IOBA Standard: Volume 7(2) Addenda

Addenda

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Post-Erattum

In the previous issue, we used “Errata” for the column heading in this space. Errata, of course, is actually a list of writing or printing errors in a given work, usually provided on a small slip of paper and laid in loosely or inserted. I have been taken to task by a British editorial colleague (on the Fourth of July no less, though a bit of a tempest in a teapot as nobody else complained) over my apparently ignorant misuse of the term, as “Addenda” more clearly fits the bill. I pointed out that I was merely stretching the use of the word, as some of the column deals with the errors, misconceptions, and deceits of the modern online book trade, but he counters that I have stretched to the point of “a complete tumble out of the window and a fall to disaster.” Addenda is a bit staid in terms of zingy column headings, and I enjoy the old OED quote, “In whom the dear errata column is the best page in all the volume!,” but we must not forget our mission of education, and if the language is too organic one ends up with literal manure, so Addenda it is. As long as we are qualifying headings, “Happy Hits” means funny little things one runs into when database searching. They aren’t always happy, but I’m sticking with that one.

Happy Hits

-One of the search services lists 36 copies of Ernest Hemingway’s In Our Time with a publication date of 2030.

-The bibliographical details of genealogical works can be hard to pin down. These are usually published in limited quantity, often by first-time authors who are long on family history but short on publishing information. Take Gaskill Genealogy, by Elizabeth P. Koleda. That’s the gilt title on the blue front cover of this 759 page work. No copies available online, but there are two WorldCat entries. The 1989 original is held by fourteen repositories, and what looks like a 1996 revision by Donald Oreste Caselli is held by four. You usually want the revision with genealogies, but in this case it doesn’t matter. To back up a bit, the printing in this book is from a computer-generated program of the era. Not too hard to read, but you feel like you’re looking at a printout rather than a published page. The author thanks one Mike Pawley in the dedication, “a very understanding computer friend.” It is this cramped and monotonous printing that led the original cataloger to miss the true title, Edward Gascoigne, aka Edward Gaskill and Many of His Descendants, directly across from the table of contents. That tells you more, and it doesn’t get confused with Gaskill Genealogy by Clinton Gaskill Cudaback, a wholly different work published in 1904. In a new half-page foreword stuck or pasted to an endpaper by Donald Oreste Caselli, a New Jersey relative of some sort, he tells a little about author Elizabeth Potts Koleda, and then uses the occasion to provide the history of his own branch not included in the original work. Caselli also applied a label over the title page "Compiled By" note. It gives us five lines about Koleda, so we learn that she died three years after her life work was published, but it obliterates what lies beneath, which is the original date of publication. Caselli did the same thing at the very rear of this work under "Direct Correspondence," covering over the original place of self-publication (the same WorldCat record cites both Princeville and Prineville, OR, they are both real towns in that state, and you can’t quite make out the original text under the label in order to settle the question) with his own address in Egg Harbor City, NJ, and thus confusing another sloppy cataloger. To summarize, then, Caselli somehow snapped up a handful of Koleda 1989 first edition copies, and three labels later he is the co-author of a 1996 revision published on the opposite coast, though none of those last three things actually happened. At any rate, on the somewhat confusing, busy, and transmogrified title page, under the heading "Serendipity," we find the following from the original author.

"The British Isles are made up of four nations. The Scots, who keep the Sabbath and anything else they can lay their hands on; the Welsh, who pray on their knees, and on their neighbours; the Irish, who don't know what the devil they want, but are willing to fight anyone for it; and the English, who consider themselves a race of self-made men, thus relieving the Almighty of a terrible responsibility."

Blurbettes

From the dust jacket of Lonesome George: The Life and Loves of a Conservation Icon, by Henry Nicholls (London: Macmillan, 2006).

“Lonesome George is on the stamps of the Galapagos Islands. He is a 5ft long, 200lb tortoise aged between 60 and 200. In 1971 he was discovered on the remote island of Pinta, from which tortoises had supposedly been exterminated by whalers and seal hunters in search of a square meal. He was carted off to his current home, the Charles Darwin Research Station on Santa Cruz island. He has been there ever since, on the off chance that scientific ingenuity will conjure up a way of reproducing him, and resurrecting his species. Meanwhile a million tourists and dozens of baffled scientists have looked on as George shows not a jot of interest in the female company provided.

