“Down That Lonely Road”

Young Woman Whose Life Ebbed as She Wrote “Thirteen Cigarettes” Left Empty Purse.  Funeral Plans Pending

 “Look down – look down that lonely road, the hacks all dead in line:  Some give a nickel, some give a dime, to bury dis po’ body o’ mine!”

All ready for the dismal ritual of burial lies the body of the author of those lines – ready for the trip down the lonely road.

And the money – it must come from some place other than the pitifully empty purse that was found in the little attic room at 1625 K street beside the body of the author yesterday morning.

All that is mortal of Miss Draper Gill, romantic booklover, who finally found that in poverty the body shackles the mind to the humdrum of this world, and who broke the shackles with an open gas jet, lies in the Tabler Funeral Home, 828 M street, while friends and relatives busy themselves with the arrangements for her funeral. The arrangements have not been completed.

                                        Lines Written as Life Ebbs.

Miss Gill, whose closest friends were the fanciful figures from between the leaves of books, wrote the above lines as the close of her life, as her final efforts to slash the shackles of poverty that took her too often from her friends of the phantom book world into the every day pursuits of livelihood.

With her was found her story, eloquent in its pathos, telling a tale of “Thirteen Cigarettes,” the “coffin nails” with which she sealed the lid upon the shackling body and with which she hoped to free her intangible self to stay always with her fanciful friends of fiction.

Even as she died in the shabby little room some time yesterday morning, she moved with her fiction friends, this last time as a fictional character of her own creation, as “Carol,” a girl like herself, strangely, though, even in the tale, coming every now and then into the world of real men and women and leaving the fancy world behind.

                                         Left Only Few Pennies

The story she ended with the two lines above, she wrote as gas filled her room and as, all unmindful of the danger to her plans her smoking might constitute, she inhaled puff after puff from the fatal number of cigarettes. As she took the last puff from the last cigarette she laid her story aside, and lay down quietly to await the final shattering of her shackles to this world.

She left only a few pennies, and there is none coming to her from her last place of employment, the book shop of the Woodward & Lothrop department store, for she had on Saturday, the last day she worked, drawn in advance the little pay she had coming to her.
                                         Story of Thirteen Cigarettes

Eloquently, the story of “Carol” and the “Thirteen Cigarettes” tells of the death of all that was mortal of Draper Gill. It follows:

“October 21, 1930
“Thirteen cigarettes.
“The bare attic room bore signs of former occupancy, but none of them sufficiently interesting to fire any one’s imagination. Discolored, once-white walls, the plaster chipped and cracked, and a few nail holes were about all. Situated on the fourth and top floor and partitioned off rom the unfinished attic proper, the room had probably been occupied by careless servants.
“Carol lay prone on a cot in this same room, ostensibly reading, but stopping at intervals to rehearse what had become a very futile philosophy of life – her life.

                                         Termed Coffin Nails

“Just the other day she had read a story entitled ‘Something Will Happen,’ but nothing had in the story. Carol had been more fortunate in the past, and the evil spells of desirable circumstances have always been broken sooner or later. Now it was different. She was 26 and, voluntarily or involuntarily, she herself had closed all avenues of escape. The 13 cigarettes indeed represented the oft-bruited coffin nails. When they were gone and when the ash tray held the thirteenth stub and contributing ashes, Carol’s doom would have been knelled, silently but significantly.”Reviewing events, recent and long past, was not very comforting. Always she had made wrong moves and suffered from the unexpected results. A childish spontaneity had been half smothered during adolescence and thoughtless selfishness coupled with an indefinable weakness of purpose were growing up in its place. Carol recognized the change dolefully and helplessly, and so did very little to remedy it.

“Hovering on the brink of poverty soon loses all semblance of the picturesque and grows very irksome indeed, particularly when expensive tastes and a flair for spending complicates matters. Carol, –at the moment had a few coppers in her purse and nothing really to look forward to except the impossible settlement of large and small debts. That financial status might have ‘roused the fighting blood’ of a huskier vitality, but served only to overwhelm poor Carol quite completely.

