Dorothy Sloan: The Biblio-Rose of Texas

Dorothy Sloan

My first encounter with rare book dealer Dorothy Sloan (1943-2021) involved books of course, but also her garden of beautiful roses oddly juxtaposed with an open garage door revealing an overflow of scuba equipment. Dorothy loved to garden when not bookselling and her second husband Peter Oliver was a well-known scuba instructor at The University of Texas. The year was 1992 and Dorothy lived and worked at her house on the corner of 33rd and Duval Street in Austin, near the UT campus. The home built in 1919 was a spacious, stucco two story on a half-acre lot. It had been updated with some modern conveniences but retained much of its original charm. Custom bookcases were in almost every room. The natural, light wood finish of the bookcases blended harmoniously with the house as if they had been there from the beginning. But they had not. Dorothy had spent a small fortune on them. Her mighty reference collection, many thousands of volumes strong, filled much of the shelf space. Stock and consignments consumed the rest.

I’d come to interview for a job. Dorothy was looking for a part-time cataloguer and assistant. She greeted me at the door with a smile and ushered me in, skipping any formalities, and asked if I wanted something to drink. She poured lemonade from a glass pitcher, and we sat down. She was about fifty years old at the time but looked ten years younger. Dorothy was medium tall, with blond hair highlighted with a hint of grey, an athletic, attractive figure, and she exuded an energy and restlessness that kept her from being seated for very long unless she was cataloging. I don’t recall the details of our first conversation, but I do remember the spirit of it. Dorothy was witty and funny, and we bantered well together. In retrospect, I know she was testing me for compatibility. Dorothy tossed me some mildly off-colored humor and an occasional opinionated barb mixed in with questions about my book background. Being young and ignorant of her status as a rare book dealer, I showed no awe or adoration, just a keen interest. This first meeting must have satisfied her as I was invited back the next day to begin work.

Kurt Zimmerman & Dorothy Sloan, June 1992

Dorothy had recently acquired on consignment the massive stock of bookseller Dudley R. Dobie (1904-1982), cousin of famed Southwestern writer and personality, J. Frank Dobie. She was also cataloging the Texana collection of William H. Morrow, Jr. The books were overflowing the shelves, and Dorothy was basically a one-woman operation, typically with a single assistant (me at this point) along with help from her husband and family. I soon learned that Dorothy continually bit off more than she could chew in terms of volume of books. She had an innate drive for perfection in her cataloging descriptions combined with a strong desire to produce extremely high caliber catalogues. This regularly puts her behind schedule. This pattern would continue when she changed her focus from traditional book dealing to auctions. Some consignors were patient, some annoyed, and a few irate. Her letters / emails to consignors were often lengthy, all polished gems of explanation, excuse, flattery, and promises. They worked. To her credit, almost no one ever pulled a consignment, even when the sale was months, or years behind schedule. Success in the end overrode most objections.

On rare occasions an impatient consignor might show up unexpectedly in person. One memorable example happened shortly after I began working with her. William Morrow (1909-2002), who was in his early 80s at the time, came to check on the cataloging of his Texana collection, then about a year behind the original completion date. We all gathered in the living room. Morrow was old-school polite and quite a bookman himself, so I was fascinated with the introductory chat between him and Dorothy.

Morrow caught the collecting bug in 1929 after taking J. Frank Dobie’s famous course “Guide to Life and Literature of the Southwest” while studying at the University of Texas-Austin. He went to law school and became an oil and gas attorney for Humble Oil. From the early 1930s he scoured the bookstores of Texas and beyond for rare and interesting Texana. He worked with notable rare book dealers such as Charles F. Heartman. Morrow recounted decades earlier trading a batch of items that cost him fifteen dollars in exchange for Heartman’s unique issue of the famous Stephen F. Austin map of Texas (1834). The map was offered in Sloan’s catalogue almost sixty years later for $30,000 and acquired by the University of Texas. Morrow was a living link to a bygone collecting era.

