McHuston Booksellers

Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: new (Page 29 of 46)

Jimmy? No, he was James. St. James.

May 18, 2013 /

The St. James Hotel.

The name just sounds classy, doesn’t it? In its day, the St. James was THE classy spot to stay in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. Even in the 1940’s, when it had seen better days, it was spruced up to host the governor of the state of New York, Thomas E. Dewey.

In 1944, Dewey was the Republican candidate for the presidency and gathered 46% of the vote, but lost to Franklin Roosevelt. When the NY governor visited Sapulpa and its St. James Hotel, he was gearing up for the ’48 election.

The July 21, 1947 issue of Time Magazine carried a story of Dewey’s small-town visit and his local connection:

Nothing could be done about the sweltering, 90° heat. But the little town of Sapulpa, Okla. (pop. 12,000) had done everything else it could to prepare for the arrival of a home-town girl—Frances Hutt Dewey. The rickety old St. James Hotel was freshly scrubbed. Waitresses and porters sweated in new uniforms; the best suite had been completely done over by a local furniture store. At the Frisco station a crowd gathered to cheer Frances and her husband. New York’s Governor Thomas E. Dewey.

There is still a Dewey Street in Sapulpa. Whether it got its name from that visit is probably known by the historical society. In the case of the hotel, both the name and the building are long-gone as far as I can tell.

It was hopping in 1914 though.

It’s never money, but I’ve mentioned the odd things that come in with books. One of the images is a Christmas menu from the St James Hotel, which may be more easily read by clicking on the picture. The text is clipped in the image for some reason. Underneath the hotel’s name at the bottom it reads: Sapulpa, Oklahoma – in the same Old English text style.

Guests could expect a wide variety of entrees that Christmas evening, from appetizers to desserts. Some exotic, some not so. Celery hearts and Radishes? Zowie. That’s some fine dining.

The Virginia Ham, though, was barbecued and prepared Century Style, which may be a method forever lost to history. (Or maybe it is still common on Sapulpa dinner tables. Anyone? Anyone?) There was Roast Young Turkey and Crab Flake a la Newburg. Broiled Lake Superior White Fish. Blue Point Oyster Cocktail. The candied sweet potatoes must have been tasty and I’m always a sucker for mashed potatoes.

Then there was English plum pudding, Hot Mince Pie, Vanilla Ice Cream, and Hard or Brandy Sauce.

If this little piece of paper could only talk, I’d ask it whether the Christmas Dinner was a special event or an annual tradition, and whether everyone who was anyone in Sapulpa was there – by invitation. Or was it open to the public?

Lots of history, right there in that menu, without too many answers. It is certain that Sapulpa had some time in the sun, and – at least during the week of the Time Magazine article – the attention of the entire nation.

The things found in books aren’t always stories, but many have a story to tell.

Come visit!

McHuston

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

A-sworded thoughts on old stuff.

May 15, 2013 /

You know what they say about Live by the Sword, and all that… well, here I am at this moment – sword in hand. Strange what ends up in the shop, isn’t it?

Even stranger, the long-blade in the picture isn’t the only one. The sword I’m holding up is a US Civil War Confederate army cavalry sword made by Boyle & Gamble, a Richmond, Virginia arms-maker. The one I’m not holding up (mostly because I’m nervous about cutting my fingers off trying to remove it from the scabbard) was made by a company called Klingenthal that began making blades for King Louis XV of France in the early 1700s.

I’m thinking about having a sword-fight with myself, just because I could do that if I really wanted to. I’m deciding against it, right now, since I would probably lose.

Perhaps it isn’t true for other book dealers, but I’ve always found old relics interesting, even if they aren’t books. When I was much younger, someone brought in a box of items dating to Indian Territory days, and said they brought the things to me because they’d heard that I “like old stuff.” Old Stuff?

Bring it on!

In that box was an old property deed, a “License to Trade with Indians,” and some personal correspondence between a New York Metropolitan Opera soprano and the wife of Mr. Hailey, for whom Haileyville, Oklahoma was named. The singer was discussing a trip to McAlester to sing at the Busby Theater. Big Art in Indian Territory times. Hey, that would be Big Art anywhere in Oklahoma, even today!

These days, I see a lot more new than old. Some things so new they aren’t even on the shelf yet. When people special-order a new book, I always let them know the arrival date – and if they can’t make it in that day, I promise to protect their purchase…

With my Life.

At least now I have some method of protection. Book thieves beware! This seller is now armed with steel, and should you be so kind as to allow sufficient time for me to get these rusted old things from their sheaths, I’ll try to keep you at bay while pointing you in the direction of Self-Help or Science Fiction.

Actually, my mission is to photograph the items with a macro-lens that will provide evidence as to the manufacturer and what other information might be gleaned from the various stampings and insignias. When the blades are documented as much as possible, I’m to forward the images to an expert (sort of an Antiques Roadshow type) to determine whether they are worth putting up for sale at auction. You can click on any image to see a larger version, although the Klingenthal blade is still hard to read…)

Some of the old swords are pricey. Whether these are, or not, will depend on the evaluation of my pictures, I suppose.

In the meantime, while they are in my custody, I have three options:
1. I can defend myself as best I can against whatever has caused the death of a citizen in downtown Broken Arrow this evening. (No kidding. There is CSI-type yellow tape blocking off part of the intersection down by Fiesta Mambo’s restaurant, with two BA officers guarding the “crime scene.”) I was just mentioning how the BA firemen make daily runs down Main, just to keep in practice – usually shutting off the sirens and lights near Dallas Street. (Where the body was found.) Oooooooh, the irony! Also, (not to be mean, but) I’m wondering if the BA Ledger will report a death just blocks from their office in a more timely fashion than the news of the Elm Street MovieStar Cinema’s demise. (15 days.)

