Book Love and Teacher Stories

I'm not sure how I started down the slippery slope into book dealing.  I have always loved typefaces, and dust jacket art, books and bookstores, and I have always been interested in stories of authors' lives and where books come from.  At about the same time that I read Nicholas Basbanes' A Gentle Madness, about book collectors, I subscribed to FIRSTS magazine, and began learning about collectible books.  

My primary interest had been in the information and stories between the covers of books, but I realized that books also have intrinsic value as artifact and work of art.  And I realized that if I had spent my money over the years on first edition hardcover books instead of on cheap paperbacks and book club printings, if I had asked every author I have ever met to autograph my books, if I hadn't thrown away tatty dust jackets, and if I hadn't worn out my books reading and marking them, my personal library would have a much greater monetary value.

  Everything about books began to appear on my radar screen.  An author's signature indicated the author had once held the book.  Dates were meaningful.  Association copies were of historical interest.  Small presses, small print runs, paper, bindings, illustrations, maps, pastedowns, copyrights, the history of printing, an author's ouevre--the whole spectrum was worth study.  

I read in FIRSTS about a week-long seminar on antiquarian books in Colorado Springs, and Ronn encouraged me to go.  In Colorado I met many old book dealers who dealt in old books, specializing in areas such as medicine, Americana, exploration, books on books.  I got some inkling of how the business worked.  I learned about book scouts, catalogs and appraisals, and how to research auction records.   Use of the internet to market used books was just making an appearance on the horizon.  

The founder of one of the first internet services told us about his program, the concept designed by young computer programmers.  Kids.  Many of the old book dealers were emphatic that they could never work that way.  At that time, specific old books were located by a weekly trade newsletter in which book dealers advertised in very small print.  That required another dealer to subscribe to and peruse the letter, to remember his stock, look for the book, and reply with a price to the dealer who had advertised.  The original advertiser then contacted the customer with the information, and got back to the dealer who had the book.  Accurate descriptions were crucial.  Booksellers who did not use the specialized language and identify and describe a book properly were considered amateurs.  The internet has changed all that, and has changed the nature of the book search, prices, and the characterization of certain books as rare.  (Take a look at www.bookfinder.com.)

Ronn and I talked about a bookstore, as so many bookish people probably do at some time or other.  But in this case, we started looking at where a used bookstore might be located in Sewanee.  Ronn may have seen me floundering in Sewanee, and he thought this would be something of sustained interest that we could enjoy together--finding books for now, and perhaps working the business together later on when he retired.  His mother had had a women's dress shop in Salt Lake City years ago, and Ronn was not afraid of starting a small business.  We bought a run-down old rectangular commercial building in Sewanee at the end of 1998, and began to build shelves, paint, remodel, and otherwise fix it up as a bookstore.  We began to scout out books, and add books to the shelves.

At about this time, Ronn had been offered a job in Chicago, as chief engineer of an aircraft parts manufacturing company, to become president when the current president retired.  We both went to Chicago when he had the initial interview, and although it is an exciting city, I did not see it as a retirement home.  I thought I might stay in Sewanee for the time being, while he went to Chicago.  He initially accepted the job, complications ensued with the company that were not worked out for a while, and he decided against it.  I will always wonder how our lives would have been different if we had not bought that building, and had felt free to leave.  

We opened the store in April of 1999, with half-filled shelves, refreshments and great hopes.  Lionel the cat was in residence to greet customers, and Lady the dog usually spent the day there with me.  Ronn built oak-topped counters, and we brought in some antique shelves and furniture and carpets.  It was an attractive store, and became more so as time went along.  Books everywhere.  Also cards and posters.  Contrary to advice I had gotten at the book school, the store became a general bookstore instead of a specialist store.  Many people showed up who wanted to sell books to me, and I was not discriminating in acquisition.  Books began to pile up three deep in the storeroom.  We built a large screened porch on the rear, and Ronn added a washroom in the big book room and a utility sink in the storeroom, and continued to fix up the kitchen, full bath and two rooms at the back of the store, which later we used as a rental apartment after the store was closed.

I had been active in Woman's Club, and invited the  local Woman's Club board to have their monthly meeting there, which they did for two years.  I envisioned selling good books, sponsoring readings and workshops and a book club in the room in the rear, and having a small publishing imprint, Ione Press (named after my mother) to produce books of local interest.  My frog book was published under that imprint.  I also worked on a little tour guide of Sewanee, a short history of Sewanee, and I thought that the nature observations that a local couple, the Yeatmans, had provided to the weekly newspaper for years might be distilled and edited into a little almanac of the Sewanee seasons.  I thought that the publication and sale of one book would provide the funds for publication of the next book.

I was long on ideas and short on staff and income.  John Shaver, who had a bookstore in Huntsville, had advised me against opening a store unless I also provided food.  Ronn was working full-time in Huntsville during the week, and had his hands full with maintenance work on the weekends.  We planted flowers and trees, built a sidewalk and a trellis, hung posters and light fixtures, and sorted and shelved books.  I didn't realize that everything I envisioned would take ten people working full-time, not to mention a much bigger budget than I had.  I was blinded by love--of books.  

One day early on in the life of the bookstore a woman I knew from Woman's Club as Hallie Bennett approached the counter with her new husband, Bill Hampton.  She told me that Bill had put together a manuscript about his former teacher, Father James Harold Flye.  Bill planned to have it printed, but she wanted an editor to look it over first, and would I do the honors.  I was a bit reluctant to take on something more, but I took the manuscript home to read.  

I read and read.  There were lots of interview transcripts.  I liked the story of Father Flye, and his wife Grace, who spent 35 years at nearby St. Andrew's School.  Father Flye was known primarily as the teacher of James Agee, and they corresponded after Agee left St. Andrew's.  Father Flye kept the letters Agee sent him, and they were published as The Letters of James Agee to Father Flye. Unfortunately, Agee, who died in his 40s, apparently did not keep the other side of the correspondence.  This book seemed important to balance the scale a bit.