There was discussion of the Stephen F. Austin map, and comments by Morrow on the origin of a few of his books that he pointed out on the adjoining shelves. Then he suddenly asked if she was going to finish the catalogue of his books before he died. Nonplussed, Dorothy gently replied that she would. And she did, fortunate that bookmen often live long lives. Both the catalogue itself and the brisk sale of the books were beyond his expectations, and I recall his wide smile the last time we saw him. Recently, I bought a copy of the catalogue inscribed by Morrow to historian Harwood Hinton. It’s the only copy I’ve seen that he signed. A rare Texana item, Zimmerman style.

Dorothy understood the mindset of a collector like Morrow very well, but she was fundamentally a dealer at heart. However, she tried her hand at collecting and assembled an extensive collection that focused on “Women in The Cattle Country,” issued as her bookseller catalogue No. 3 under the same title (1986). She told me that she considered the experiment a success but collected no more after that. In the lead up to publication of the catalogue, Dorothy wrote about forming the collection in an essay published in the October 7, 1985 issue of AB Bookman’s Weekly. She began,

"Women in ranching?  My dear, this certainly would be a new path in collecting, but three problems exist. First, I don’t see why you would want to build a collection when there are only about 25 books on the subject. Secondly, most of the books are too recent to be of interest to a real collector. And finally, and most important, who cares even the least bit about such a subject?”

This summary dismissal by my dear departed mentor, Warren R. Howell, immediately became a personal challenge that led me to begin systematically collecting books on women in the cattle industry. Over a decade has passed since Warren and I had that conversation, and the collection has now grown to over 700 books, with a want list of about 75 as yet unlocated titles, plus the inevitable books of which I am not aware.

At the present time, my daughter, Julie, is preparing a catalogue of the collection which will be issued this year. It is gratifying to realize that despite Warren’s initial negativity on the subject of women and ranching, over the years he became avidly interested in my collection and located for me some of the best and most unusual books in it.

Cover proof with original watercolor by Theresa Avini

What Dorothy loved and gathered without end was her reference books.  She built a formidable reference library of approximately 8,000 volumes during a career that spanned over forty-five years. In flush times and lean times, she continually bought reference material. When I worked with Dorothy, I recall her husband Peter shaking his head over an unexpected invoice for another batch of reference books. Peter handled much of the finances and would gently admonish her to rein in spending. “But I need them,” she would say.  And that was the end of the discussion.

Dorothy began to hold auctions in the early 1990s and this gave her an excuse to expand her already large reference library. She reasoned (correctly) that an auctioneer would deal in a wider variety of material, including literature, fine press, science, medicine, et al. Although the internet eventually opened up further avenues of research, Dorothy understood that much knowledge was still found only in books and that an expansive reference library was indispensable.  

The books were tools for her, and she was a master craftsman. She drew upon her library to catalog thousands of rare items, knowing not only what sources to access but also taking time to explore more obscure references. Her ability to utilize her reference material was exceptional. Dorothy was highly regarded for her detailed and accurate catalogue descriptions that remain an important source of information.

Kurt Zimmerman & Dorothy cataloging ca. 1992

We were together day after day at her home, cataloging books and maps, her garden of roses just in view from a second story window. The experience was rewarding and intense. Dorothy’s sense of humor could be wickedly funny, but she was all business when cataloging. Like a hummingbird, she would move quickly between bookcases, stopping for a moment to hover, pulling books to consult. Time was no object. The result of her efforts was an in-depth description with a focus on what made the book, map, or document important, enhancing both the historical and monetary value of many underappreciated items. I tried to keep up and learned much. But I would grow hungry, and it would be well past lunch hour. Food was a lower priority for Dorothy than for me. “I can make us some rice and beans,” she would say, “that’s a quick meal.”  I would grumble and eat, but after a number of these rice and bean specials I began to bring my own lunch.

