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Today I watched the best-laid plans of the bookman get buried by the drive of instinct indigenous to that species.
Today I watched Dan and Denis Gouey set out for the San Francisco show, and I tell you with all conviction that booksellers cannot deviate from what seems to be an ingrained behavior.
This story began some weeks ago when Dan and Denis decided to set up a booth in San Francisco for a show the last week in January. They decided to try something new-take very little and buy their booth along the way. Telephone calls went back and forth, the excitement built, the plans were laid out about where to stop, they discussed what kind of books they might find, and whom they'd see.
The trip out would be leisurely so they'd have plenty of time to shop. Money was laid aside so no good book would go un-bought. When Denis mentioned he'd pack his shelves for the show, Dan argued it would be better to rent shelves there, leaving more room in the car for all the new books they'd buy, of course.
New books, new books, new books...it was like a mantra. Perhaps that's why they went on so many house calls leading up to the show and why so many new books were hauled into our sorting room. The "I need to take this to San Francisco" pile grew ever higher.
Denis set a limit of 6 boxes each to take from their shops for the show. Prints would lie neatly on top. There'd be plenty of room for new books. I kept hearing about them leaving for a show with a nearly empty station wagon. But only our new employee Heather got caught up in the excitement and believed them.
Those of us who know Dan and Denis knew better.
Now don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about Dan or Denis. I love Dan, I really do. He's a kind, fair, generous, and honest man. But when it comes to books, a mania grips him, and Denis has that to a lesser extent. I know, however, that the image of Dan heading off to do a show is not unlike the character Steve Martin plays in "The Jerk." There comes a time in the movie when The Jerk is leaving his home with only what he needs - nothing, he says. Walking to the door, he picks up one thing after another, saying, "I'll need that. And that. And that." He walks out into the world with a robe, matches, a lamp, coat rack, everything but the kitchen sink.
Last night I watched Dan pack and heard those same words over and over again. Six boxes turned into 8 plus an armload of oversized books and the print pile was nearly as thick as a box. When Denis pulled up to the curb it was clear he, too, had "needed" more than he anticipated.
I had to do it. I had to ask the obvious. Maybe that's what defines me. "So where are you going to put the books you buy along the way?"
Would they suddenly decide to forgo the wagon and take Dan's van? Would they rethink all the boxes and divest themselves of the chaff? Would the prints be thinned?
No. Denis pointed to about a foot of clearance between the boxes and the car roof. "We can squeeze another layer on top."
And they will. And if the weather is good, I can easily imagine them cooking up creative ways to pack the books they'll surely buy, and they'll pull into San Francisco looking like the Clampetts heading into Beverly Hills; an untidy mound of boxes roped to the roof.
But they can't help it, they're bookmen.
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