Meet the Authors

This is Brian Bird:

That is the dust jacket photo of Brian from his 1958 book, Skiffle - The Story of Folk Song with a Jazz Beat.

Not only does Brian lack confidence in this photo, he seems almost apologetic, as if to say, "I'm very sorry I wrote this book. Please don't waste your time."

Brian lacks the confidence and intellectual prowess exhibited by so many other authors on their dust jacket pics. I want to share with you my favorites, and I'm going to make this my first blog post that I add to as time goes on. If you find some you like on your own feel free to share them with me and I'll add them.

First, in the category of pondering intellectual, I give you Sylvester Stallone. You probably didn't know he was an accomplished writer, but here he is on the back cover of his novel, Paradise Alley, slaving over his IBM Selectric and suffering for his art:

Next, in the category of remarkable displays of arrogance, here is artist Peter Max, who poses with his 1985 Apple Macintosh masterwork creations that surely no four year old will ever be able to replicate.

Nobody can match adventure novelist Sax Rohmer for unabashed arrogance. Here he is on the back cover of The Bride of Fu Manchu. Any author can pose in his library, sitting on his desk, smoking his pipe with slicked back hair. But it takes real chutzpah to do it in a silver lamè robe.

Barth David Schwartz contemplates his three names, three prestigious universities and a rewarding career as a Pasolini scholar (thanks Tracy):

Say it ain't so!

Madeline Brandeis is gonna kick your ass for reading her series of children's books:

Literary giant Davis Tuck had no time to abandon his muse and take off the raincoat when he posed for his masterpiece, The NEW Complete ENGLISH SETTER:



Fredric Brown can write about science...and smoke:

Here is British mystery writer, Edmund Crispin. The dust jacket lists French Film as one of his "antipathies."

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He is William A. Allbaugh III, author of a not-important book about a Confederate arms depot in Tyler, Texas.   

Pomposity? Check.

Rebel flag cuff links? Check.

NRA provenance? Check.

Yes we are

The 1965 Yearbook of Agriculture, published by the United States Department of Agriculture.

Estate Sale Secrets

Many unscrupulous people use the words "estate sale" for their moving or garage sales.  An authentic estate sale involves walking through the home of a recently deceased person in which everything you see is for sale.  Families usually do them in an attempt to clear out to detritus of their loved ones after they have gone through and taken away every meaningful antique, heirloom and keepsake.  Usually an estate agent is hired to price the items and conduct the sale.  I imagine the families go through the closets to get rid of the embarrassing items before the estate agents get there.  You know - Mom's old Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie and the like.   

But when there is a sale with a large amount of books neither the family nor the estate agents have the time or patience to go through every title before opening to the public.  At these sales I am always sure to find at least one book that nobody was supposed to see - ever.

Here are a couple I found at past estate sales that I have up for sale on the internets.  And no, neither one were owned by a doctor or dentist.

Believe me, I'm doing you a huge favor by NOT providing you samples of what is inside these two books. I mean, who doesn't love full-color photos of genital sores and advanced mouth ulcers?

Today while going through hundreds of books about science, literature and geography from a recent estate sale, I found my all-time favorite:

The back cover of this mass market paperback states that they are proud to present the latest volume in this distinguished series of books by F. E. Campbell.  It also says the cover illustrations by Robert Bishop are a special treat for the connoisseur of fine bondage art.  Who knew?

It's amusing enough this was among the decedent's  books, but when I opened it up, I was in for more fun.  Its interior is decorated with dozens of little color bondage photos cut out from magazines and pasted throughout.  Here's the least offensive one I could find, on page 30:

But even better, the entire book is neatly interlineated in ballpoint pen with many grammar corrections and suggested changes:

I suppose we all have our fantasies, but I'm guessing being an editor of bondage literature is a rare one.

From Wikipedia:

Last Exit to Brooklyn is a 1964 novel by American author Hubert Selby, Jr. The novel has become a cult classic because of its harsh, uncompromising look at lower class Brooklyn in the 1950s and for its brusque, everyman style of prose.

Although critics and fellow writers praised the book on its release, Last Exit to Brooklyn caused much controversy due to its frank portrayals of taboo subjects, such as drug use, street violence, gang rape, homosexuality, transvestism and domestic violence. It was the subject of an important obscenity trial in the United Kingdomand was banned in Italy.

Here is an old copy I found which originated at the University of Texas El Paso.  The novel had a profound effect on Mike Jones.

Kids These Days

My cousin just started a blog. One of her first posts complained of her obstinate child and her difficulties parenting the little guy.

Sunday I scored a huge haul of over 2,000 books and related ephemera at a local estate sale. I've just started going through the stuff, but it's already given me some ideas to help out my cousin. I think part of the problem with her kids (and mine too) is that they have become soft from our unadventurous, protective parenting. We have for too long exposed them to activities from wimpy books like these, which recommend children's museums, frozen custard and a place called "Toy Joy":

I'm going to try a little Texas Hill Country trip with my kids this weekend. If it works out I'll share it with my cousin, who also lives in a desert area.

First, we will hit the road in the 100+ degree heat to go on a mining adventure:

Based on the tips from this 1949 government publication, I'll know how to find this precious stuff. If I can figure out a way to sell it, we're talking not only good parenting, but PROFIT!

We will not be bringing supplies or provisions of any type - not even water or shoes - and we'll leave with a full tank of gas and only the clothes on our backs. We will learn to adapt quickly with this 1969 government manual:

I can hardly wait to hear my children tell loving stories of family lore at future gatherings - making their own shoes from plywood, and the sweetest water they ever tasted after extracting it from cacti with their bare hands and makeshift tools.

