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Black Swan Books ~ Old and Rare Books | |||
One never knows what they’ll encounter while just walking down an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar town. This past weekend I had such an encounter as I happened by an old building in Lexington, Kentucky. The name painted on the door was, “Black Swan Books ~ Old and Rare Books”.
It was just like one of those old bookstores you would see in a movie. Shelves packed with old tomes so close together you could hardly walk full-abreast between them. The ceiling was tall and dark. The door creaked as I pushed it inward, and the proprietor sat at the back behind an old desk. He was an older gentleman with thick white hair.
I stood in the doorway a moment, taking in the essence of the place. It felt right – the way an old pair of shoes feels when I put them on.
Then the gentleman in the back peered over his glasses and asked, “May I be of assistance?”
I told him I was looking for books by Thomas Clark, T.D. Clark. And I asked if he was familiar with him.
The professor that was at the university?
“That’s the one! Would you happen to have any of his books?”
“I do. I have several. Tom was a friend of mine. – Lived just around the corner from here and used to come in here just to sit and get out of his house.”
He led me over to a shelf and pointed out, “His books are from here to here.”
He had quite a few! I mentioned that T.D. was my cousin and I had been trying to collect his books.
“Cousin you say? I called him Tom. Good man. You know he lived to be a 102 and died from an infection he caught at the hospital. Darn shame, really. I went to see him one evening and he was perfectly fine. Told him I’d be back in a few days to check on him and the next thing I knew was he was gone.” He shook his head. “Caught some kind of infection in that hospital of all places. Imagine that.
“After he turned ninety he loosened up a bit. He’d sit over there and tell things he would have never told before.”
I asked, “What kind of things?”
“Oh, things he did and things he encountered in the past. Interesting things one usually keeps to themselves. But we were friends. He told me a lot things.”
He had tweaked my interest. “May I ask your name?”
“You may. But I won’t tell you.” He smiled. “He mentioned me in a couple of his books, though. You might find it in those.”
“Alright… I understand. Did he mention you in the last book he wrote? My Century in History?”
“He did! Yes, I’m mentioned in that book. I did a bit of research for him from time to time when he was working on a project. Like I said, we were friends.”
He shuffled away and I eventually settled on a couple of books to add to my collection.
Once again he was sitting behind his desk at the back of the store, “I found a couple I’m really interested in. How much are they worth?”
Without cracking a smile he said, “Hundreds.”
I know he saw the look in my eyes.
“Uh-oh. I might have to rethink this if they’re that expensive.”
“No you won’t.” He took the books and flipped through them. “The Kentucky – I’ll let you have that one for $25.” He looked at The Southern Country Editor and mumbled, “This one is autographed.” He opened it up and pointed at the signature, “He wrote a note to one of his author buddies and signed it in 1950. Then his friend happened to sign it on the opposite page. I suppose he wanted borrowers to know it was his book.” He said my cousin’s friend had written eight books himself. “I knew him, too. He was a military writer.
“That book will cost more for the two signatures. You can have it for $45.”
I paid him and would have loved to have spent another hour talking to him, but there were a couple people waiting behind me that needed his help, so I eased on out the door.
Like I said, you never know what or who you’ll encounter walking down a strange street in an unfamiliar town. It’s a small world.
I still wonder who he was.
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