The Palmer House

In planning our Chicago trip, one of the highlights I almost insisted on was lunch at the Palmer House hotel, followed by the lecture and tour on the historic hotel. Lunch was at noon, and the tour began at 1:30, scheduled to be over by 3:00. Last May I published The Gilded Cage, a novel of Chicago in the late 19^th century, the Potter Palmers, the Palmer House Hotel, and the Columbian Exposition. Okay it’s much more than that, at least I think so, but those are the main events. I wanted to see if I was on the mark or not, and I wanted to see the famed hotel, though I think I was probably there with my parents as a young child.

Lunch was delicious—most of the kids had salmon, but I had a buttery homemade pasta with mushrooms and truffle sauce. Absolutely delicious.

We met the tour guide in the lobby adjacent to the restaurant. Everybody stood around talking, while Ken Price, the guide, questioned us. Eventually he led us up a floor to the hotel’s museum. Now, how many hotels do you know that have their own museum? Price was, if I got the story straight, hired to do marketing for the hotel, but today he is the archivist, whether or not he still does marketing.

We gathered around a table in the crowed small space, and he went around the room asking each of us questions. When he found out I was an English major, he zeroed in on me. But before that he had orchestral music playing, told us it was from the 1930s and asked who knew what orchestra it was. I said Eddie Duchin, because who else played in that decade. A lucky guess.

The next question was a quote: “In the room, the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo.” His question was the source, and he looked directly at me. I said T. S. Eliot, and he asked for more, so I said Prufrock. Yes, it was from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

His final question was, “Who called Chicago the hog butcher of the world?” Easy. Carl Sandburg. I was a little bit filled with pride to have been singled out and to have acquitted myself well.

For the next two hours he gave us a random, rambling history of Chicago, the Palmers, the hotel, and himself. Charming, garrulous and knowledgeable, he was one of those people who liked to name-drop and had me convinced that he had important ties. I was convinced he had important connections. He’s occasionally drag out posters or other visuals to augment his talk.

When the overlong lecture wound down, he suggested a 15-minute break and then a tour of the hotel. We had dinner plans and couldn’t stay which didn’t bother me a lot. I had learned much from his lecture, most of which confirmed that I got the information in The Gilded Cage right except when I deliberately veered off into fiction.

We left a copy of The Gilded Cage with him, along with a business card, and he promised to be in touch and read the book. Who knows? This might be my one chance at fame and fortune. On the other hand, I’ll probably never hear from him. But it was still a heck of an interesting afternoon.

Downsizing--still and again

A portion of one of my bookcases
in my house
 

Moving from 1850 square feet to 600 proves more complicated every day. I have three built-in bookcases, two large free-standing ones, a barrister’s bookcase, and the top of my mom’s secretary, all filled with books, some shelves with books piled sideways, etc. Plus some storage areas that I filled with books, and the boxes of books that came down from the attic. That’s a lot of books, and they have become our major preoccupation these days. I left for dinner with a friend tonight while Jacob was still doing homework—so Jordan, being compulsive as she learned from her mom, sorted more books.

Today, my archivist friend Carol came to make a start. She sat quietly, making notes, frequently consulting her phone—I later found out she was looking at current retail prices for various titles. She asked for three books—one sells for about $125 but she wanted it for research. At lunch, with two other friends, we discovered that one book Subie had taken is worth something like $300 on the market—she felt so guilty she bought my lunch!

Most of my books are not collectibles—a few will bring $100 or so retail which means I’d get at best $25 for each. Most are in the $30 range. I don’t want to get rich from this—I just want to clear the shelves. Carol noted enough titles of interest that she wrote to some used book dealers to see if they’d be interested in coming to look. What I must do first is pull any books I want to keep—a dealer will be quickly discouraged if he picks a book and I say, “Oh, no, I’m keeping that.” There are many books I’m sentimental about—but I need to keep only those I use frequently or those of really special value to me. Like the history of Blue Willow china—we eat off my mom’s set daily, and I gave another set to my niece who said she was thrilled to have something that belonged to Grandmother.

Carol even unearthed my master’s diploma, thesis, and bachelor’s certificate. Now if she’d only find my doctoral diploma and dissertation. I swear I had them once.

Today I emailed the archivist at Southwest Writers Collection, where my papers are. We’ll take three boxes of papers to Austin this weekend, but he said he’d like at least one coy of every book I’ve written. Does the man know what he’s letting himself in for?

I feel really good about doing this now, while I can answer questions, point out books in which I have a short story or essay, even though it’s not a book by me. But there’s a lot of work ahead. I am so fortunate to have Jordan who does the lifting, hauling and organizing while I sit at a table with a glass of wine, and I’m fortunate to have helpful friends—even if they do get some of my most valuable booksJ

A sad story: I have a first edition of Larry McMurtry’s book of essays, In a Narrow Grave. Probably worth quite a bit. The sad part? I underlined and wrote all over it when working on a paper on McMurtry for graduate school. I’m keeping that one.