“Henry Nicholls details the efforts of conservationists to preserve the Galapagos’ unique biodiversity and illustrates how their experiences and discoveries are echoed the world over. He explores the controversies raging over which mates are most appropriate for George and the risks of releasing crossbreed offspring into the wild. His story draws together the islands’ geology, evolution, history of human exploitation and imperiled future. It features strong characters, from Charles Darwin, to cloning pioneer Ian Wilmut, to the beautiful Swiss graduate who spent four months trying to persuade George to have sex. Some 100,000 tourists visit the Galapagos Islands each year; all drop in on George.”

Book Blogs

Confessions of a Bookplate Junkie

http://bookplatejunkie.blogspot.com

Posted 8/27/2006

“Children’s Bookplates and Meerkats”

My Home Library

Every Friday evening my wife and I watch a television series called Meerkat Manor. One of the things that bonds Meerkat families is grooming and it occurs to me that reading to children before bedtime is much like grooming.

For those of you who read to your children and want to give them a bookplate click onto the link for My Home Library above.

You will find this free service delightful.

If some of you out there are especially proud of the bookplate(s) you or your child have already designed why don't you send me a scan? I can be reached at Bookplatemaven@hotmail.com

There are a number of children's bookplates in my own collection and I have scanned a few for your enjoyment. Additional scans and biographical information about the bookplate designers will be added throughout the week.

The bookplate for Harold Chandler Kimball Jr. was designed by Harvey Ellis (1852-1904) who is best known as a furniture designer who worked with Gustav Stickley. I may be mistaken, but it appears that Harold Chandler Kimball Jr. graduated from Harvard in 1912 and was a casualty of world war 1.

I bought the bookplate designed by Winifred Bromhall at the Papermania show in Hartford. The artist was unknown to me so here is what I found in a Google search: The Child's Book-Plate

"Winifred Bromhall was born in Walsall, Staffordshire, England and was educated at Queen Mary's School, Walsall Art School and Birmingham University. Her family immigrated to The United States in 1924. She worked for a while at The Children's Art Center in Boston and in the art department of a New York settlement house before illustrating full time.

She illustrated her first children's book, Zodiac Town: The Rhymes Of Amos and Ann, by Nancy Byrd Turner in 1921. She continued to illustrate for other authors until 1945, when she began writing and illustrating her own books. Her first self-illustrated book was Johanna Arrives.”

Ye Olde Booksellers

Here is a small volume with red pebbled boards entitled, Forty Years Among the Old Booksellers of Philadelphia, with Bibliographical Remarks, by W. Brotherhead (Philadelphia, PA: A. P. Brotherhead, 1891). This 122 page gem must be well known to those interested in the early history of our profession in this city. He tells his own story first.

“In 1849 I commenced to sell old books at the northwest corner of Sixth and Market streets. My stock was worth about $60. It did not fill up my shelves, and I added cigars to my stock, and filled the empty shelves with cigar boxes. These in a short time I took down, and in their place I covered the empty shelves with Catlin’s portraits of Indians. These being highly colored, made a good show.”

Toward the rear of this little work are chapters on Men and Books, Prices and Editions of Books (with many details of fantastic Americana collections scattered through sale or auction), Something About Old Books and Their Buyers, Old Book Collectors, etc., followed by an index. We are interested in pp. 21-71, however, where he gives an account of dozens of his contemporary booksellers. Excerpts follow.

-Apley: In one of those stores resided a very dirty man, surrounded on all sides by a collection of old books almost without form, scattered here and there without any classification. He was a man of about fifty years of age or thereabouts; he might have been older, but his dirty and ragged appearance made it difficult to say how old he was. He always looked dark and sallow. His features were not repulsive to look at, but they had that miserly cast which at one glance caused him to be a marked character. The windows of his store were so thick with dirt and rubbish that it was difficult to see the titles of his books. I have many times visited the store for the purpose of purchasing books, and in looking round through the vistas of shelves erected at random, you would see him in some nook or corner lift up his bedizened face, and if early in the morning he would be cooking or eating his breakfast. The smell of the room, with the mustiness of the old books and the smell of his eatables, was anything buy savory or cleanly. The description which Dickens gives in “Old Curiosity Shop,” of the store in which Little Nell’s grandfather lived, is nothing to compare with old Apley’s store in the Arcade. As far as my recollection carries me, he slept and lived in this dirty atmosphere of old books. If he was married, and I think he was not, I never in all my visits saw the appearance of a womanly face, or any signs of womanly care and attention.

