Shel Silverstein: A Personal Remembrance
There was a great little article about Shel Silverstein's book, Runny Babbit, in the Feb. 28, 2004 Publisher's Weekly. This was where I first learned of this posthumous book. I loved this quote:
"Runny lent to the wibrary
And there were bundreds of hooks --
Bistory hooks, beography gooks,
And lots of bory stooks.
He looked them over one by one
And guess which one he took --
A bience scook? A boetry pook?
Oh, no -- a bomic cook!"
The article says that Harper editor Joan Robins worked with Silverstein "most of the time" from 1987 until Shel's death in 1999. All of this has special significance to me, because during the 90's Shel hung out in Madison Wisconsin. In fact, he hung out on King Street a lot, where my store was then located.
I was saddened, as I'm sure many of you were, by the news of the death of Shel Silverstein. His career was a great source of joy and entertainment. I should write careers, plural, because he had great success in so many fields. He was well known as one of the best selling and most beloved writers for children of all time; The Giving Tree (1964) and Where the Sidewalk Ends (1974) were just two of his classics. Lots of guys just a little older than me remember him as a writer and cartoonist for Playboy in the fifties. He wrote and recorded folk and pop songs. I remember him best as a song writer. His work with the rock band Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show was just right for me, humorous and irreverent, and I loved Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue." I'll bet you love a Shel Silverstein song even if you've never heard of him. How about the Irish Rover's "Unicorn Song" or Judy Collin's "The Hills of Shiloh."
I feel that I have lost a friend. It wasn't that I knew him well, and I doubt that he would have even remembered my name, but I do think he might have recalled the wild-haired, skinny bookseller he always visited when he was in Madison. He visited Madison often because, he said, his son lived here. All the booksellers in Madison had a chance to get to know Shel, because visiting bookstores was his idea of fun. He probably stayed at a downtown hotel when he was in town, because he seemed to hang out in my downtown neighborhood most of the time. When he wasn't prowling around in my stacks, or in some other bookstore, I would see him sitting in the back of one of the many cafes on King Street, where my store was located in those days, lingering over coffee while he wrote and drew.
I remember vividly the first time I saw Shel in my store. He had picked out a bunch of comics and hard boiled detective novels, and was going to write a check. He was fumbling around in his bag looking for some sort of identification, when I noticed the name on his check. Suddenly the sweet little voice coming from this dark, dangerous looking man clicked and I said, "That's okay, I know who you are." His appearance was distinctive. Bohemian, obviously not a conformist, know what I mean? Lots of leather, with a bald or shaved head, probably both. Despite his looks, he was exceedingly mild mannered. I hope I didn't scare him. He was, after all, famous for being a very private person, generally unwilling to appear at autographings or concerts. I got his autographs many times, however. The checks I didn't keep, I deposited them at my bank. I got to keep the credit card vouchers, though. We don't have to send those to the clearing houses any more. The charges clear electronically, and we keep the paper flimsies. There is a story about one of those, in fact.
I wonder if anyone at Cafe Europa ever knew who the scary looking, quiet fellow, scribbling away in back actually was? Shel was probably writing Runny Babbit, among other things, I'm sure. Well, if the staff at the old Europa was expert at anything, it was certainly in ignoring their customers, which is how Shel liked it. I always thought all that artistic activity enhanced the ambiance of the neighborhood.
One day Shel came in for some reading material. He was a little shy about paying for his stuff for some reason. I hoped he wasn't still worried about identification, I thought we had that sorted out. It turned out, he explained, that he had mistakenly left a newly issued, replacement credit card at home in Florida, and all he had with him was one with an expired date on it. "They wouldn't take it at the restaurant." He explained sourly. Now don't tell my bank about this, okay? I'm sure I did several things against the rules. I said, "Gimmie that card. I'll take care of this." I entered the credit card number manually, and just entered a date a year later than the one on the card. Worked fine. I think I might have even gotten him a little advance so he could buy lunch. Least I could do for one of the country's greatest humorists, and the writer of Dr. Hook's "Cover of the Rolling Stone."
As much as I like that story, my favorite involves helping Shel find a new favorite writer. He was fond of a lot of mystery and detective writers, and was always looking for Cornell Woolrich, among others. One day he was looking through some old Ellery Queen magazines. I mentioned that a friend of mine collected them mostly for the Edward D. Hoch stories that appeared in each issue. He bought a few, and the next day he was back for more. "Me too." he said. "I read some of those, and like your friend, I've decided I collect Hoch. Box all these up and mail them to me in Florida." I love directing readers to stuff they will like. This is one of the reasons I'm a bookseller.
Once while I was watching Shel shop for comics, I thought about his obvious fondness for comics and comic strips, and his clear talent as an artist and storyteller. "You should do a comic book sometime." I said. He admitted that he had thought about it, and even said that he had some ideas about projects that he might try to do someday. We talked for a while about comic book publishers, and he asked me if I knew of Kitchen Sink Press, since it had once been located in Wisconsin. I allowed as I knew Denis and Jim Kitchen, and since Shel was a big fan of their classic comic strip reprint books, he should drop them a note or give them a call. He said he would do that, though I wonder if he ever got to it.
The last time I saw Shel I was helping another bookseller move her store, located near State Street. I noticed Shel's shiny head bobbing down the sidewalk, so I chased him down to tell him that I had just moved my store, too. I wanted to make sure he could find us. He promised me he would track us down, but he never did. My new store wasn't really within walking distance of the downtown hotels anymore, so we were probably outside of his orbit.
I'm glad I had a chance to chat with him that last time. I had just mailed him a huge batch of classic comic strip reprints that he had picked out, and wanted to make sure he had gotten them. I suspected he wouldn't be able to find his way to my new location, so I made sure I was able to shake his hand one last time. I didn't know then of course, that it was one of the last times he would be able to visit any of us.