Father Flye's story had its own drama and conflicts.  Father Flye was an exemplary and unusual teacher.  His wife, Grace, ten years his senior, was a talented artist and painted pictures of many of the children.  In her later years, she had Addison's disease, and became reclusive.  She stayed in Sewanee every summer while Father Flye went to New York.  In 1925, Father Flye traveled to Europe with James Agee, and he stayed in touch with many other students.  The Flyes' dream of starting "Birdwood," their own school, never materialized.   Although Father Flye was an erudite teacher, he was not universally loved at St. Andrew's and was fired, or forced to retire, shortly after Grace died.  He went to St. Luke's in New York City for a good long while, and one time when he returned to visit St. Andrew's, he sneaked in.  He lived to be a hundred years old, and died in a nursing home near Sewanee.  Hallie Bennett Hampton had at one time been his nurse; that's how she and Bill had met.

I made notes on the manuscript, and recommendations based on my reading.  Bill had certain biases, and I recommended tempering them.  I had been reading oral histories.  I told Bill that the book was a good oral history, and that it deserved more than photocopying, that he should look for a publisher.  We talked back and forth.  He said, I want you to do it.  Bill was no spring chicken; he wanted the book out, soon.

I talked with Ronn, and in retrospect I think we were still feeling optimistic and magnanimous. We decided to invest in the project.  We researched standard book contracts, and prepared one.  We would own the copyright to the book, and would produce it in a certain time and make a reasonable effort to market it.  In turn, the author had certain obligations to us.  

It is one thing to edit and publish a book; marketing is a different animal.  However, I did have the connections afforded by the bookstore, and my experience writing press releases and promotional materials.  When we went to Bill with the contract, he said, ahem, there was a problem.  It was to be one in a series of problems.  A woman, Caryl R. Stevens, had worked with Bill on the book, he said, and he was negotiating with her to relinquish her rights, which she eventually did.  I did not meet her, and will never know the extent of her contribution.  I think she discerned, astutely, that retaining any claim to the book would not be profitable for her.  

Bill did have the manuscript on computer files, but I became the copyeditor.  Ken Morris designed and laid out the book, and we proofread it, and created an index, and we had the book printed by a company in another state.  The book was 255 pages.  The process was rushed because of Bill's family's travel arrangements, and on the morning of the book party we were still tracking down the book shipments.  Ronn had to drive to Huntsville to take delivery of some books and get them to the store, just before customers began to arrive.

Bill signed copies of the book on the back screened porch.  I wrote up and had lots of brochures printed and mailed them to a long list of  independent book stores.  I wrote to newspapers, magazines, and diocesan newsletters.  I sent out press releases and many review copies.  Booksellers are inundated with review copies now, so review copies are not guaranteed to pique their interest.  The review copies began to show up for sale on used book sites on the internet.  I scheduled a reading and signing for Bill at the Southern Festival of Books in Nashville, but that experience demonstrated that Bill was not well enough to travel and publicize his book, although he did showcase the book at alumni events at St. Andrew's School.  

I liked the story, and saw it as another "Goodbye, Mr. Chips" or "Mr. Holland's Opus" that I hoped would find interest out of the region.  I was querying and writing filmmakers to try to interest them in the book's possibilities.

 Then I learned incidentally that the South Cumberland Cultural Society in nearby Monteagle, where Bill lives, was planning a production called "Cast a Long Shadow," based on Bill's book.  They had hired a playwright, Ken "Kennesaw" Williams, a friend of Bill's who had read his manuscript early on and in whose house Bill had once lived, to write the script.  I contacted them to let them know that we own the copyright to the book, and that our permission is required for derivative works.  Copyright law allows the owner a window of time to profit from the work.  Eventually a copyright expires, and the work enters the public domain.  Or a copyright may be renewed, or transferred.  Under the terms of our contract, we could ask for royalties on derivative works.  

There was a lot of back and forth with the playwright and the principals of theatre group, but we were never privy to or part of their plans.  On the morning of one of our Cinco de Mayo parties, Ronn went to an SCCS board meeting to present our position.  The SCCS delayed their production for a year, but decided, most probably based on the playwright's assurances, that we had no claim, or would not pursue a claim.   Their newsletter indicated that the playwright had gotten the ideas independently.  Bill, who was retired and had no money investment in either the book or the play, was delighted that his book had stimulated a dramatic production, which would premiere at his alma mater, St. Andrew's-Sewanee School, so he was working with the playwright.  I was exasperated and tired.  

Finally, without being asked, I wrote a letter to the effect that they had our permission for one-time production of the play, but they would need further permission if the play went further.  I asked them to please acknowledge Bill, which they did.  The play closely followed the book.  Interest in Father Flye as a character seemed local and limited, at least for now.

After Father Flye, I decided I did not want to be a publisher of works of other people I did not know well, or who did not appear to read or respect contracts.  I gave Bill a couple of boxes of books, and kept one copy for myself.  We closed the bookstore in 2002, after three and a half years.  During that time, my life had been mostly devoted to the store, and I wanted to come home and take care of the house and enjoy home-cooked meals, and quiet days, free from small talk.  I continued to sell books via an internet service for another three years or so.  I liked not being at a counter all day.  We disposed of all the books, eventually, and sold the building to an architect in 2007.

I did publish a wonderful poetry collection, Walks on Wheels, by my young nephew Bryan Hall, who has spina bifida and gets around in a wheelchair.  It was a pleasurable experience for all of us.

I kept a few collectible books for their beauty, but I am back to loving books primarily for their informational value.