-James Dalling: Dalling was a Scotchman, of the old school. He kept a very select collection of old books for sale on South Eighth street, above Chestnut, east side, now Green’s hotel, and was well patronized by book buyers. He was a man of more than ordinary education, and attracted the best class of book buyers. He was not a man who stooped to conquer, but was firm in all his dealings, and with all the canny characteristics of his race. He, like the majority of old booksellers, did not amass a fortune; in fact, the pure and unadulterated old bookseller seldom does more than live comfortably, collect stock, and feast among his books, and love to talk to his literary customers of the great geniuses in the Elizabethan age, and descant on the talents and greatness of the age of Queen Anne.

-John Pennington: Mr. Pennington’s store become the centre of the elite litterateurs of this city, and of men like Charles Sumner and others. When the literary men of the Eastern, Northern and Southern States visited this city, nearly all were attracted to his store to buy from his fine stock, or give orders for European books. The literary chit-chat of those men, for I have heard them, reminded me of what can be found in Boswell’s “Life of Johnson,” where men like the burly, stern moralist Dr. Johnson met the inspired idiot Oliver Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, and other great men, where their wit and learning kept the table in a roar. Those times are past, but I hope at sometime will be resuscitated. I forget the year when John Pennington removed from Fourth street to Seventh street, near Walnut street. He was there for several years. The war broke out in 1861, and as his principal trade was among Southern men, his business become paralyzed, and his losses great. He felt his loss of the Southern trade very much; and as New York had begun about this time to pay special attention to the importation of books, engravings, and the fine arts, we lost that part of our business in this city, and it has been for many years prosecuted with great energy and tact, and is still pursued with vigor by them. To our disgrace it must be said, that New York has robbed us of that fine literary business we had here from 1800 up to 1860. This city was the great literary emporium of the United States from 1800 up to 1850. The finest edition of the Bible—hot-pressed copies—were issued by the Smalls, and fac simile editions of the English Classics were issued from the press of Wardle. Nearly all that prestige has gone; spasmodic attempts appear now and then, it is true, but the general effect has passed into other hands. John Pennington died some years ago; his business passed into the hands of his son, E. Pennington; until physical infirmities caused him to relinquish it into the hands of his son; but the halo of old John Pennington has passed away, and his fine old store and name, except to a few, is sunk into oblivion.

-Peterson and Childs: The old book business cabined and confined this young Hercules, and he desired a larger sphere for his talents, and suggested the publication of books. About this time the intrepid traveler, Dr. Kane, had returned from his Arctic voyage—he was the hero of the day. Mr. Childs saw his golden opportunity, and urged Mr. Peterson to make arrangements with Dr. Kane for the publication of his travels. Mr. Childs, with great energy, entered heart and soul into this great enterprise, and, taking the tide at the flood, pushed it on with a resistless vigor—fanned the flame of excitement from every point that an acute observer only can see—and the result was a marvelous success. The book was illustrated with sketches from Dr. Kane’s drawings, by that erratic genius, James Hamilton. Those who are acquainted with art, know well that the genius of James Hamilton, in a collective sense, stands unrivalled as an artist in chiaroscuro, and bold effects. The book will always find a place in Arctic discovery, and stands second to none in artistic illustration. I am not sure, but believe that the masterly management of Mr. Childs in this book caused Mr. Peterson to accept him as his partner.

-W. A. Leary: Mr. Leary was a short, stout man, persevering and industrious in his habits, though by no means an educated man. He dealt in books as a grocer deals in sugar and candles, more by weight than from any intrinsic value; in fact, he did not know anything about the bibliographical qualities of books, he never pretended to know, and for this admission we must accord him due credit.

-Paine: Mr. Paine kept a book store with a book stand on South Second street near Noble street. His stock was not large. He dealt in school books, and sold any old miscellaneous books he could purchase. He was a very kind man, but did not know much about the value of old books.

-John Campbell: Campbell was a pushing man; he soon took the lines of his surroundings, and was one of the heaviest buyers of books at auction. John’s burly figure was always expected there, and soon his sonorous voice was heard above all others. If any one chanced to bid against him, woe to the bidder; John would again raise his sonorous voice to a higher pitch, and advance the price in such a vigorous tone that a laugh or a titter would ring through the room.

