Sometimes, I just have to sit up and take a good look at myself. Where in Blue Blazes did this Bookworm come from? There was no one like me in the family. I was looked at by my family with a combination of contempt and admiration. When I was doing well in high school (I was the valedictorian of my class), I was referred to as “the walking dictionary.” I was a person of whom prodigies were expected … in the normal course of events. People expected my help with their homework—even if I knew zilch about the subject.
In fact, books were for me an escape. I was a sickly child, stricken by numerous allergies and frequent and debilitating headaches. The latter turned out to be a brain tumor in my pituitary gland. When I came out of surgery in the fall of 1966, I kept asking myself, “Why me?” I went almost overnight from a devout Catholic to a lapsed Catholic. I continued to suffer various physical and mental after-effects because of the lifelong steroid therapy that ensued.
I was never any good at athletics. For exercise, I liked to walk a lot. I couldn’t even drive a car until I reached the age of forty, and I no longer had to take a blood pressure medication (Catapres) that caused me to fall asleep in moving vehicles.
And so, at an early age, I turned to books. Was it because my mother used to tell me fantastic stories about fairy princesses in the dark forest that she told me in Hungarian? I couldn’t really read English with any proficiency until the third or fourth grade.
I started to accumulate books at home, causing some friction with my parents. They didn’t like to see me spending money for books at Scroeder’s Bookstore on Cleveland’s Public Square. Once, when my cousin Emil saw me reading Tom Sawyer in the living room, he grabbed the book out of my hands and hurled it at the floor, causing it to bounce. “This is what I think of books!” he said while I wondered what was coming next.
Of course, I love books. Even though I have donated over a thousand books from my collection to the Mar Vista Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library, I still read as much as ever, if not more so.
Great photo, Jim. I think I’ll use it as my wallpaper for a while if you don’t mind.
As another lifelong reader, I was appalled to read about your cousin Emil. Well, his loss. I was lucky to be in a reading family. I can still remember when I would go in to kiss my parents goodnight. They would both be reading in bed.
Please: Be my guest!
Cool, thanks! Great wallpaper for a booklover.
Reblogged this on Vauquer Boarding House and commented:
I smile every time I see this photo!
I love your bookish story! We all have a journey that brought us to bookish love, but yours feels really impressive.
I love the photo of the Last Bookstore.
I wonder why your cousin was so angry – did he feel threatened in some way when he saw you reading.?
Our respective fathers were identical twin brothers who scored off each other by belittling the kids. I can see why he felt angry — I was the academic success in the family, and that was kind of rubbed in his face.