Yes, I do have a story to tell,
so you win your bet.
Don’t let my weathered leather binding
and gold trim fool you.
Mine is a sad story.
It starts in 1889 as I rolled off the press
ready to be bound and
packed for shipment.
I was crated in wood and shipped
across the country
to Colorado Springs, Colorado.
Old Johnny Mc Neal struck it rich
in the Pikes Peak Gold Rush
of 1891.
He wanted to live with the other
rich gold miners so
he built a mansion in the Springs.
His builder fashioned a beautiful oak library
and went East to buy beautiful books to fill it
with class and rich color.
That is how I came to my first home.
I stood tall in that oak cage for years
untouched since Johnny could not read.
A singing maid dusted me on occasion
but my pages remained uncut.
I stayed there as Johnny aged
and finally died.
Again I was boxed and shipped
a short journey to Camp Carson.
This time my cold home was
of green pine shelves with other gifts.
Gifts from the soldiers in the gold rush
to soldiers headed for war.
Again I went unread.
Preparation for war is very time-consuming.
Esquire got read.
The war ended my role as
home-front comfort furniture.
Declared “surplus” along with
pots, pans and bed sheets
and, with ignoble ceremony,
I was sent to Colorado Springs Goodwill.
I was weighed and priced by the pound
and while still virgin, I was piled on a table.
My heart beat faster when a young man
approached and hefted me, paid his dime
and put me in a big bag.
I was unpacked and put on a shelf
held up by cinder bricks.
My new owner poured
over books all day
and long into the night.
But student bibliomania
and pseudo intellectualism did not
mean I was finally read.
Some days I wondered if students
hoped my message would be sent them
via osmosis.
Then I moved and moved,
finally another oak bookcase
was afforded.
Years passed and
I collected embarrassing dust.
And in all those years the closest
I came to being read was a crawler
who pulled me out of the bookcase.
Then came downsizing.
Move to a smaller place.
And don’t leave all these books
for the kids to have to sort through.
Surplus again and the garage sale.
Now there is where you found me.
Now as you rub the lanolin on my weathered cover,
I hope it is a sign of courtship
and will result in my finally being read.
Within me is a message from Lord Byron
about darkling pools and the love
that flickers into that darkness.
The message will change your life.
It was there for anyone who opened me
for over 100 years.
Doug Minnis 11/9/2009