If things go awry while we are mining, we'll be all right because I found a first aid manual for miners. Whether Dad suffers a bleeding crotch, or Lad gets burned from too much uranium radiation, we'll be ready.

So Good Buddies, look for me on the road this weekend if you're in Central Texas. I'll be on channel 38 and my handle is "Bogey."

That je ne se quoi

It seems that in US, the closer you are in proximity to your neighbors, the less likely you are to know them.  In every apartment I've ever lived in you went out of your way to never even make eye contact with the people that lived on the other side of your walls. 

I don't remember it always being that way.  In about 1970 my mom and dad moved us into the Deauville Apartments in the then-suburban outskirts of Omaha.  It was a faux French apartment community nestled into the cornfields. I still have fond memories of its swimming pool, putting green, the 4th of July and snowstorms there.  More importantly, I remember the people.  My parents seemed to know just about everyone in the complex, which was probably about 40 units. We have super 8 movie footage of our dad smoking Lucky Strikes while playing lawn darts with the men, while the women prepped the watermelon and jello salads.  I think my parents exchanged Christmas cards with old Deauville neighbors for many years.

I learned recently that this sense of community had nothing to do with the times; it had everything to do with pseudo-French community living.  Take a look at this recently discovered publication from Houston in 1972:

This was a magazine published by Houston's notorious real estate developer, Harold Farb. Here is the narcissistic back cover (note to self: get floor-to-ceiling drapes for powerful office look):

This edition of the magazine was printed for his premier property, Napoleon Square.  The architecture of this complex looks very similar to my Deauville in Omaha.  The apartment project still stands in the heart of the Gulfton Ghetto of Houston, now featuring the largest number of units and the highest crime rate per capita in the Houston area.  It wasn't so back in 1972.  It was a place for swingers to have a groovy good time in Bonaparte's Retreat.

The ladies of Napoleon Square enjoyed the latest fashions...

...and ultra-modern, ultra-white kitchens.

There was fun to be had at the swimming pool...

... where you could listen to the best bands Houston had to offer, including the "event-full" roots raggae sounds of The Gentrys.

Rode Hard and Put Up Wet

Lately I've been lucky enough to re-live and get re-vivified by some meaningful youthful experiences.  Today I experienced another one when I went out for a bicycle ride.

About 22 years ago - in what seemed like a different life - I was a licensed USCF bike racer.  I was poor, but in great shape and happy.  This was before the advent of spin cycles and other training devices, so on cold weather days we used to ride training devices called "rollers," which were designed and manufactured from the best of 19th century technology.  Riding rollers was so boring we wouldn't let rain stop us, and unless there was actual flooding, a thunderstorm would not deter us from the daily ride.

I have been riding a bike again lately, but forgot what it was like to ride in the rain.  I live in a dry, hilly area that has not experienced a shower in more than 60  days, so I didn't even look at the sky when I set off on my ride this morning.  About 8 miles out of town the storm clouds broke. At first I felt apprehension, but I was quickly overcome with excitement as I re-captured youthful memories.  I forgot the adrenaline rush when you speed down a hill at 33 mph with barely-functioning brakes; I forgot what it was like to have a friendly Texan pull over in his pickup truck and offer you a ride back to town and tell tell him thanks, but you're having a great time; I forgot what it was like to stop at a slow moving river and listen to the silence of the muffled winds, punctuated only by the sounds of raindrops on leaves; and I forgot what it was like to take off your jersey at the end of the ride to reveal the Jackson Pollack mud splatter on the back.

ओमाहा रोयल्टी सिरका 1960

Found Riches

Every book dealer has stories about finding cash in used books.  I thought I got lucky when I discovered this blank check from The Herring National Bank in Vernon, Texas in an old college textbook. 

I was going to write a check to myself for ONE MILLION DOLLARS until I turned the check over and discovered it had been ruined by some young man's dorm packing list:

Wuss.  When I went off to college I needed zero hankies and four jock straps.

It's never too early...

It's never too early to start your Christmas shopping.

Who will be the lucky recipient?

Party Games for Women

After reading a blog entry about some sort of "art party" for men and women, I became a little concerned.  Cake walks with men?  Women producing art?  Maybe this booklet produced by the Leister Game Company of Toledo, Ohio will present some wholesome party ideas for the readers of this blog who are of the fairer sex.

The best way for women to get the party started is to pin the names of  television stars onto guests' backs.  The party guests must tell each other factoids about the celebrity to help guess their party personas.  Here the young lady on the left confuses the "Doris Day" victim by telling her that she will one day become a conservative icon, while at the same time advocating public assistance and compassion for a disease destroying the gay community:

Here are 4 other great party games from the booklet that I recommend:

The first will help the women focus on their futures:

The second will help the ladies with their job duties.  Accomplished women should be able to tell the difference between the "whip" and "liquefy" blender functions by ear alone:

Here is one to help with female literary pursuits (for those guests that have stayed in college for more than a year while trying to meet their husbands):

Here is one to use if you have 22 guests: 

"An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun."   

    - James Whitcomb Riley

And when it's time for some levity, this one is a sure-fire crowd pleaser.  What the hell is funnier than flying panty hose?  Seriously?:

(I will make no comment about the forfeit penalty).

And when the giggling stops, it's time to bring your party full circle to its conclusion and focus on what is really important - identifying television personalties (WTF?! No Nipsey Russell?!)