I feel fortunate to have been raised in a book-loving home.
One of my earliest memories is of my family gathered around the fireplace in the living room listening to my father read from the Bible. We didn’t have a large house, with six people living in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house, but there were bookcases throughout the house, and everyone took advantage of them. My father had converted an old player piano into a desk, and the space where the player rolls had occupied made a shelf just big enough to hold a set of World Book Encyclopedias. When there was nothing else to do, I enjoyed pulling out one of the volumes and browsing through it. It was a much-better “window on the world” than the idiot box (which we didn’t acquire till I was 5 years old).
All throughout my life, books have been a friend to me. Libraries, book stores, friends’ libraries, auctions, or anywhere that had books was where I wanted to be. It was as if mankind was sharing their secrets with me through books. Keats’ “much have I travelled in the realms of gold” rang true with me. When I think of realms of gold, I also think of the wealth of old books at the original Elder’s Bookstore on Elliston Place in Nashville.
I also think of the lady who supposedly came into Elder’s Bookstore one day and was looking at the old books. When the elder Mr. Elder asked what she was looking for, she said “Green books.” “Excuse me,” Mr. Elder said, “Did you say ‘green books’?” “Yes,” she said, “I’m decorating my house and need green books to match the decor.” “OUT!” Mr. Elder reportedly shouted at her, “GET OUT, and never come back!” A true book lover was he.
The Bible has been part of my life as long as I can remember, but it wasn’t until, as a young adult, I began teaching a Bible class that I really began learning the Good Book. American history books, and history in general, have always interested me. I remember in elementary school reading about the boy who may have saved the American cause when he sent the British forces chasing George Washington in the wrong direction. I also remember the feeling of melancholy when I would read about armies in ancient history fighting and dying for long-forgotten causes.
I have no interest in reading stories of horror and evil. I have always wondered if people who enjoy those have something terribly broken inside them. I always preferred works that elevate and promote living, not those that spotlight those who steal, kill, and destroy.
There are two books that I have never read, but have still had a big impact on my life. One is “Arguments for the Elimination of Television.” Just reading a brief review of the book was all that I needed to convince me that TV should never be accepted as reality, that TV was predisposed to promote death rather than life, and that TV always had an agenda. The other book that I have never read is “All You Can Do is All You Can Do, But All You Can Do is Enough.” Just reading the title gave me a new mantra that I have oft-repeated to myself and others.
At some point in my life, the truth of Solomon’s statement “Of the making of books, there is no end” began to sink into my consciousness. I began to get rid of some of the hundreds of books that I possessed. I still always have had more than I had room to shelve them.