2. I can symbolically protect the purchases (at least until the swords are removed from the shop) by waving them above my head every time someone makes a special order and isn’t sure they can pick the book up on the exact day it arrives. (I’m not sure this activity is covered under the current business insurance policy.)

3. I can loan the blades out to anyone who orders Bangers & Mash from the lunch menu. (I’m only kidding about using the swords to cut up the sausage links, as it takes a sharper blade.) (I’m kidding about the kidding. They can be cut with a dull blade, too.)

So, until a resolution is reached as to their auction-house-viability, I’ll have to contend with Hara-kiri temptation, the urge to hoist one aloft while shouting “All for one and one for all!” and the obvious –

Finding someplace to stash two attention-grabbing swords where they won’t end up in the hands of an Inigo Montoya fan determined to act out his pivotal scene in the Princess Bride.

Wanna see a vintage sword up close? Come visit!

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” (Just kidding, I’m McHuston…)

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

Pooch fashion. Dog-earing.

May 9, 2013 /

At some future point, a child will pick up a book and turn it over and over looking for the On button. The rise of the eReaders is upon us.

Some schools are already incorporating tablets and other electronics to replace the old paper-based thing. That’s okay.

I don’t want to say this out loud, but if you’ll lean in to the screen there, I’ll whisper it:

Schools have a racket going with the textbooks. I don’t mean the elementary schools where books are handed out at the beginning of the year and then returned before summer vacation. (Do they still do that?)

Universities and colleges. Campus bookstores. Pick up the syllabus and wander over to the student union. Drop several hundred on the required materials, and that’s at used-book prices. Try to turn them back in later and Boom! Curriculum change. Won’t be using that book next semester. Can’t give you anything for it.

Sorry.

Okay. Whispering ended.

If the collegiate texts could be downloaded onto a reader, a sizable chunk could be hacked out of those education costs. I’m all for that.

Reading books for pleasure, though?

I’m hoping that the books will linger around for a while, but who am I kidding? Go ahead and give me your thoughts – call me on your rotary dial phone. But call before closing-time. Look down at your wristwatch and check the hour. Go ahead, I’ll wait a minute. A couple of you are actually wearing one. Does it have the big minute hand and the little hour hand?

Telling time used to be a school-day lesson. Pass back those purple-y colored mimeographed sheets with the little clock faces all over, and write the correct time underneath with the old #2.

Well, I’m here to tell you, THAT lesson plan is gone.

Another one gone bust is the book-respect lecture, which brings me the long-way back to our first reference: kids and those darned non-electronic readers. Books, as we call them. I can vividly recall my teacher holding up a book for the demonstration. Even as an educational tool and example, she was unable to physically turn down the page corner in teaching us that such an action was unacceptable. She curled it over a little bit, but didn’t crease it. She just explained the creasing part. Couldn’t do it. The woman RESPECTED books.

No dog-earing the pages, she said. And of course, I heard dog-ear-rings, a fashion faux-pas if there ever was one.

TEACHER: Don’t do the dog-earing.

ME, harboring a dog-earring question while raising and waving my hand, supporting it aloft at the elbow with the palm of my other hand as she continues to look around the class, ignoring my attempts at getting her attention to the point that I cannot keep my waving hand up any longer. I coughed. No good. Hand down.

TEACHER, finally looking in my direction: Did you have a question?

ME: Dog earrings?

TEACHER: You’re asking about dog earrings?

ME: Uh, no. Can I go to the bathroom?

As I headed out, she held up a scrap of paper for the class to see, wedging it near the spine. Mark your place with a piece of paper instead, she said. (A book-wedgie, I thought, but did not say aloud.)

Later, the teacher brought a pencil dangerously close to the book’s pages while warning us to never, ever – write in a book. Ever. Her eyelids kind of lifted as she said it. Never, she repeated. Ever.

I got it. As a result, I am a lifetime supporter of the post-it note foundation. I don’t write in books, despite the practices of others in the book-selling profession. Don’t write in books. Ever. No dog-earrings, certainly.

Which brings us at last to the point of today’s entry. (You’re asking – I know: What’s the point?)

A fellow carried to the counter a 1930 first edition with a surviving (now in plastic protector ) dust-jacket and slipcase, then turned it over in his hands several times, for my benefit. He didn’t see a sticker on it, he said, and wondered about the price. He opened the front cover and pointed to a penciled-in price of four-dollars.

For back-story purpose: The book was in a rare book case and a sign-card in front of it displayed the price. Another copy of the same book is currently listed on the internet at well over three-hundred dollars. I’m asking $285, the price that was written on the tent-sign. But there was no disputing the fact that $4 was lettered in pencil on the front end-page. A used-book dealer had priced it at four-dollars once. Once, in the eighty-plus years since it had become a used book. Back when it wasn’t scarce or hard to find, I’d guess. Sometime when new hardbacks sold for under ten bucks. Well under.

That must have been an old price, I suggested. A really old price. (I suspect he knew that, since he admitted to having noticed a card with two-hundred-something written on it.) The $4 notation-in-pencil was a price once – but not mine.

I don’t write in books, I explained. Never.

Ever.

Holster your pencils and come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main Street, Broken Arrow OK

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