Surprisingly, I learned that Dorothy was reluctant to express her own opinion in her catalogue descriptions. She structured them to be detailed and factual and always looked to quote or cite reference sources. They are models of their kind. She had many opportunities to interject her own thoughts about an item that would have taken the description to an even higher level. But she almost always deferred to the printed references. I noticed this right away working with her and encouraged her to make freer use of her knowledge -- to no avail; her ways were set.

One day after another lean lunch she randomly said, “I should make you catalog a cereal box.”  I didn’t know what to make of this, so I mumbled something. She laughed and tossed her hair back and explained that her reputation for being able to catalog anything had resulted in this early “assignment” by her male colleagues. She took their teasing in stride, but she was sensitive to being a woman in a predominately man’s world of rare book dealing. This sparked memories. She shared her frustrations with me on the subject, but by the time I met her she had generally made peace with the occasional testosterone hijinks.

She did give me one example when the male-dominated world combined with her willingness to catalog difficult material certainly worked in her favor. When Johnny Jenkins acquired the Eberstadt stock in 1975 it was rightly hailed as a major coup. The best Western Americana and Texana material was sifted through and sold rather quickly. The Eberstadts had also specialized in Latin Americana, especially in their early bookselling career, and a great mass of Spanish language material awaited cataloging and re-discovery. It would be a complicated task. Dorothy was assigned the job as low woman on the totem pole. The Latin Americana turned out to contain many gems and Dorothy became an expert in the area. Through the cataloging and sale of this material she would meet numerous clients from the United States and Latin America. The rest of her career she acquired and sold many important Latin American items. One noted client was Mexican collector Roberto L. Mayer. I have before me an exhibition catalogue of Mayer’s material Mexico Ilustrado: Mapas, Planos, Grabados e Illustraciones de los Siglos XVI al XIX (1994), inscribed, “For Dorothy with appreciation for helping me build up a collection and for your friendship, Roberto.”  Much of Mayer’s extensive library was sold at auction in 2010.

Dorothy’s rise to prominence as a rare book dealer was an improbable one. She was born in Houston in 1943. Marrying young, she eventually made her way to the University of Texas—Austin where she majored in American Studies. One of her professors was William Goetzman, historian and author of Army Exploration in the American West, 1803-1863 (1959) among many other works. He encouraged her interest in books. In the early 1970s, Dorothy found her proverbial calling when she was hired by Warren Howell, proprietor of John Howell-Books in San Francisco. This famous shop on Post Street was founded by Warren’s father, John Howell in 1912.  Warren Howell served as a mentor to Sloan. “I was immediately thrown into the heady inside track on rare books, deals, dealers and clients,” Sloan once said. “Every single day was exciting to me and I threw myself wholeheartedly into doing the best job I could.”

I have Dorothy’s annotated copy of the landmark John Howell—Books Catalogue 50, California. . . The Library of Jennie Crocker Henderson (1979) inscribed, “For Dorothy Sloan, My most apt student in the world of rare books. With love and affection from Warren R. Howell.”

These heady years of book immersion were clouded by a complex personal life that pulled her in perhaps too many directions at once. She and her first husband divorced, and Dorothy returned to Texas in 1979, now an expert book woman and ready for a fresh start. She quickly found employment at The Jenkins Company in Austin, Texas. Johnny Jenkins was at the height of his biblio-stardom as a dealer in rare Texas material. He’d grown the business into one of the largest rare book operations in the country. It must have been quite a shock for Sloan to transition from the formal environment of Warren Howell’s shop to the free-wheeling style of Johnny Jenkins. But Sloan once again dove in and soon played a significant role cataloging the wide-ranging material. She was responsible for a number of Jenkins catalogues including Nos. 140 & 146 Latin Americana, and No. 154 Women (1983). It is telling of the times that she is not credited within. She worked there for about five years before she went out on her own as a rare book dealer in 1984. I have Dorothy’s working copies of Jenkins’s influential Basic Texas Books (1983, 1988). She is acknowledged for her assistance and for reading the draft of the manuscript. The 1988 edition is inscribed, “For Dorothy Sloan, with high personal respect and regard – your genuine love and enthusiasm for the world of books has made all of us in the book world admire you. We miss having you at the Jenkins Company. John H. Jenkins, Publication Day.”

