My Constitutional Law professor told the class a story about Chief Justice to the US Supreme Court John Marshall. The Honorable Mr. Marshall and the rest of the wealthy, white men that made up the Court in the early 19th century had come to an impasse while debating a difficult case. To give everyone a mental break, Marshall asked one of the other Justices to look out the window and report on whether it was raining. When the man stated that it was not raining, Marshall responded, “Well, my old chap, it’s raining somewhere.” Then he poured a drink of whiskey for everyone and they resolved the case.
I don’t recall exactly what that story had to do with the law, but I think it was meant to demonstrate that with a little out-of-the-box thinking, you can find a way through any situation. It reminds me of the philosophy some people have adopted to not have a drink before five in the afternoon. Then, on those certain occasions when they want to have a drink at one in the afternoon, they justify their slippage by saying, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Problem solved.
For my part, two things have become clear to me as I get older. First is the fact that I am getting older. I know this because:
Nine p.m. seems a reasonable time to go to bed;
I once owned a rotary phone;
I wake at least one time each night to pee; and
When I discover a “new band”, it’s a band that recorded in the 1960s which I had just never heard of before.
The second spire of my trajectory towards dotage is that drinking makes me sleepy. In my younger days, I would occasionally nudge “Miller Time” up a few hours from five p.m. to noon. This indulgence was especially hard to resist after I arrived as a self-employed hustler in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Often, after I’d sent the kids off to school, eaten breakfast, walked the dog, and gone to the gym, I had nothing else to do.
But I soon realized that the first drink of the day did not turn me into the laugh-a-minute, life-of-the-party intellectual that it used to. It just turned me into someone who wanted to lay down and take a nap. So I committed to giving up day drinking. But eliminating drinking from my afternoons would leave me with a daunting empty block of time from noon until that first cold one arrived in my hand after five p.m. What was I to do?
My Dad holds up a book (my book, actually), suggesting that he too, can read!
Like many of you, I learned to read a long time ago. I was an avid reader throughout my youth, devouring Ranger Rick magazines, the Sunday funnies, and the Hardy Boys’ mystery series. I distinctly remember snooping in my parents’ dresser as a kid and finding Hardy Boys book number 13, The Mark on the Door, which I received a few days later for Valentine’s Day, and which, ironically, finds Frank and Joe Hardy traveling to Mexico. In elementary school, we got newspaper-like brochures from Scholastic Books filled with so many good titles that I wanted to buy them all. The collection of Washington Irving’s short stories, including “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”, which I purchased for $1.95 in the early 1980s still figures prominently on my bookshelf.
As I got older, my reading habits matured. Playboy magazine really does have good articles. But as time marched on, I got caught up in life and work and fell out of the reading habit. I probably averaged only two or three books a year for the last two-and-a-half decades of my life before moving to San Miguel. This doesn’t take into account all of the Dr. Seuss and Sandra Boynton books I read over and over again to my children. And I’d still pick up a copy of Go Dog Go by P.D. Eastman and thumb through it for old times’ sake if I saw one lying around.
Both my children loved to have me read to them before bedtime. A stall tactic? Perhaps. But how great that I got to read Dr. Seuss’ Hop on Pop more than one hundred times? Here they are reading to themselves before bedtime during our year-long overland trip.
Life is funny. Around the same time I decided to substitute my afternoon beer with a mug of herbal tea, “Little Free Libraries” began popping up in the neighborhood where I live. First, there was one placed across the street from the grocery I frequented. Then one showed up along the route where I walked the dog in the afternoon. Opportunity knocked, if I would only answer the door.
Little Free Library, San Miguel de Allende, Colonia Guadalupe, Mexico.
In case you don’t know, Little Free Library is a nonprofit organization based in St. Paul, Minnesota, which aims to expand book access for all through a global network of volunteer-led take-a-book, leave-a-book exchanges. Basically, you build a box with a couple of shelves, put it on a post in your yard, and fill it with books. Then, because Little Free Libraries are open 24/7 and you don’t need a library card, anyone can come along and grab a book that interests them without feeling the pressure of having to read it during the two-week lending period typical of most public libraries, or the worry of misplacing it and going into debt from the 10-cent per day late fee. Little Free Libraries remove all these barriers.
Have you ever had a chance meeting with someone that profoundly impacted your life? Maybe you met a stranger at a party who showed you a way of breathing that helps you remain calm in stressful situations. Or you spoke briefly with a person at the grocery who introduced you to a new fruit, or a way to cook brussel sprouts that makes them crispy and delicious. In my case, I didn’t even meet the person who has changed my way of living. He (or she) put Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow in the Little Free Library and then I came along and took it out.
This Chernow book about Hamilton is the story that inspired the hit musical of the same name, which sent people into a frenzy, causing them to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on obstructed view seats at theaters around the globe. I get it. The book is fantastic, and the soundtrack to the musical isn’t bad either. I enjoyed them. But honestly, knowing I had the time to sit down with a book in my hands on a daily basis was so invigorating that after I finished Alexander Hamilton, I went straight to the Little Free Library and looked for something else to read. I grabbed Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris. Then, Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson. Then, Roots by Alex Haley.
Man, I thought to myself, the quality of the titles people put in these boxes is outstanding. I’m not a hoarder, except when it comes to books. When I read a good one I want to put it on my shelf like a trophy, not toss it into a box halfway across town never to be seen again. Thankfully, not everyone thinks as I do.
Anyway, all of this happened in the year 2020. I was so excited to be reading again that I came up with a challenge for myself to read 20 books that year. I read 24. When 2021 rolled around, I upped the challenge to 21 books. I closed that year having read 28. On my quest to read 22 books in 2022, I’ve read 24 books. I understand this exercise will get more challenging as I get older. Thirty books in 2030? Assuming I still have my eyesight, can I expect to read 50 books in 2050 when I am 80 years old? We’ll see.
This one was a real page turner.
One of the best things about the Little Free Library is that books turn up there that you heard about years ago, but never got around to reading (Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, for example). Or there might be a book by an author you know, but just never bothered to check out of the library (James Joyce comes to mind). Or you might grab something that you never in a million years imagined you would read and really enjoy (The Three Daughters of Madame Liang, by Pearl S. Buck).
I don’t get all of my books from the Little Free Library. Sometimes I’ll download a book to my kindle by an author that I first discovered (or rediscovered) by taking a book from the little wooden box. Or, I’ll get on a theme of reading presidential biographies (who knew John Quincy Adams was so progressive?), rock star autobiographies (I suspected I Am Ozzy, by Ozzy Osbourne, would be full of entertaining anecdotes but was surprised it was so thoughtful and well-written), or something culturally edifying (The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico by Bernal Diaz, or Reefer Madness (Sex, Drugs, and Cheap Labor in the American Black Market) by Eric Schlosser.).
But I am not a snob. I understand that when I have a goal to read so many books a year, I’ve got to mix in some mass-market paperbacks. The action is so fast-paced (thank you Lee Child, John Saul, and Dan Padavona) that I can knock off a book in a day or two. But you can be sure that if I happen upon something about John Marshall, I’m going to grab it. I owe that man a drink!