So far in 2022, I have read 82 books on my Kindle, and that includes all the Alex Cross books by James Patterson – even the newest one that came out a few weeks ago. I enjoy reading, and often find myself searching Wikipedia for additional information or searching YouTube for a video of something I just read.
I haven’t always enjoyed reading. I don’t remember as a child, teenager, young adult, or even a mature adult working full time reading books constantly. I guess I had other things going on. I mean, I did read, but not for my enjoyment.
I was talking to my dad about books a while back, and he told me this story about himself, which is published in his unpublished memoirs:
As a teen, I visited the main library in Newark often and browsed through the shelves and catalogs. Real shelves on different levels, scouring the shelves was an adventure all of its own. Later, trips to a bookstore became a highlight of my day, especially after a trip to see Bobi and George in lower Manhattan. Brentano’s and other bookstores in the city on the way back to the Holland Tunnel were frequent stops for Iris and me.
My parents didn’t get beyond the eighth grade in school but were also big readers. One might think that as working-class people my parents wouldn’t be able to afford to buy too many books. True, but they had a source.
Uncle Bill was our family’s book supplier. Once or twice a month either he would visit us, we would go to his apartment in the Bronx, or we might meet him at my grandmother’s apartment. A shopping bag or two would change hands, from Bill to my father.
Everybody needs a source. Uncle Bill worked as a porter for the NYC Subway system. He cleaned trains at the end of the day. He would throw trash out but keep the discarded books. I can visualize him lugging bags of books after work and stashing them in his apartment until the appropriate hand-off was arranged.
These bags were filled with paperback books. My father would grab his mysteries, my mother would locate her favorites and I would get my fix with Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Poul Anderson or some unknown writer, it didn’t matter. In the days of black and white TV, with only a few channels, these books provided me entertainment without parallel.
I started getting these books when I was around ten or eleven years old and the handoff continued until I was close to thirty years old. The most appreciated books came during my year in Thailand. Regularly a shoe box, wrapped and taped tightly, would arrive with books.
My love for bookstores continues to this day.
But a few years ago, I started reading for my enjoyment. The majority of the books I have read are biographies.
I am currently reading Don Rickles, Merchant of Venom by Michael Seth Starr.
Up next and in no particular order are:
Swagger: Super Bowls, Brass Balls, and Footballs by Jimmy Johnson and David Hyde
Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry
Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story by Bono
Muggsy: My Life from a Kid in the Projects to the Godfather of Smallball by Tyrone “Muggsy” Bogues and Jacob Uitti
Billy Martin: Baseball’s Flawed Genius by Bill Pennington (this is a paperback that I will bring on our cruise in a few weeks)
Still on my Amazon Wishlist are:
The House of Wolves by James Patterson and Mike Lupica
No Filter: The Good, the bad, and the Beautiful by Paulina Porizkova
A Heart That Works by Rob Delaney
The World Deserves My Children by Natasha Leggero
Out of the Pocket: Football, Fatherhood, and College GameDay Saturdays by Kirk Herbstreit
Two Old Broads: Stuff You Need to Know That You Didn’t Know You Needed to Know by Whoopi Goldberg and Dr. M.E. Hecht
Barkley: A Biography by Timothy Bella