-Hugh Hamel: This old bookseller kept his store on South Tenth street, next to the Mercantile Library. He was there for many years, and had a large and good stock of old books for sale. He had risen from a mere peddler of books, and by dint of perseverance, collected them as a junk dealer collects his rubbish. He was probably the most ignorant of all the old booksellers in this city. At one time he could not write his own name. Whether he acquired this accomplishment afterwards I know not.

Peter Doyle: He was a man of much culture, with a refined taste; his personal appearance was somewhat peculiar. He was, in physique, rather small; delicate frame, with a large head and a peculiar cast in his eye. His face bore a studious aspect—pale and full of thought. A cast of melancholy, somewhat Hamlet-like, struck you on first impression. He was the most silent bookseller I ever met; only his most intimate friends could influence him in any prolonged conversation. He had his books carefully arranged, and when rare or valuable he wrote the most beautiful chirography and suitable descriptions I ever read. He was well posted in general literature, and had a fair knowledge of the bibliographical character of his books. So silent and so very soft in his conversation, that the book had really to sell itself. If you asked for a book and he had it, he would silently give it to you and point to the price, which as a rule was higher in price than any other bookseller in the city. No other effort to sell was made. He was always coldly courteous to you, and the reticent gentleman was always to be seen in him. His window was always filled with choice and rare editions, and often some choice work of art.

The sale of his fine stock of books was a very unfortunate affair to Peter Doyle, and there can be but little doubt that it hastened the close of his eccentric but high moral life. He was a man easily duped, and many cases are known where designing knaves took advantage of his generosity. One morning he was found dead in his store, unattended and uncared for. Peace to his ashes.

-Brown Brothers: Kept for several years an old book store, I think at the northwest corner of Fourth and Arch streets. One of the brothers was employed in the book department of Thomas & Sons, auctioneers, and had the best chances of purchasing old books of any booksellers in the city. This advantage was well used, and enabled the brothers to have a fine collection of books in their store. The brother with Thomas & Sons acquired bad habits—too fond of stimulants—and he died in a few years after the store was opened. The other brother, who was a kind and genial man, after the death of his brother, removed the stock somewhere out in Iowa, and whether he is dead or not I have not heard.

-Joseph Sabin: He entered into his new store with vigor and energy, and soon became the chief buyer at Thomas and Son’s auction store. For a few years he and John Campbell were the principal buyers, and few buyers could purchase books except Sabin and Campbell. Jennings the auctioneer seemed to favor them when opportunity offered. The consequence was that as credit was freely given, Sabin soon had a fine stock of books, the finest in the city at that time. Sabin was the connoisseur among old book buyers, and a fine business was the result. Had his rectitude been equal to his ability, none could have surpassed him in his business. One fine morning his store was closed and his whereabouts was not known. Jennings, of Thomas & Son’s, who had credited him with several thousand dollars, was soon on the alert, and found all the books had been shipped to New York. He at once went there, replevined them, and had them sent to their auction store and sold on their account. This ended Sabin’s career in this city. [More on Sabin’s New York adventures and bibliographic efforts follows.]

-Moses Polock: The library of Professor Reed, who was lost in the steamer Arctic over thirty years ago, he bought of the family, and in it were many fine books. The Roxborough Club books, a rare collection of early English reprints, were in this library. I presume Moses Polock was and is in a fair comfortable condition, because he made little exertion as a business man to sell his books, and because his prices are and were always fanciful. At any time after 10 o’clock in the morning you can ascend to his store; there you will find him bachelor-like all alone in his glory, breathing the atmosphere of his old books. He will meet you in the most genial manner, and will talk to you about his gems in the most intelligent spirit. There is but one exception I know of to this. He once sold for $16 “The Laws of New York,” printed by W. Bradford, a good price at that time; but the same copy was sold in the Brindley’s Collection of Americana at auction for $1600. The mention of this fact operated on Polock’s mind as if he had taken bitter gall for his breakfast. He has a rare early knowledge of men in the book business for the last forty years; but being a very reticent and diffident man, I am afraid those of the city will lose a charming lot of history about book-sellers, publishers and books. He is still in his old place, ever ready to do business with you, but is seldom visited except some old book-worm wants some very scarce book or pamphlet.

