As far as I remember into my past, I was always a voracious reader. Poorly stocked libraries, the inattention of my parents, and a lack of discretionary cash largely led me to a vagabond reading selection of remaindered books, donations, loans, or outright thefts (as opposed to forthright theft? Gotta think about that one.).
One incident in high school provided some of the first shape to my reading patterns--my high school received and gave away several cases worth of paperbacks that had had the cover stripped off. Now I know that these were the remnant of some return to the publisher (Penguin in this case), but at the time they seemed to sum up the overall shabbiness of the school.
These books were piled up on tables in the library and given away on a "take whatever you can carry, we don't care" basis. Now, most (or all as I can remember) were of a high literary quality. The only two that I can absolutely remember taking was a copy of Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory and The Beat Reader though I took a hell of a lot more than that. The Beat Reader was a collection of sampler pieces of all associated with the Beat Generation meaning they ranged from core members like Kerouac to muses like Neal Cassady to barely/fringe influenced people like Bob Dylan. These pieces rocked my literary world and spiraled me into a literary world that, while it didn't end there, included chanting the full length of Allen Ginsberg's Howl out loud at midnight a few years later on Ole Miss' campus. And if you don't know, "Howl" is a hella long poem.
Eventually I even made the pilgramage, as I considered it, to one of the great remaining landmarks of the Beatnik faith--City Lights bookstore in San Francisco. Owned and operated by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the associated press published many of the first and major works of the movement including "Howl." The guy is still around, over 90, and by sheer luck I got to meet him in one of the two visits I made to the shop. That's where I got my signed copy of the book shown above.
So, after saying all of that, what I really want to talk about is that San Francisco people are really freaking rude. After getting my signed copy and after Mr. Ferlinghetti walked away, I told the cashier in awed tones that I was so shocked at actually meeting one of the original guys that I just didn't know what to say. He scoffed at me and snidely suggested that next time I try "Hello" and then walked the fuck away from the register...while I stood there about to pay for the signed book. When I went back there the next day to get something I had forgotten, the same guy initially refused to be bothered to remove the item I wanted from the window of the store saying it wasn't for sale despite the prominently displayed price sticker. I finally got it, but that was about what I got from San Francisco folk. A city I loved so much that I have taken two vacations there and a people that make even my own anti-social tendencies blend into a general genteel manner of the well heeled South by comparison. Current resident of said city, and hilarious comedian, Greg Proops has frequently noted on its savage social nature. Recently he noted on his podcast that it is the sort of city where the reply to a hopeful "I'm trying to get to the Asian Art Musuem" is more often met by a caustic "Well good luck with that then" than not. Funny.
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