                                         Humdrum Routine

“If one demands the pleasantly unexpected of life, and likes the knack of arranging for joyous events, only to find a series of whirlpools circling rapidly from the crest to the depths, it is disappointing, to say the least, and even trifling pleasures can be obtained only through persistent loyalty in the execution of humdrum routine duties, nine-to-six sort of existence, it rouses a perverse in nature, such as Carol’s, and a black mood of rebellion conspires to blind utterly even the instinct of self-preservation.

“Inspiration was necessary to Carol, as much so as the contant goading indispensable in getting beasts of burden to their destinations. She learned to con it from many sources, books and strangers and abstract beauty. The supply gone, she was like a mechanical toy with no one to wind it – powerless.

” ‘Lazy–I fear I’m incurably lazy -quite worthless in fact,’ she mused. It was too bad, for people really expected great things of her, until she, too, was sometimes convinced, but nothing came of it -only this sorry end, that approached as each tobacco-filled cylinder dwindled into gray ash and blackened stub.

“She had done reasoning out of the possible effects of heredity, environment, individuality and incalculable circumstance – they were so hopelessly tangled in a knotted mesh, an eminent psychologist might well hesitate to unravel the skeins.

” ‘Too much purple and yellow in the color scheme,’ was Carol’s whimsical verdict, upon visualizing an untidy basket of interwoven threads of varying hues.

” ‘I must be strong in going,’ was uppermost in her mind. ‘I have gained nothing by lingering so long-and only done others harm-caused them inconvenience, worried the few who have shown concern. Lacking strength for noble deeds, this will offer part compensation, a forfelt to subsequent years that promised similar cycles of non-achievement.’

                                         Voices Farewell

“Upon second thought, ‘If I should fail—‘ but that was too terrible to contemplate. She wouldn’t consider it.
“Farewell to all the ineffectual dreams and aspirations, beautiful and impracticable, glorious and non-existent.
“Farewell to friends – she had only been a burden to them, often stupid and misunderstanding their motives, not troubling to see from their point of view.
“Farewell to relatives, to whom most of her actions had ben inexplicable.
“Farewell to her brother, whose esteem was unwavering, who needed her support, and whom she was leaving.
“Farewell to them all – no remorse now – only regret.
“How slowly they were going. There were eight of them left to mark the passage of time and a few details crying out for attention – they would fill the last moments.

“How cheery the clock sounded, as though pleased with itself for playing so important a part in reckoning Carol’s oblivion. ‘It will not have long to wait, Carol. I wonder?’ was the natural query.

” ‘Perhaps I am writing drivel and silence were better, but I want them to know, even the bit that will be comprehended-it will be of little moment and soon forgotten, anyhow,’ she ended, wondering if that were true.

“The dog-eared phrase: ‘Survival of the fittest,’ Ah, but I do not belong in their ranks, for I have failed completely and they will go on. I wish them well.

    ” ‘Look down–look down, that lonely road, the hacks all dead in line:
“Some give a nickel: some give a dime, to bury dis po’ body o’ mine!'”

Miss Gill’s grandfather, Delancey Gill, is an illustrator with the Smithsonian Institution, and lives at the Rutland Courts Apartments, Seventeenth street and Riggs place. Her uncle, William H. Gill, an engineer with offices in the Transportation Building, Seventeenth and H streets, is handling the arrangements for the funeral.

Editor’s Note:  This article appeared in the Washington D.C. Evening Star on October 23, 1930.  The writer of this interesting obituary is unknown.  The deceased young woman, a grand-daughter of the famous Delancey Gill, worked as a low-paid clerk in the book department of a large department store.  Note today the struggles of workers at amazon.com and other places for a “living” wage.  Too many are still working at what could termed a “death” wage, as illustrated by this poor soul who was penniless and took her own life.

Faded Memories: Santa Barbara Bookstores in the 1980s

Santa Barbara Had A Respectable Batch of Wonderful Bookstores As Revealed in This Old Flyer in our Archives

Folding Guide to Santa Barbara Bookstores

Map Showed Location of Book Stores

I went over the list to try to determine who was left, who had moved, who was gone.  Here’s what I found:

Again Books:  The Phone is disconnected, I assume they are gone.

