Jul. 31, 2002 - 21:31 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Seeking

I reached a point in age and responsibility that my Mom and Dad felt that I could ride the streetcar down town and pretty much spend the day there, alone or with kid friends.

Freedom, precious, shimmering freedom ! What a treasure beyond compare. Saturdays we boys would usually go down town to the movies. Sort of an Art Carney procedure it was on our arrival, much motion and little accomplished. Lots of vocal deciding what we were going to do first and next and next. It would usually work out this way. Show time, to be able to see two shows we had to do our diddly in time to make that first showing. Candy, big decisions of where to buy and then each of us drooling over the counter at unlimited choices. Later it would be which cigar store to buy our ciggies. We all smoked, but each of us a different brand. For me it was Black Jack chewing gum and Murad cigarettes. Being armed with favorite candy, chewing gum and sinful cigarettes we would be there in time for the first showing and go to the balcony, light up and enjoy the thriller on the silver screen.

Not always was it possible for the four of us to go on Saturday and I would be a loner. Then I would become a searcher trying to reach a level of wisdom beyond my years. I could pretty much spend the daytime hours roaming the stacks at the Main Library down town. I was pretty much at liberty there having learned the card catalog mystique. But there were areas where children (hated word) were not allowed, and durn it my height betrayed me. So there were books I had no access to.

Book stores. I had seen book stores down town. There were two which carried only new books which were way beyond my finances. Pooh Corner up by the Capitol carried childrens books and I was reading at the adult level already, obviously not reading with adult understanding -- but close enough to learn. There were two book stores in the 'low rent' district that carried used books.

Somehow I had already managed to learn a lot about humanity by reading fiction. My little pea brain would, by methods unknown to me sift and understand the realities of life while disposing of the truly fictional ideas in the stories. Couldn't say all my learning was absolutely the real McCoy but I think maybe this kid was ahead of boys his age savvying the workings of the world, being able to read expressions, body language to a certain extent and understanding the things not being said.

I decided to try to see what I could learn by browsing those two stores. I soon found the ideal one for me. A store musty, dusty with books shelved in a rather haphazard way and with few clerks. It became apparent to me that a well behaved boy could pretty well browse at will. It was true, no one would look over my shoulder and tell me I was too young to read the book I was thumbing through. Occasionally I would have nickles and dimes enough to buy a book that interested me.

Being in that store was a world apart from the mundane modes of my daily life. The realization that it would be impossible to read every book on earth made me sort and sift. One book I remember well, I looked at it several Saturdays was a machinists handbook. Man, that was better than the Sears catalog tool section. I learned a lot about the various machines and their uses, things I never used in life but I learned anyhow.

Coming into the hormone driven age that most boys reach, there would be a few seconds of every hour that I would think about something else other than sex. I then began the search for more knowledge of how adults conducted their physical affairs. I found a few that expanded my knowledge, bits and pieces. I had already read The Lady of The Camillias by Dumas at home. (That story was used for the opera La Traviata I think). Gave me an idea of how life could work a little. I took that from the section of the shelves that Mom and Dad discouraged me from pulling books as being too old for me.

One day I ran into a book, a huge tome, one that I had seen referred to in other books in the store. I thought, "At last I will find out something about all this stuff." That Saturday I carefully put it back on the shelves behind other books like the sneaky rascal I was, I wanted that book. It was summertime then, so my visits there were governed by how much money I had earned by passing door to door those one sheet sales flyers of the grocery stores and from running errands. It turned out to be two or three times a week, still leaving me enough money to save toward buying that book. While browsing I would manage to remove the book from where it was and bury it somewhere else. Finally there was enough money to buy the book I desired ! Next big obstacle in my mind was whether I would be allowed to buy it by the clerk. Mustering the most adult manner I could, the book was carried to the counter, the money laid beside it. The clerk sold it to me with nary a sidelong look, frown or expression of doubt. He even wrapped it for me. Of course it was brown paper wrapping from a roll on the counter. Later in life quite humorus it was to me remembering reading long ago the ads in the dime thrillers when a kid, about the material being sent to customers in plain brown paper wrappers.

I had already made room for it at home to keep it out of sight, and as it was a work day with both Mom and Dad at work it found its hidey hole before Mom and Dad arrived from work. The next day I unwrapped Havelock Ellis "Psychopathia Sexualis," (probably out of date even then). Thinking that all knowledge of sexual matters would be open to my understanding like magic.

I get highly amused even now thinking about that. Took me a lot of time making lists of words, going to the library near our house and looking in the big Websters to find definitions of those esoteric terms. And more time yet matching the words to the text I had been reading.

I unwittingly learned a lot from that book. The art of dictionary manipulation for one and the growing love for word etymology. That was almost as interesting as my original intent of obtaining ahead of my age all the mysteries and quirks of humans. There was a term in French which meant, "For lack of something better," often used to explain the manner certain things were done, didn't justify them just explained the reasons. It also clued me in that my urges were only natural. Big step in comfort to this stinkin' kid.

Also, it discussed in psychiatric terms the stuff I already knew from the lore of us kids. Stuff talked about in more or less whispers between us. Stuff I had run into from looking at the eight pagers kiped from some uncle's or big brother's stash. But I now knew the proper terms for a lot of things as a consequence.

From some of the medical books I had browsed at that bookstore I had a better idea of how and why the human machinery worked as it did. I wasn't adversely affected by all this, in fact a lot of my time was better consumed trying to find out why, rather than messing around with the other kids.

I was lucky that things turned out as good for me as they did. It has been a trait of mine through the years to always be Seeking . . . . . . . .

Blog