Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Featured (Page 6 of 43)

One for the Book.

I thought about wearing a bow tie. Partly as a tribute and partly to acknowledge that booksellers can also be characters. I didn’t think about the bow tie for too long.

That fashion statement belonged to Mr. Meyer.

He had a shop over on Peoria, near 31st Street. Some of you won’t remember him at all, but those who ran across Lewis Meyer, Bookseller would not soon forget him. He was a fixture in the regional book world and enjoyed a national reputation in publishing circles. I heard him described as a book salesman in those terms usually reserved for those selling ice to Eskimos.

He was a smart man – had a law degree but kept at that practice for only five years or so before giving it up. He was a deejay for an hour every day on KAKC radio, long enough to plug books for a downtown Tulsa department store. He got such a following that he began hosting a weekly review at Brown-Dunkin’s, in an area that could seat over four-hundred.

They filled the place to hear his book act.

I remember him from Channel Six. Not that I regularly got up that early on a Sunday morning to watch “Lewis Meyer’s Book Shelf,” but I sometimes caught the late-night edition. It’s hard to imagine these days – a fellow on television talking about nothing but books. It was a different era.

Actually, his program spanned an era or two. He was on KOTV weekly for more than thirty years.

He was a character, complete with the suit and bow tie.

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I’ve had people remember him while visiting our shop, recalling how he could get so worked up over a book that you’d walk out of his store owning a copy – whether you had intended to buy it or not. In a Tulsa World profile from 1986 (back when book shops could be found in greater number around Tulsa), a competitor mused that Meyer could rely on his wide circle of friends and acquaintances to regularly buy new titles. Meyer admitted that he sent out some 2,000 “love letters” a month filled with book-buying suggestions for his customers.

In addition to his shop and his review programs, Lewis Meyer also found time to write. In fact, it was a copy of his first effort that brings him to mind. “Preposterous Papa” was his first published work, a remembrance of his father, Max Meyer. A copy came into the shop yesterday, signed by both Mr. Meyer and his “preposterous” papa, Max. A folded picture of the smiling bookseller had been stashed inside the back cover.

When the book was released in 1959, Lewis Meyer had enough notoriety that Sapulpa (Meyer’s home town) declared a Preposterous Papa day, with an airplane fly-over, an honorary dinner, and a live book review (of his own book) by Mr. Meyer himself – to be held at the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, where the auditorium offered a greater seating capacity than any other Sapulpa location.

A sharp businessman, no doubt – but that was a different time. Maybe he could have held on where others could not. He was confident thirty years ago.

“I’ve never been concerned about competition,” he said. “If you ever start a bookstore, pray for chain-store competition – all of it you can get. They don’t know books. People get so angry at them then buy from someone who does.”

Maybe Lewis Meyer would have an answer for Amazon and the internet. Maybe he could negotiate through the Kindles, iPads, and Nooks and still stock all those expensive brand-new books. Maybe his publisher’s deal would continue to allow him to return unsold copies, where so many other stores have lost that capability.

Maybe those 2,000 “love letters” might be the difference, although – the $1000 monthly postage creates its own overhead to be offset by copies sold at a reduced margin. Even among his regulars would likely be customers questioning his full-cover price versus the Amazon amount.

But he was King of the Book-hill in his day.

“The more you read, the taller you’ll grow,” said Mr. Meyer in his smiling signoff.

Except I read a lot. A lot. And I never got much past five-ten.

I’m going to put on my Bistro-jacket and serve up some lunches, right after I put the bow-tie back in the drawer.

Come visit!

McHuston

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

Goodbye, my children. Good buy.

Where do books come from, Daddy?

It wasn’t quite worded that way, but a visitor to the book shop wondered where I found the books that I offer for sale. (For those of you who haven’t yet stopped in, we offer a few new titles, but the majority of the inventory consists of well-kept used books.)

There isn’t a simple answer to the question, because they come from so many different sources.

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The easy answer is – I have a book tree out back and harvest a few every morning. Of course, THAT’S a load of blarney (but I’ve come close to having that one believed…)

The truth is: I spend time looking for books that I feel someone might like to own, and I wind up haunting garage sales, book fairs, thrift stores, and roadside turnouts. There are some folks who bring in books for credit on a trade account, and later use that credit to buy books to take home. On the rare occasion, I’ve accepted donations from people who are moving or (mistakenly) think they have too many books at home.