Andromeda Boookshop:  Closed in the early 1990s.

Avalon Books:  Now Avalon Comics and Games. Moved to 10 West Calle Laureles, S.B. 93105

The Book Den:  Still at the same location.

The Book Loft:  Moved to 1680 Mission Dr., Solvang, CA 93463.

Robert Gavora Bookseller:  Moved to P.O. Box 448, Talent, Oregon 97540.

Richard Gilbo Books. I believe Mr. Gilbo passed away some years ago.  He was a very good bookman.

Hammer Books:  Gone around 2013.  His collection, or parts of it are at UCSB.

Joseph The Provider Books:  Moved to 10 West Micheltorena, Santa Barbara 93101, 805-962-2141.

Kisch Book Shop:  Gone, could not find.

Lost Horizon Bookstore:  Moved to 539 San Ysidro Rd., Ste 4.  Santa Barbara 93108.

Maurice F. Neville Rare Books:  Great stock of books, Mr. Neville passed around 1987.

Paperback Alley Used Books:  Still at the same location.

Randall House:  Still at the same location.

Ted’s Used Books & Collectibles:  Gone around 2007.

I could not find any information on the following:  ABI Books, The Book Barn, Drew’s Book Shop, Merlin’s Bookshop, and Northwoods Books.  Does anyone have any information on any of these?  Let me know and I will update this list.

Paul Hunt.  unclepaulie@Rocketmail.com

Death Claims 2 Booksellers From the Now Closed Cliff’s Books in Pasadena

Both Jerry Lang and Paul Johnson Were Longtime Employees of Cliff’s Books

A Few Notes

by Paul Hunt

Jerry Lang

Jerry Lang

Two former employees of Cliff’s Books in Pasadena have died unexpectedly.  Jerry Lang was the Manager of Cliff’s until the last days when Cliff Gildart, the owner, suddenly closed the shop and sold the stock to an online bookdealer in September, 2013.  Jerry passed on Saturday, February 13, 2016. I am not totally sure of this date, so anyone who has more exact information please contact me.

Jerry Lang Interview4 (3).Movie_SnapshotThe closing of the store came without prior notice to the employees (or the landlord for that matter).  One day we came to work to find a crew of guys boxing up books, and were told that Cliff had sold the stock and closed the store.  You can imagine the shock to the employees.  The buyer of the books kept a couple of the employees on for a few days while unwanted stock was reduced and sold off, pretty much paying for the amount that he paid Cliff for the whole stock of 150,000 books.  More on all this later, but this post is about Jerry Lang and Paul Johnson.

Jerry Lang Interview4 (2).Movie_SnapshotJerry tried to find another job, but the suddenness of the closing made it almost impossible. He was, like most of us, “one paycheck away from being on the street.”  More so because working at a used bookstore is financially 3 steps lower than working at a taco stand in Monrovia.  And that is what happened to him.  Without a job, he was unable to pay his rent and had to give up the apartment.  The stress of all this hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he suffered a massive stroke. He ended up in a hospital and made a valiant fight to recover, but died this month undergoing surgery for an unrelated matter.

A few days after the store closed, in October of 2013, I filmed an interview with Jerry as the store was being demolished, books being moved out, and shelving knocked down. You can see the edited interview by clicking on the box below. Jerry was a great guy, a really good self-taught bookseller, and I loved working with him.  We made super-human efforts to keep the store going, and Jerry would be just the guy you would want to be in charge of saving your business. I consider it an honor to have known him.

Paul Johnson, 2013

Paul Johnson, 2013

Paul Johnson was basically Cliff’s right-hand man.  When Mark Sailor died around 2011, Paul filled in, working at the store a couple nights, helping Cliff in personal matters, and running the Annex warehouse where Cliff kept a huge overstock of books.  After the store closed, Paul supervised the moving of Cliff’s mail-order and rare books up to the Annex.  He was working at the Annex listing books for sale on the internet up until his death on February 15th.  He was 59 years old.

