Sometimes our hunt for books takes us to the strangest of places. For instance, last month I decided to take a roadtrip to a neighboring city to do some book-scouting. It seems like every city has it's own book district and I spent the majority of day one prowling around several shops located within about six blocks of each other. I did pretty well, coming away with a few decent titles published by the Folio Society and by the Heritage Editions Club.
I talked to several of the bookdealers that day and more than one recommended that I visit a particular shop downtown that was not only the oldest in the area, but also well known for having the largest number of books.
The next morning, I arrived exactly at the logical opening time of 10:00 AM, only to find that the shop's hours were noon to 5:00 PM, Tuesdays through Saturdays.
Hmmm. Only open 25 hours a week?
I killed the next two hours by visiting some smaller bookstores in the area and returned. The bookshop was located in the basement of a very old building and one look around quickly confirmed what I'd heard was true. There was a massive amount of books, well over 60,000 in fact, and they filled four large shelf-lined rooms entirely from floor to ceiling.
In the center of the first room, seated at a desk, was a very old gentleman, busily scrawling into an ancient looking ledger (there was no computer). He wore a cardigan sweater and a pair of coke-bottle thick glasses were perched on the end of his nose. He used a ballpoint, but an old quill wouldn't have been out of place at all. The complete silence, along with the books piled to the ceiling, gave an oppressive feeling to the shop and I politely cleared my throat to signal my presence.
The gentleman briefly looked up and nodded. I smiled and nodded back, since talking seemed far too obtrusive in such a library-like atmosphere.
Not wanting to interrupt him at his work, I moved on into one of the adjoining rooms and began to browse through the stock. I noticed that most of the books were old hardcovers and they were stuffed in every available nook and cranny, often being placed in double layers on the shelves in order to fit. The overhead lighting was barely adequate and the dust almost unbearable. Given that I have an allergy to dust, I knew I wouldn't be able to stay as long as hoped, and since I was no closer to figuring out their system of classification, I decided to venture back into the first room and attempt to speak with the gentleman I assumed was the owner.
Turned out that his name was Clarence and that he wasn't the owner. However, he had been Mr. Johnston's assistant for nearly forty years and was an amiable enough fellow. I told him that my main interest was in the classics, but was also especially interested in unusual or finely crafted bindings. He briskly walked me around the shop pointing out where the fiction was kept (entirely filling the largest of the four rooms) and also showed me a series of locked glass cabinets containing their more valuable books. He opened one of the cabinets and showed me a few, the cheapest of which started at $750 - ouch! Then he excused himself and shuffled back to his desk, saying that the owner, Mr. Johnston, had given him a special project that he must get back to. I thanked him and went to look at the fiction.
After a few minutes, I heard a shuffling and turned to greet Clarence. He had thought of a few more areas in the shop he wanted to point out to me. I followed him to where they kept their "Books about books" and then to yet another series of locked and unlocked glass cabinets containing numerous books I could never afford. I thanked him and he shuffled back to work on his project.
After a few more minutes, Clarence was back again. He had forgotten to give me a friendly warning about Mr. Johnston, who was expected to arrive at any time. You see, Mr. Johnston was deaf in one ear, so I shouldn't be offended if he ignored me, because he probably couldn't hear what I was saying. Besides, "Mr. Johnston wasn't very outgoing anyway". I thanked Clarence for his warning and assured him that I wasn't exactly a "people person" either, so certainly would be understanding. Clarence was satisfied with this response, so went back to his desk.
Another five minutes passed and... you guessed it, I hear the steady approach of Clarence again. He thought that I might be interested to know what his "special project" was. Actually, I was!
Evidently, Mr. Johnston had come across a recent internet auction where a certain antique book was being listed for sale at $50,000.00. It was Mormon Psalm and Prayer Book dating back to the 19th century and the description had stated that it was the only known copy to be in existence. Not so. Mr. Johnston was convinced that he had another copy in the shop, somewhere, buried amongst all of those thousands and thousands of books. Clarence himself didn't remember seeing the book, but had complete faith that if Mr. Johnston believed they had a copy of the book, then they did.
Needless to say, despite my best intentions, I soon found myself drifting out of fiction and into the religion section. Oh, the evil thoughts that entered my head then! But quite soon it became obvious that finding a single prayer book amongst the thousands of others stuffed in the shelves was akin to finding a needle in a haystack, so I decided to head back to the fiction section.
Eventually, I did find a few things and was carrying a sizable bundle of books as I continued to browse the shelves. Unfortunately, there was more shuffling. Clarence had forgotten to mention their payment policy. Mr. Johnston accepted cash and cheques only and no credit or debit card transactions would be possible. Having a grand total of just $7 in my pocket, I resignedly replaced the books I had selected.
By then, a second person had entered the shop and Clarence was beginning the whole process all over again, starting with showing him where everything was kept. There was still no sign of Mr. Johnston, so I slipped quietly up the stairs and outside into the fresh air, hoping to locate a watering hole to spend the $7 on a remedy for my dusty throat.
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