia listing.

Although his fame and heritage have been lost to time, his hefty tome survives him well – even if my memory doesn’t.

Scribner. Another Tulsa ghost.

February 4, 2013 / / 0 Comments

Before the American Civil War, in 1850, Isaac Baker died. His business partner paid off the estate and repainted the sign out front to read – Charles Scribner Company.

He published books.

After the war, the company began publishing a magazine, and then another – in that grand age of monthly editions. Later, his sons joined the firm, and at the father’s death the company was renamed Charles Scribner’s Sons. Over time, it became simply – Scribner.

When an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel was published, it bore the Scribner imprint. Same with Hemingway. Scribner managed to corral a number of influential writers like Kurt Vonnegut, Thomas Wolfe, and Edith Wharton. Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings won a Pulitzer for The Yearling, published by Scribner.

Stephen King didn’t win any Putlitzers, but won over a legion of readers during his contract years with Scribner with works like Dreamcatcher and Under the Dome, the latter soon-to-be-released as a film adaptation.

The name Scribner survives, in a fashion. The imprint is now owned by former rival Simon & Schuster, which was in turn acquired by CBS Corporation. During its heyday, Scribner operated a chain of bookstores anchored by its flagship location on Fifth Avenue in New York City.

The store was a marvel to behold, evoking a grandeur reflecting the lofty position held by books and authors at the time. 597 Fifth Avenue was built expressly for the housing of Scribner’s Bookstore. A glass front stopped passersby, who peered through to take in the two story interior complete with a mezzanine, an architectural masterpiece done up in a Beaux Arts style exterior. There was a vaulted ceiling and sunlight filtered in through clerestory windows.

At its demise in 1988, the New York Times treated the news as an obituary: SCRIBNER BOOK STORE, 75, TO CLOSE NEXT MONTH. A descendent of the founder lamented the occasion, but by then his paycheck was backed by Macmillan publishing which acquired Scribner four years earlier.

”A chapter of history is about to close,” said Charles Scribner 3rd at the time. No longer strictly Scribner, Charles the Third served as a vice president at Macmillan.

The Scribner stores were eventually acquired by Barnes and Noble following the breakup of the Scribner publishing and retail divisions. The Utica Square Scribners book store in Tulsa lingered past the millennium, but I could find no obit in the Tulsa World archives. A book signing was hosted there in 2001 – the final mention I found – although relics exist, like the bookmark tucked into a recent acquisition.

A bit like viewing gravestones, they underscore the often-fleeting nature of success. Makes me appreciate even more the opportunity I have to serve as a proprietor in a similar establishment – even if we’re on the economic endangered species list.

We know Oscar Meyer. Oscar Wilde? Not so much.

February 2, 2013 /

Dad and son came in to look around.

“Hmmm,” said Dad. “A bookstore.” He didn’t sound optimistic, but came in anyway.

His son might have been nine or ten years old. Certainly old enough to read and tall enough to see over the edge of the counter, where a doll-sized figure was displayed in a clear plastic card-backed package.

“Dad,” he called out. “Who is Oscar, Wild…Will-dee?”

“Uh-oh,” I thought. “This could be an awkward moment.”

I was remembering the scandals associated with Oscar Wilde (his name has an E at the end, which is – I suppose – why the young man read it as will-dee).

Even as the dad was considering his answer, I recalled putting a similar question to my mother.

“Mom,” I called out. “Who is Bridget Bardot?” Her name must have been mentioned on the television, that big clunky piece of furniture in our living room that displayed only black and white pictures. Maybe I saw a black and white version of Bridget Bardot that piqued my interest.

My mother didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“A movie star,” she said. “She likes to run around wearing nothing but a bath towel.”

I guess the answer worked well enough. I got the idea.

With the young man’s question posed in the book shop, I waited to hear the father’s answer. Finally, he sighed and admitted, “I have noooo idea.”

“He was an 1800s English writer,” I offered, trying to help out the dad. The kid was quick.

“Then why does that say ‘Action Figure?”

“It’s kind of a joke,” I responded. “He wasn’t known for X-Men kind of action.”

When Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde died in 1900, he was destitute and living in Paris. A victim of a scandal of his own creation.

He objected to something that was alleged to have been said about him by John Douglas, the Marquess of Queensbury. It was whisperings (some not so quiet) about Wilde and the son of the Marquess, Lord Alfred Douglas. Wilde sued for slander. In the course of the trial, enough mud was dragged into court concerning Wilde’s antics that he dropped the slander suit. It was too late, though. Wilde was charged with “gross indecencies,” convicted, and sentenced to two years of hard labor. He spent time in jail, although he spelled it gaol. He might have had better fortune in our current society, but in 1890s London there were some things best kept out of conversation.

In his day, Oscar Wilde was one of the most famous personalities around. He was born into a wealthy intellectual family, was well educated, known for his quick wit, and in 1890 authored a popular story called The Picture of Dorian Gray. It didn’t help the author during his lifetime, but when moving pictures were invented it was one of the early books adapted to film. It has been redone several times since that first Hungarian version in 1918.

Wilde had the intellect and wit of Dick Cavett, the social circles of Oprah Winfrey, the theatrical following of Neil Simon, and a wife as influential in her day as Hillary Clinton (well, maybe that last one is a stretch…).

Dapper-looking as he is, I thought Oscar the action figure would be gone by now, landing under some lucky literary Christmas tree. His action figure comrade Charles Dickens found himself a home over the holidays.

But then again – he was more will-dee than Wilde.

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