Jerry Lang Interview3.Movie_SnapshotIt’s always shocking to hear of a middle-aged person dying.  Paul was as strong as an ox, and seemed to be in pretty good health, but both he and Jerry smoked, which did neither of them any good.  In addition, Paul had hypertension due to a number of problems that I won’t go into, and smoked pot to keep down his blood pressure.  Both he and Jerry were really good bookmen.  Paul went to numerous book buys and estate sales and often came up with some rare and choice books for Cliff.

A couple of funny incidents might be in order to lift some of the death pall that settles in over these types of articles.  As I mentioned, Paul, or “Short Paul” as another member of Cliff’s book family, Nick Meier called him, to differentiate him from me, did partake of the gentle leaf of mary jane.   This lowered his blood pressure and probably kept him alive for an extra few years, but led to a lot of absent-minded behavior.  He was always misplacing his cel phone and/or his car keys, or both.  Once, when I was tending the store late at night, Paul came down to bring some books from the Annex.  He unloaded the car, which was Cliff’s old Mustang that Cliff couldn’t drive any more for some mysterious reason, and then puttered around the shop for a while

Just before he was to drive off he started to dredge around the shop for his cel phone.  I started calling the number and then listening, walking around the shop, you know the routine.  No luck.  After calling the number over 30 times I gave up.  Paul went out in front of the store for a smoke.  I joined him to get some fresh air, and for some reason of immediate habit dialed his number one more time.  His phone was heard ringing, outside the store on Colorado Blvd., resting on a tiny ledge, right where Paul had left it an hour earlier during another smoke break. This was astounding, because nothing survives the eagle eyes of passing thieves on Colorado Blvd.  A bicycle not locked will last 2 minutes max. I could hardly believe his luck, because although it was dark out, it had been ringing continuously for at least a half hour.  Maybe all the thieves were snuggled into their sleeping bags by then.

IMG_0170Another time, again late at night about 11:30 pm, Paul had come in to drop off something. He didn’t stay long, but called back to the store a few minutes later from the land line phone at the Annex.  He had lost his phone again and asked me if I could call the number and walk around the shop and listen for the ring.  It was a big shop, with three storefronts, back rooms, a paperback room, and an upstairs office where the “rare” books were kept. Believe me, it took a while just to walk around the place, and 30 or 40 dials to Paul’s cel produced nothing, not a peep.  I called back to the Annex and asked him to come in and help me look for it.

About 15 minutes later Johnson pulled into the back lot of Cliff’s, still driving the old Mustang.  He was not in a good mood, angry at himself for once again (for the seven hundredth time in a month)  misplacing the damned phone.  I started dialing his cel number right away, and was startled to hear it chirping back just a few feet away, laying in the groove of the hood of the Mustang.  I have no idea how it stayed perched there as Paul had driven all the way up to the Annex, about 3 miles away, and then all the way back to Cliff’s.  I inspected the thing so see if there was some glue on the back of it or something, and then realized that Paul was so stoned that he probably drove really slow, like you do when pot paranoia takes over, and every passing cop car is a potential threat.

Aside from the daily cel hell that Johnson had to endure,, I remember another incident of forgetfulness that was even more startling. Unnerving really. One night, on his shift, he decided to consolidate the fiction section.  So he started to snug all the books up to each other, and when he was done, he had created a space of two entire shelving units.  This was a lot of space at Cliff’s. where even a mouse-hole would have a book blocking the entrance.  He had something in mind for the space, but forgot what it was.  The two empty units were sitting right near the front of the store, prime space.  I for one kept asking him what he was going to put there, but never got much of a coherent answer.  After 4 months he didn’t even remember that he had done it, and asked me one night who had emptied the two units in the middle of the store.  I stared at him, stupefied, and was going to yell at him that he was the one, but upon instant reflection of what it might do to upset his fragile psyche, and the fact he was my friend,  I decided to blame it on Nick, the homeless guy who was crashing upstairs and told him I would see to it that some books were put in the empty space right away.  He said that would be really great, and went outside for a smoke. What ever it was he was smoking was powerful stuff, the kind that makes you dream in technicolor.