-John Hunt: Some twenty-five years ago, this brusque Englishman kept a book stand at the southeast corner of Sixth and Arch streets, and was very energetic and pushing in business. He also peddled books through the country in a wagon. He seemed to do a thriving business for several years; but all is not gold that glitters. His stock was seized and sold for the benefit of his creditors. He still lives in Camden, N.J.

-H. McKean: This old book-seller, who had a book stand against the burial ground was in Fifth street, near Spruce; and also a book store at the northwest corner of Fifth and Adelphi streets—added but little to the credit of the profession of old booksellers. He was literally of the character of an old junk dealer; and as a man his conduct was anything but exemplary—nay, censurable in every sense. I regret to write thus, but truth is the best, after all cavil may say. He was an Irishman by birth, but is now dead.

-W. S. Rentuol: An odd-looking character, a Scotchman by birth, and a good type of the old curiosity monger. He is lean and lanky in personal appearance, and always very frowsy-looking about the head. He has a fine collection of old Presbyterian books, and is located in the second story on Sixth street above Market. I understand he came here from Pittsburgh. He has over thirty years, but is known only by that class of book-buyers. He is of the old blue-stocking type, which is now becoming rare. I presume that from his long experience he knows every book of note in the literature he sells, from John Knox to the Old Covenanters of to-day. He is known to few collectors of books, as he deals only in those mentioned.

-Henry Holloway: For some years he was very successful; his stock so increased that he rented the next store, and had both of them well filled with books. He is a man of general culture, and has translated books from the German. In physique he is weak and puny; he has been suffering for over twenty years from a spinal complaint, but he still lives and sells old books; he is kind and genial in his manners, and a very interesting conversationalist. I have sold him many books in the course of twenty years, and always found him pleasant. After he had taken the additional store in Tenth street, he flourished for some time; but some ill luck or misfortune overtook him, and he had to remove to S. Ninth street, near Cherry street. There he opened with a poor stock of books; he lingered there for a short time, and then he removed to Eighth and Wood streets, with very few books, and opened a newspaper stand, where he remained a few years doling out a mere existence. About a year ago he removed to S. Tenth street, above Walnut, and there he has a few books, and I hope is improving his financial condition. Old age is creeping on him and with it poor health: it is not to be wondered at that he should be somewhat eccentric in his habits.

-Leary & Co.: Old booksellers everywhere consider old school books as trash, and place them away in some remote corner of the store. I am aware that the plea is, there is money in them; I am also aware that this firm has made some money out of them; hence it is continued. But does not this show that the prevailing active spirit of this firm is not influenced by such high types as James Lackington, Henry Bohn or a Quaritch, or the first-class old booksellers in Europe and in this country? All persons who know this well-known store know that it contains many first-class books; and why the lowest class should be their specialty can only be accounted for on the plea of making money. Primarily speaking, money is the chief factor, the great lever in business; but there were old booksellers, and there are still a few left, who look on money produced as secondary as a means to a brighter and nobler end. That end is the intrinsic love of the subject-matter of the books—the large amount of knowledge derived from the reading of them—the association and communion with the great minds of the past and the present—all of which tend to elevate the mind, the development of a higher moral tone, and the pleasures of intellectual growth. I know of old booksellers who have on their shelves the finest and recherché editions of the best authors. I have been in their stores when some of those fine books have been sold, and when the buyer had gone the expression was made, “I am sorry I have sold that book—such a fine edition of so great a writer.” Such men are rare, I know, and show that the money value of the book was merely secondary.

-Holloway: He has a book stand and basement in Third street, near Walnut, and has been there for several years, and has a stock of old books and magazines jumbled up in a very chaotic mass.

-Walter B. Saunders: A few months ago he removed his fine stock of books into a large store in Walnut street, above Ninth street, and I learn he is selling off his fine books and has commenced the publication of medical books. For this I am sorry, and I fear it shows that the patronage of our book buyers has not been liberal enough to induce him to continue to have for sale such a fine class of books.

-David McKay: This young man, whom I am not personally acquainted with, I have learned is a Scotchman, and was a salesman in Lippincott’s book store. He started the old and new book business a few years ago, and seems full of energy. His stock of new and old books is large and of good quality. His experience in old books is necessarily limited, and as several of our old booksellers have become venders and jobbers of new books, it can scarcely be expected that this young man, who is a large jobber of new books, can be of much authority among bibliomaniacs. He also publishes a few books, and judging from their character, no great fortune can be expected from their sales [guess again]. His store is on Ninth street above Chestnut street, rear of the Girard House.