Sloan’s first catalogue under her name appeared in December 1984. It is dedicated to “the memory of Warren R. Howell, who taught me to love rare books.”  Designed by William Holman with a cover reproducing a Mexican-themed painting by her friend the artist Theresa Avini, it contains 213 books and maps for sale. The offerings are primarily related to Texas, California, ranching, Western exploration, Mexico, Latin America, and women’s studies– a template of subjects that would dominate her catalogues and auctions as an independent bookseller. A few highlights included a Frederick Catherwood folio Views of Ancient Monuments in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan (1844), a rare Hernán Cortés letter to the King and Queen of Spain, Santa Anna’s own copy of Suárez y Navarro’s Historia de México y del general Antonio López de Santa-Anna. . . 1821 hasta 1848 (1850), the earliest known town plan map of any place in Texas (San Antonio, 1722),  a second edition of Molina’s Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana (Mexico: 1571), an exceptional archive of Anaïs Nin letters, and many other less expensive but no less interesting items both well-known and newly resurrected through Sloan’s research.

Between 1984 and the early 2000’s, Sloan produced twelve numbered bookseller catalogues. This relatively modest number is deceptive as her Catalogue 10, The Library of Dudley R. Dobie, appeared in five parts over many years, including Part I, the J. Frank Dobie Collection (1993), Part III, The Library and Work of Carl Hertzog (2000), and Part IV in three volumes of the Ranching Catalogue through the letter “L”. Her daughter Julie (Jasmine) was heavily involved in cataloging during the early years. After my relatively brief stint with Dorothy, Valerie Urban became her assistant. I have encouraged Valerie to record her own memories of the time.

Sloan’s catalogues stand apart not only for their scholarly descriptions and content, but also for their high-quality production. Dorothy utilized the services of the Austin fine press printing community in the production of all her catalogues, notably David Holman of the Wind River Press, and W. Thomas Taylor. Eric Beggs did much of the photography.

Most of her bookseller catalogues contained items from various acquisitions. But single-owner collections offered in Catalogue 5 The Library of Dr. Paul Burns (1988) and Catalogue 11 The Library of William H Morrow (1994) set the stage for Sloan’s transition into auctions.

Let’s pause for a moment and explore an interesting sidelight. Amid growing her independent business, Sloan inadvertently ignited the greatest firestorm in Texas rare book dealing history. Her biblio-intuition about a suspect copy of the rare original printing of the Texas Declaration of Independence would have far reaching implications for her former boss Johnny Jenkins and the wider rare book world.  W. Thomas Taylor tells the story in his well-known Texfake (1991). He begins,

When Dorothy Sloan and William R. Holman approached the desk [at the University of Texas Barker Texas History Center] one morning in late June 1987, they were carrying a document that no doubt became the focus of attention. It was the original broadside printing of the Texas Declaration of Independence, which had been consigned to Sloan, a dealer in rare books, by a collector in Dallas. The collector wanted to sell the document; Sloan very much wanted to buy it. But responding to the sixth sense an experienced dealer develops when holding and examining a document, she was uneasy about it. She wanted to compare the collector’s copy with the copy in the Barker Center’s Vandale Collection, and she asked Bill Holman, a retired librarian with thirty years’ experience with rare books, to accompany her. Holman is also a distinguished book designer and printer, with a keen eye for typographic nuance.

They carefully compared the two documents, and all seemed fine until Holman laid one copy on top of the other. At that moment he noticed that on the collector’s copy the type area was perceptibly smaller—2 to 4 percent, he estimated. Combined with the fact that the printing of the collector’s copy was noticeably fuzzy compared with the crisp blackness of the copy in the university’s collection, this caused Holman to conclude that the collector’s copy was probably a fake.