The Send Off

St. Elizabeth's Catholic Church

St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church

On March 3, 2016 a Memorial Celebration for Paul Edward Johnson took place at St. Elizabeth Catholic Church in Altadena.  It was a beautiful and touching ceremony.  Paul’s friends and family were present, including an honor guard from the U.S. Army to present an American Flag to his family. Deacon Charles Mitchell  conducted the ceremonial, along with his wife Mrs. Cynthia Mitchell. Soloist Peter Vecchio with his accompanist Sydney Gullaume performed lovely songs. For those who didn’t know much about Paul’s personal life, I am reprinting the biography that was in the memorial folder handed out at the ceremony:

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Paul Edward Johnson of Altadena passed away February 15, 2016.  Paul was a lovnig father, grandfather, son, brother and a good friend to many.  Paul was born at St. Luke’s Hospital in Pasadena, California on June 7, 1956, to Lloyd and Margit Johnson and grew up in Altadena.  He attended St. Elizabeth Elementary School and St. Francis and John Muir high schools.  He was a military veteran who served in the U.S. Army.  Paul loved camping and fishing in the mountains and was especially fond of Kernville.  He was also an avid antique book collector.  Paul will be remembered for his generosity and kindness to his family and friends.  He had a big smile and big heart and will be dearly missed and forever cherished in our hearts.

He is survived by a son, Skyler Martinez; daughter, Bryana Miller (Thomas); grandchild, Daniel Paul; sister, Anita and brother, Carl (kathleen).

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Paul and his grandson Dan

Paul and his grandson Dan

The Christian church, for some 2,000 years now, marks with ceremony the passage of humans through their lives at important times.  Birth, baptism, marriage, death, these all mark places in our journey.  None of us know when that final marker will take place, and it is sad for us when someone as young as our friend Paul passes.  If anyone reading this has any memories of Paul and his activities in the book business, please send them along, so we can make this a part of the record.  Paul had a great sense of humor and would himself want us to think of him in laughter and good times.

“Don’t Worry about a thing, “Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”  – Bob Marley singing Three Little Birds, Paul Johnson’t favorite song.

Strangely, Paul had purchased an expensive bottle of wine which he shared a couple of glasses with Cliff Gildart only a day before he passed.  Did he have a premonition and want to have a final toast with Cliff, his friend?  Cliff said he was glad that he could share those last moments with Paul, who had really become Cliff’s right-hand man.  Cliff, of course, is very saddened about this, and although he is not a religious person, please say a few prayers for him, along with Paul’s family.

Both Jerry and Paul were good bookmen, both loved books and served the Pasadena community.  They were both men of good temperament and good will, and we will miss them for their humor, as well as their tremendous knowledge.  Rest in Peace, my friends.

IMG_3656

 

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I may have some more entertainment about Clliff’s and other bookshops and booksellers in the future, if I can bring myself to do it.  Letters, emails, brick-bats encouraged.  Please consider everything on this website to be a massive work of fiction.  I’m not really sure, in my advanced dotage that any of this actually happened.  I swear under penalty of perjury that I wasn’t smoking anything during those years.  Well, at least pretty much.  Maybe a little wine now and then.  Really.  Swear it.

unclepaulie@rocketmail.com

Coming Soon – PDF of old “Book Finder”

Southern California Book Finder

Coming soon – I will upload pdf files of the old issues of “The Southern California Book Finder”.  These old pocket guides of book shops in the Southern California area are an historical record of the shops operating at the times the booklet was published.  It is sad to compare these old Book Finders with the lists of shops open today.  The number of shops is down by at least 50%.  Almost all of the big book shops are gone:  Acres of Books in Long Beach, Book Baron in Anaheim, Book City in Hollywood, Valley Book City in NOHO, Wahrenbrock’s in San Diego, Book Castle (the big store) in Burbank, Berkelouw in Hollywood, and many others.

I hope that looking through the old Book Finder will trigger memories of the shops and bookmen of yesteryear.

Paulie