-W. H. Brotherhead: His place of business is at 288 Girard avenue. He has been selling old books for a year, and seems as if success was with him. He has a full stock, and I trust all will be successful. He is one of my sons, and I trust and believe that the old book business will prosper.

Made in IOBA

Amy Ione of Diatrope Books is the author of Innovation and Visualization: Trajectories, Strategies, and Myths (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005).

There Once Was a Book from Nantucket

Boggy Solitudes of Nantucket. Not only is that an evocative title from 1908, but it is doubtful that those four words were ever strung in succession before then. This humble 118 page work epitomizes everything I love about bookselling, and here’s why. It was

The Boggy Solitudes of Nantucket on a Bed of Moss in Upstate New York

purchased sight unseen in a large lot of books at a general auction late in 2004. Once home it jumped out as a relatively important item because of the subject matter, it was signed, the binding was attractive, and the NY publisher (Neale) was not well known to me. If this secretive little wildflower had been choiced out on a long table of gaudy dying roses and dyed mums as they often do with books at this auction house, it would not have been plucked until they got down to the $5 level, if at all. Once you have an eye for it, booksellers enjoy a great advantage over dabblers, greater even than that enjoyed by their brethren (and cistern?) in the antiques and collectibles fields. And how much can an old chair or a Pez dispenser inform you anyway, compared to a book? And how much easier is it to ship a book than a set of china? As we sort through the piles and rows back home, some like this catch our eye and demand our attention. We want to understand what it is we have here, and if we happen to like the subject matter or have an enquiring mind, it’s fun to delve deeper. I enjoyed leafing through this wonderful collection of brief essays and observations on the natural history of the island, complete with poetic and literary quotations. The reddish orange lettering and pink and green floral decoration stands in simple but stunning contrast against the black boards, and a little blue came through for some reason, to marvelous effect.

There was no good way to place a value on this book using existing records like online listings, prices realized at auction, or bookseller catalogs. No copies for sale online is a very good sign, and the subject matter is specialized rather than general, which is always desirable. It would pay to authenticate the author’s signature though, minor as she was, and that was a tall order. Anne Wilson is a common name, and the much later inscription only reads, “For my friend Margaret Dewey. With the love of Anne. July the Eighth, 1933.” I searched many reference books and databases, including CLAMS (Cape Libraries Automated Materials Sharing), to no avail. I finally sent out a query to the BookFinder Insider list, enquiring about Nantucket bibliographies, and lo and behold the resident genius there uncovered Everett Uberto's 1946 Nantucket in Print, which I promptly paged up and consulted. Not only did it list this rare title, but it provided the author’s middle name of Washington. This led to another scarce, slim book of verses by Anne Washington Wilson published nearly twenty years later entitled Scrimshaw (Baltimore, MD: Norman, Remington Co., 1925), with an attractive scrimshaw art cover of its own. Paging this up from the same research library on a long shot, it was signed by the author, in full this time! The handwriting is the same, they both end, "with the love of," and the two Annes are identical.

The sleuthing was fun, it pays to strengthen those types of skills, and I could now honestly claim that this was signed and inscribed by the author. I divined a reasonable asking price of $150. It was listed 1/15/2005, and it sold 8/12/2006, to a buyer in Nantucket. We are both happy. The printer would be proud of how his finished product held up. Above all, Anne Washington Wilson would be delighted that we are talking about her passion and her output nearly a century later.

“The whole island is a veritable garden spot. One has only to go on the moors to appreciate the truth of this statement. Flower succeeds flower, springing up from the sandy soil and moss, in greatest luxuriance and profusion, beginning with the tiny hepatica and blue flash of the violet in the spring to the showy golden-rod and imperial aster of the fall.”

“I sprang out of bed and ran over to the little window from which there was a glorious view of a long stretch of moorland melting into low hills covered with all the different shades of green, from the pale leaves of the bayberry to the blackness of the stunted growth of heath-like little shrubs.”

May the island of Nantucket and the profession of bookselling remain relatively unspoiled.