This discovery set off a chain reaction that eventually exposed numerous forgeries of rare Texas documents and their sales involving dealers Jenkins, Dorman David, auctioneer Bill Simpson, as well as other witting and unwitting participants. In the resulting fallout, both Sloan and Tom Taylor resigned from the Antiquarian Booksellers Association of America (ABAA), the national trade organization, unhappy with the lack of response to the scandal.

I’m fortunate to have Sloan’s copy of Texfake in my collection. Taylor has inscribed it, “For Dorothy – a fellow-traveller from the beginning—now let’s hope this is the end.”

Her transition from bookseller to auction catalogues was the result of both frustration and accepting reality. Dorothy did not have enough working capital to buy and sell the rare material that she wanted. But consignment had worked well, albeit sporadically, with her regular catalogues. Auctions on the other hand were relatively clean cut—all or most of the items were sold in one go and then she could start over fresh. Also, the auction format appealed to consignors because of the nature of competitive bidding and possibly higher prices. From 1994 to 2016 she held twenty-four live auctions. Dorothy herself served as auctioneer of many of the sales. She was initially not comfortable in front of a group, and her early, somewhat halting style of auctioneering slowly evolved into a polished, relaxed presence.

In a major early coup, her second auction comprised the library of mighty California collector Henry H. Clifford (1910-1994). She had first met him at John Howell—Books. There is a photo in the Los Angeles Times of Dorothy sitting with and bidding for Henry Clifford at the third session of the famous Estelle Doheny sale in 1988. (Her heavily annotated Doheny auction catalogue recording Clifford’s bids is preserved in my collection.)  

Sloan’s three-part auction of Clifford’s library was held from October 24-26, 1994, at the Biltmore Hotel, Los Angeles. The total for the three sales realized almost 2.1 million dollars (roughly 4.5 million in 2024). The first part contained Clifford’s complete Zamorano 80 collection based on the bibliography of the same name. The Zamorano 80 publication (1948) identified important California books selected by a committee of the biblio-oriented Zamorano Club of Los Angeles. The Club is named after Augustin Zamorano (1798-1842), the first printer in California.  Some of the books were relatively easy to acquire but many were scarce or rare. One famed item, The Life and Adventures of Joaquin Murieta, the Celebrated California Bandit. By Yellow Bird [John R. Ridge] (1854) is recorded in only two copies, one being the Cowan-Wagner-Streeter-Beinecke copy at Yale. The Clifford “Yellow Bird” sold for $69,000.

The auction catalogue itself mirrors the quality of her bookseller catalogues, finely printed and augmented with plates, some in color. The descriptions are extensive, and the preliminary material reprints an essay by Clifford himself on collecting, a biographical sketch, and a history of the Zamorano Club. Part II of the Clifford Collection, California & the West, was sold on Oct. 25, 1994, and Part III, California Pictorial Letter Sheets, Oct. 26, 1994. This last was issued in a fine press folio format of 275 copies, fully illustrated and produced and printed by W. Thomas Taylor and David Holman. It remains a key reference work.

For the next decade, Sloan averaged more than one major auction a year, bringing to market an exceptional array of rare books, maps, and documents from various consignors, all catalogued and marketed to Sloan standards. One major sale represented her special interest and expertise in cartography: Auction Ten, Cartography and Views with an Emphasis on Texas and the West including the Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Stuart B. Gleichenhaus, took place in Houston on March 2, 2001. This stunning, color-illustrated catalogue with an introduction by Robert S. Martin comprised 365 lots.

