It might have been the first “fat book” (as kids back then called them) I’d ever read, and I was surprised at how the story made me feel. When it was due back a week or two later, I lied and told Bookmobile Lady I’d lost it. Somehow she caught on, called my mother, and banned me from renewing it to teach me a lesson. That turned out OK. Instead, she made me check out “The Mystery at Devil’s Paw,” my first of many, many Hardy Boy “fat books.” I devoured them.
Gutsy and adventurous Frank and Joe Hardy inspired me to invent dangerous mini-adventures during those waning summer days. The last one was sleuthing whether “Big Tiny” was a giant hobo the older kids swore lived between the steep 10th fairway at Theodore Wirth golf course and adjacent woods. I built a hideaway there out of leafy branches and dead logs, mapped escape routes and composed “Read this in Case I Don’t Make It Back,” bequeathing my baseball cards, comic books and a Wilson A2000 infielder glove. I made it back, but my Hardy Boys-inspired “Mystery of Big Tiny in the Woods” went unsolved. In the end, I decided Big Tiny had hopped on a freight train for faraway places.
Toward August’s end, the days had become noticeably shorter. The bookmobile ended its summer runs. Labor Day was right around the corner. Like every kid, I knew what that meant.
But things were different now. I was a reader. Thanks to Bookmobile Lady. That fall, my teacher, Mr. Brown, encouraged me to join his after-school Junior Great Books reading group. A “seminar,” he called it. I said sure, thinking it meant I could read “Old Yeller” again. Instead, Mr. Brown gave each of us a boxed set of the Junior Great Books Foundation abridged classics. I still have it: Shakespeare, Dickens, Chaucer, Kipling, Hawthorne, Aesop. I remember being mostly clueless and pretending so hard not to be. I underlined random passages and made meaningless “notations” in the margins like Mr. Brown taught us. To further impress him, I nodded my head a lot during “seminars.” Mr. Brown saw through all this, took me aside and encouraged me to “Hang in there — it will begin to make sense soon.” It took a while, but he was right.
Pamela Paul’s commentary ends this way: “It’s hard to develop a reading habit when you have no time left to open a book.”
None of this would have happened without the Bookmobile Lady and those August days with nothing to do.