9 October 2024
I was looking through various bits and pieces that, over the years, I have saved for one reason or another, and came across one of Marshall Maslin's "All of Us" newspaper columns. I hadn't saved the date, but it was probably from the early 1940s, maybe from the San Francisco "'Call" - although I'd seen his work in other California newspapers, and he may have been syndicated at that time.
This particular column was titled "Just Once," and was a series of comments on things that had happened to him "just once." Some of his one-time events:
He had an argument with a friend. After thinking about it for an hour, he admitted to the friend that he had been wrong, and the friend had been right.
He bought a suit that he thought would look good on him, and later he decided he had been right.
He left a package on a train, and actually recovered it from the "Lost and Found," later.
He received a "hate letter" from an anonymous sender, and the sender later wrote and apologized to him for sending it.
There were more illustrations, but the last one on his list was the one that really caught my eye: "Once I recommended a book to a friend as one of the best I'd ever read - and he read it, and told me it was one of the best HE had ever read. BUT ONLY ONCE."
***
I'm not a great sharer of my likes or dislikes about books, movies, and such. I've found that, although my interests are eclectic (diverse), they often seem a little esoteric (not of interest, maybe a little weird) to most of the family and friends I associate with. I miss discussing things I like to discuss, but the number of times that my recommendations have been rejected far outnumber the times I have found agreement. If one is discussing politics or religion, disagreements are common - and they don't hurt. When you share a great love with someone, and it is rejected - well, that's devastating.
We took my Dad to see "Star Wars" - the original, on the Big Screen, before there were a thousand copycats. I think we'd already seen it three times, and were still quite enthusiastic. I don't remember if Dad actually slept through the movie, but if he didn't, it was pretty close. I don't think he hated it, but...
One of my co-workers expressed interest in some of the books I read, and wanted to try one. His tastes seemed pretty broad, although some of my choices were pretty alien to him. I gave him John Buchan's "Mountain Meadow," one of Buchan's later (1941) works. It's about a man who knows he is dying, but sets out alone into the Canadian wilderness to find two lost people on the mysterious - maybe mythical - Sick Heart River. I'd read it several times, and thought it was a great adventure, as well as beautiful writing. I never gave much thought to the fact that the hero was dying, but that's the only thing my friend got out of it. Why did I give him a book about an old guy dying in the wilderness? He never asked me for another book.
Those are just two examples. With a little thought, I could come up with quite a few more. Part of my problem may be in the occupation I chose. Although I've always loved literature and languages, I chose my interest in wildlife and the Outdoors as my profession. I've worked with a lot of highly intelligent people, with broad interests, but those interests seldom ran to turn-of-the-century (not the recent "turn," the earlier one) British adventures, Greek drama, Shakespeare, or Broadway musicals. We did well relating on work-related issues, but we were never far from the "nothing in common" line. Sometimes, not having anyone who really shared my interests was pretty lonely and depressing.
When I wrote my novel, "Vic and Greg: A Wildlife Refuge Romance," I invested Greg with some of my frustrations. However, I gave him one acquaintance (in addition to Vic, and his mother) who liked many of the same things he did, had read the same books, and actually liked them as much. I found I was a little jealous.
When I read a book, see a movie, or hear a song that I really like, my initial reaction is to share my enthusiasm. Often, I do, but I try not to "recommend," anymore. I ask if they've read a certain book (without endorsing it), have heard about a certain movie ("sounds interesting"), or heard that a new play was standing-room-only.
I guess I'm letting them know "the pearls" are available, but I'm not handing them to them.
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