I answered today’s questioner much the same way, and mentioned that I occasionally buy books at auction.

The thing about auctions – you can make a bid and you may, or may not, be the buyer. I’ve placed bids on any number of books that went to others with deeper pockets. I placed a bid on an 1853 first edition Charles Dickens which – Surprise! – wound up being the winning number. Then I had to pay for it. I’m happy to own it. Love to drag it out to show people.

It’s fun to bid on beautiful books, even when you don’t become the owner.

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Then, there is that thing they call “buyer’s remorse.” I don’t call it that. For me, it’s more “buyer’s What-Was-I-Thinking?” That was the situation with an 1863 history of the French Revolution. A four-volume set bound in calfskin leather and marbled paper. Solid hinges. Only the slightest aging to the paper. Beauties, the lot of them.

Written entirely in French.

What was I thinking, buying such a set?

Obviously, I was taken by the quality of the books, thinking “What a nice set that would be to own.” And – suddenly – I was the owner.

No remorse here, but I was resigned to the fact that I was going to have the books laid in the coffin with me, so I could read them in the hereafter – where hopefully my French will be much improved. Then, a lunch guest joked about a discount on books for anyone who ordered from the menu.

I’m always versatile.

Told him with a grin that I could work something out – especially on orders over a hundred dollars. “Does that include lunch?” he wanted to know.

Began to sense that he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t. He pointed out the French Revolution set, written in French, bound in calfskin and marbled paper and published in 1863.

His wife is a French teacher.

Well!

I have mentioned to any number of folks, only half-jokingly, that the books here are like orphan children placed in my care until I can find them a good and deserving home. And what better home for the French-speaking children than the library of a French teacher?

Their place on the shelf in the front of the shop is still vacant and may be for a day or two. It can serve to remind me that – in the purchase of a beautiful set of antique books – there is no regret that is not offset by the satisfaction of giving them over to someone who will appreciate them just as much.

Au revoir, mes enfants…

We’ll be here early in the holiday week, so

Come visit!

McHuston

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

Framed. And liking it.

Feeling a little Hoity-Toity. An evening visitor at the front counter looked across the store and said:

I love your Larry Greer.

As in… original watercolor painting by artist Larry Greer that’s hanging on the wall of the shop, a painting I’ve owned all of my adult life. And my customer is talking about it with authority.

That was from his post-European-visit phase, she said.

Oh.

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According to her – and I have no reason to disbelieve – the late Mr. Greer was first known as a painter of western-style art. It was a long time ago when I bought the painting and I don’t remember anything else that was on display under his canopy.

It was at the Italian Festival at McAlester, years ago. Back then, the event was a big deal and was attended by at least one of the big-city television stations every couple of years. I don’t know if it has survived as an annual festival or not – shame on me.

The year the Original Greer (I may start calling it that from now on…hoity-toity-like), the year it came into my hands, I was a young DJ working afternoon drive radio in McAlester. The festival committee apparently decided that the way to entice some higher quality artists to display their works was to guarantee that some paintings would be sold.

We were asked as business-folks to promise to shell out some money. I offered to spend eighty dollars (and what was I thinking?) That amount was – as I recall – the figure I was paying for monthly rent. Eighty dollars doesn’t sound like so much now, but think about your own monthly mortgage or rent payment.

Yikes.

What can I say? I was a civic-minded knucklehead and not so good with finances.

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The Italian Festival rolled around and – always one to stand behind my word – I dug into the cigar box and pulled out those saved-up twenty dollar bills. After polishing off a plate of spaghetti and ravioli, I wandered around the grounds looking for something that might liven up my apartment.

Maybe something out of the ordinary, just a tad.

Larry Greer handed over his watercolor and it has been in my custody since. I’ve never known much about it except how it came to be on my wall. Not too long ago, a woman spoke to Dustin about it and later returned with a printed page about an Oklahoma City art auction. It showed the sale of a companion piece to the one I own.

Same red-capped fellow in the same matte and frame, but painted in profile. Auctioned for some twelve-hundred dollars. It made me feel better about spending my eighty all those years ago. It’s still valued at about the same as a rent payment.

Then today, the lady says: I love your Larry Greer.

I may have gotten eighty dollars worth of satisfaction just having someone recognize it. Not a Picasso or Remington print, but still.

Nice to have a life-long companion get a little attention.

It’s Friday night – Late Night – in the Rose District! We’ll be serving lunch tomorrow, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

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

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