In 2003, she sold the Californiana collections of Daniel G. Volkmann, Jr. Volkmann had purchased the Henry Clifford copy of “Yellow Bird” and other items at the 1994 Clifford sale. Volkmann, with the acquisition of “Yellow Bird,” achieved the collecting pantheon of assembling only the fourth complete set of the Zamorano 80 (the others being Streeter, Beinecke, and Clifford.)  This would be Sloan’s second memorable auction involving the subject. She could have easily (and much less expensively) revised her Clifford Zamorano 80 auction catalogue to sell the Volkmann collection. Her decision to do something special instead resulted in a biblio-masterpiece. She had two highly regarded California historians and bibliographers, Gary Kurutz and Michael Mathes, write lengthy new descriptions of the Zamorano 80 items, updating the scholarly and historical importance of each and referencing new discoveries and insights.  The result is a sale catalogue rarely matched for its combination of material, descriptions, information, and production value. It simultaneously became the definitive guide to the subject area.

Unique copy inscribed to me by Dorothy at the auction.
Also signed by Kurutz, Mathes, Volkmann, & Bill Reese

As an interesting aside, the total realized for the Clifford Zamorano 80 collection in 1994 was $603,106, and for Volkmann’s collection almost ten years later $883,608. The “Yellow Bird” rose from $69,000 in 1994 to $86,250 in 2003. I rescued a VHS recording of the Volkmann auction from her dilapidated storage shed after her death. I had the VHS digitized. The recording was in only fair shape, but no matter. For over two hours I relived the auction as she bantered with, cajoled, enlightened, and entertained an almost exclusively male crowd (including myself), drawing much laughter and most importantly, many bids.

After the Volkmann sale, she typically had a major auction once a year, often held to coincide with the West Coast ABAA Book Fair. The auctions occurred in various venues including a Voyages & Travels sale (Cat. 17) at Heritage Book Shop in Los Angeles in 2006, and later that year a sale of Western Americana (Cat. 19) to benefit the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming, which took place at the Center itself. Other auctions were held in San Francisco, Austin, and Llano, Texas.

Her bookselling career after 2009 began to slow precipitously. In December 2009 she held a huge auction Mostly Americana: Featuring High Spots of Texas, the West, Borderlands & Mexico (Cat. 22) consisting of 576 lots. The catalogue itself resembles a phone book in size, all items catalogued to her exacting standards. It was dedicated to her son Anthony Sloan (1970-2009), who had died suddenly that May due to an undiscovered heart condition. She never quite recovered from this crushing blow. I attended the auction in person and immediately noticed that she had a somber cast that belied her spirited personality. This cast never fully dissipated. Two more auctions followed in 2013 and 2016 and another, long delayed, was in the works at the time of her death.

Dorothy’s last years were beset with personal challenges. After her son’s death, there was a withdrawal into a semi-reclusive life in a house on Lake Buchanan, near Austin, reflected in erratic behavior with those both close to her and the larger world, vividly recalled by recipients of puzzling, angry, combative emails and phone calls, until insidious dementia became apparent, and her keen mind fragmented. Ironically, as the dementia progressed, her final days were peaceful according to her daughter, the demons finally at rest. Unmoored from her beloved books, she mercifully did not live long. She died on March 14, 2021.

Dorothy Sloan’s innate book sense often outpaced her business acumen. But this is not an uncommon occurrence in the rare book trade. When the chips were down, this book sense came through for her in the form of a private sale, a successful catalogue, or a resounding auction, all done her way, without compromise or cutting corners. Then she would exhale, savor the moment, tend to her roses, maybe give someone a piece of her mind, and begin again. She was undoubtedly one of the greatest rare book dealers of her generation.

Postscript: In a sentimental mood after writing this essay, I reread my emails with Dorothy. We stayed in sporadic touch over the years. In 2015 she wrote to me, “I notice from time to time that you are still involved in the rare book world, and that is great. It is addictive, and for the most part not a problem (provided one has enough money). I do not have money and I never did! But oh, the books. I am satisfied.”

This essay was first published (without illustrations) in my book The Relentless Pursuit of Rare Books (2025).

Additional information:

Here is a link to an interview with me about Dorothy Sloan by Susan Halas in Rare Book Monthly (Dec. 2022). The interview also contains a youtube link to a talk I gave to the Florida Bibliophile Society in 2021 about Sloan.

https://www.rarebookhub.com/articles/3290

Runnin’ Down the Road

I’m runnin’ down the road to the Houston Book Show, the morning traffic making me bleary-eyed. I’ve got seven book acquisitions on my mind, four I wanna own, two I’ll leave alone, one that is extremely fine.