Postal Priorities

Postal services. We’ve always needed them, and now more than ever. When I read about booksellers who dread entering their local post office, I count my lucky stars that the two or three I use most are staffed with friendly and efficient workers. Complaints include postal clerks who consider our trade to be a nuisance, sticklers who rule against reinforcing tape on Priority mailers, and various local branch interpretations that defy reason and Post Office policy. If somebody behind the counter really has it in for you, the best options seem to be switching post offices (if practical) or complaining to the postmaster or those above him or her. Whether you are in their good graces or not, however, it isn’t the easiest job in the world, and it pays both parties for the bookseller to bend over backwards in facilitating smooth transactions. In my case, my wife helps out by doing about 75% of the mailings. She goes right by a small PO on the way to work, and the receipt often reads right around 8:03 A.M. She is prettier to look at and more polite than I am, or less likely to be impolite at any rate, so that helps too.

The best thing you can do is to be prepared and follow all the rules. Prepare neat and safe packages, use the correct mailing materials for the job, completely fill out customs forms and the like ahead of time, write neatly, tell clerks what they need to know as you proceed, if you are paying by check have it nearly ready to go by the end (including your driver’s license number where required), and try to pick off-hours when the lines are not long. Don’t bend the rules. I forget if I read this on a list or heard it from a clerk, but one customer actually tried to ship a bowling ball Media Mail! Some of the rules are more apparent than others. I saw one customer pitch a fit because he wasn’t allowed to use an empty liquor box for shipping. In short, do everything you can to help the clerk and speed the process. We’ve all been on lines where everyone suffers because of ill preparation or manners.

I generally try to keep a low profile too. If some directive in your region orders a crackdown on booksellers, I don’t necessarily want to spring to mind as the most ready sacrificial lamb. Loose lips sink ships too. I have heard many conversations about eBay while waiting on Post Office lines with my box of eBay and book shipments, and chatting there is a little like discussing the particulars of your gold mine while at the assay office. In closing, national postal systems are not perfect, but most do a remarkably good job at delivering things. My only significant complaint about the U.S. Postal Service is how they are raising Priority and Media Mail rates in leaps and bounds, while all the general public howls about is regular stamps going up a penny or two at a time. So far my area has dodged the new and unimproved privatization and automation efforts, but complaints waft in on westerly winds. They should get out of the Teddy Bear business too, because I’ve never seen anybody buy one, and I used to be able to stack packages where they now sit.

House Calls

“Hi. Are you the man who buys books?”

“I do have that ad in the paper.”

“What kind of books do you buy?”

“It might be easier for you to tell me what you have, but in general I am after large amounts of books, usually hardcover, usually older . . .”

“I have hundreds, and they are mostly old. Some are paperbacks, like Harlequins.”

“What about the hardcovers? What kinds of books are those?”

“Oh, I don’t know, all kinds.”

“Are they like best sellers?”

“They probably were back then.”

“Are they spy and romance novels?”

“There might be some of those.”

“Can you give me an idea of some of the titles?”

“You’d really have to come and look.”

“Thanks for calling, but it doesn’t sound like what I am after. You might try donating them to a book sale, or some would probably sell at a garage sale.”

“You’re not interested then?”

“Well it’s a little hard to tell over the phone, but I don’t think so.”

“They are old, but they are like brand new. They probably go back forty years.”

“Did you read them yourself?”

“No. Actually, they were copies sent to the newspaper for review, but they were never even cracked open.”

“Oh. That sounds better. What town do you live in?”

Solicitations

The Standard can always use interesting, well-written articles on subjects of interest to the bookselling trade. Please query first, however, to editor@ioba.org. You will be supplied with submission guidelines, but to summarize, the material should be original, it is subject to editing, you retain copyright, and of course there is no payment other than most everyone’s satisfaction. You do not need to be a member of IOBA, except for the IOBA Bookseller Profiles section, though we would surely like you to join. We are very interested in the book trade outside the U.S. as well.

Currently we are seeking short pieces for the following self-explanatory columns. House Calls; Garage/Estate/Library Sale Tales; Auction Action; Book Show Impressions; and Book Store Lore.

Booku

I Drove Mules on the C and O Canal by Wolfe,

claims he used canal water taken from Lock #44

for his signature, color added.

Comic Books

From the Comic Weekly section of the New York Journal American dated 4/26/1942, the final panel of Skippy by Percy Crosby from a strip entitled, “Skippy Meets Another Little Bookworm.”