I ease into the parking lot with books and music filling much of the space in my head. The book show opens in thirty minutes, and I’m scheduled to do free appraisals from 10-12. I’ve volunteered for this assignment for two decades to help promote the show.  Most of the couple dozen booksellers are already in their booths, the veterans relaxed, the newbies fidgeting. Nicole and I stroll in, saying hello to old friends and a few new faces, but also scanning their offerings like eagles on the hunt. I already have a nice book from the collection of Bill Wittliff reserved at the booth of James Gannon and Blake Johnson of InkQ Rare Books.

 The weekend long Houston Book Show is modest in size but lively with a steady crowd. The show had been on life support for several years when Houston bookseller William Allison took over and revived it, and now fellow area booksellers Bryan & Kelly Young of Grayshelf Books have assumed the duties with show manager Julie Adkins coordinating. The national chain Half Price Books, founded in 1972 and based in Texas, has joined the Texas Booksellers Association as a co-sponsor of the show, as well as the shows in Dallas and Fort Worth. Bookseller Michael Utt was instrumental in arranging this merger of sorts in discussions with Half Price Books CEO Sharon “Boots” Anderson.

 Nicole and I were present with the two of them and several others at a bookish gathering in 2024 at Utt’s home / rare book space in Fort Worth, a converted large garage with soaring ceilings, comfortable sitting area, and thousands of desirable books ranging from Americana to a wall of rare chess books, a specialty. (Outside in his yard is a giant chess set.)  When the subject of Half Price’s potential involvement took front and center, I gave my opinion on a few things and found Boots Anderson to be an engaging and memorable personality, literally raised among books as her mother was a co-founder of the business.

 A few antiquarian trade stalwarts were concerned about this marriage of collectible books with the sponsorship of a used bookstore chain, but the coupling has worked, and Half Price Books has leveraged dozens of its retail locations to market the shows and drive in potential new collectors, many of them younger. Half Price also has a substantial booth presence at the shows and now co-hosts the new Dallas ABAA Regional Book Show.

 The Houston show opens and the crowd spills in. I’m sittin’ in the appraisal corner, and what fine sight do I see, it’s a woman, my lord, lugging a giant, tattered family Bible, coming to find me. I let her hopes down easy. I won’t repeat here my often-used spiel for old family Bibles of minimal value, but it focuses on the family heirloom angle. The two hours of free appraisals draw a steady crowd and as usual there is quite a bit of diverse material but little of collectible worth. The most unusual item is a New Testament translated into Hawaiian and published in New York in 1871.

 The appraisal booth also becomes a gathering place as collectors and dealers swing by and watch the action. Good friend David Funtanilla, a well-read collector with a focus on 20^th-century literature, sits with Nicole and me as my de facto assistant. He spends much of the time discussing architectural trips with Nicole.  His presence is a pleasant reminder that this isn’t your typical networking event.

 It is not only fascinating to see what people bring but also how they transport it; shopping bags, plastic tubs, old bubble wrap, purses, briefcases, an occasional rolling cart. Once a man approached me with a book balanced on his head, but I think he was just showing off. Typically, the least valuable items are wrapped the most tightly and take the longest to unveil, and the flotsam and jetsam of rotting bindings and acidic debris litter the black cloth covered table (and myself) by the end of the session.

 I do a thorough hand washing. And I have a world of trouble on my mind. But don’t let the sound of my thoughts drive you crazy. My bird’s eye view of the book show provides a mix of pessimism and optimism that is difficult to separate. The show exists. Sales are uneven among the dealers but happening. A few new dealers are present although their stock is thin, and the learning curve is steep. There are big gaps in subject areas offered, and many of the veteran dealers are retired or in book Valhalla. But the crowd is younger and shows enthusiasm. Perhaps my memories of larger, more vibrant shows in the past are clouding my present view. 

 Then the fog lifts as Nicole squeezes my arm and smiles. At a book show, she’s often just a little hard for me to find. I see mighty collector Bill Fisher approaching.  Bill has driven over from San Antonio to ostensibly look at books, but primarily to enjoy the camaraderie of fellow bibliophiles.  Bill’s collection of Latin American literature is unrivalled. He and I met over thirty years ago through our mutual interest in the subject.  My own collection is pretty darn good, although I turned my focus long ago to my favorite subject of biblio-history.  

 Bill and I have just seen each other the evening before at the Houston-area home of Douglas Adams, notable collector of literary forgery material. Joe Fay, the Connecticut-based rare book dealer with Texas roots is also present. The four of us have been friends for years. We were there to pay homage, admire, and view in wonderment Douglas’ library room at his new house. Custom bookcases in a stunning navy-blue color stretch floor to ceiling eleven feet tall and cover two walls of a large space. Glass front doors protect the sections housing the forgery collection. The rest is filled with modern literature, biblio-mysteries, and miscellaneous finds. Library room envy is evident among us. Douglas is not a wealthy industrialist, but he spared no expense for his bookcases and library room. Included in the room are two new comfy chairs with a glass-topped table of sorts fashioned from a shipping trunk stamped “William Reese Co. New Haven, CT.” The trunk was used to transport untold numbers of rarities to book shows. It is covered in a patina of stickers, stamps, and tape from its many journeys. Joe rescued it from a cleaning out of the Reese warehouse after Bill Reese’s death. Joe had the life-changing experience of working for Bill for a number of years. I got a similar trunk from Joe as a remembrance of the great bookseller.

Fisher, Fay, Zimmerman, and Adams

We are back at the show now, and the Saturday session has concluded at 5 pm.  A group of thirteen bibliophiles hold court at the Tejas Brewery and Restaurant across the street. Besides the four of us booketeers who were at Douglas’s house, nine others join the table including Nicole, dealers Bill Allison, Luke Bilberry, James Gannon, Blake Thompson, Jacob Imerman, Michael Utt, and a surprise guest, Scott Brown from Portland, Oregon, who is serendipitously passing through Houston the weekend of the show.

 Scott has been in the book trade over thirty years. He owned an open shop, Eureka Books, in Eureka, California for much of that time, but has transitioned to a less stressful existence, and now works from home. Scott also deserves kudos as the founder and first editor of Fine Books & Collections magazine. He regularly issues a book list / rare book e-newsletter “Dispatches from the Trade” that is always worth reading. I recall a dinner with him and a small group of bookmen in San Francisco in 2002 during the ABAA Fair when he floated the idea that would become Fine Books and Collections—a genesis moment. All but one person present including myself was enthusiastic; the not-to-be named outlier has long since converted.

 We thirteen bibliophiles begin to talk in earnest once our appetites have been assuaged. Next to the books themselves, and frankly, often greater than the books, are the associated stories, the booklore of the trade and of collectors that needs no real embellishment so fantastical is the truth; stories of individuals, quirky, unusual, unpleasant, joyous, surprising, or some mix thereof, combined with the backdrop of books and collections.

 James Gannon, former employee of the legendary Heritage Book Shop in Los Angeles established by Lou and Ben Weinstein, and later in the auction business at Heritage Auctions in Dallas (no relation to the bookstore), has so many backstories about collections and collectors and related dealings that I want to lock him in a room, ply him with his favorite beverages, promise him rarities beyond belief, and have him unwind in detail every episode he can recall. I tell him this and he looks a bit frightened.  Don’t worry, James. It won’t hurt much.

 Luke Bilberry, Scott Brown, Bill Allison, and I discuss current happenings intermingled with old tales, classic chestnuts worth recounting, others revealed for the first time in the comfortable light of the brewery atmosphere. Scott Brown discusses his recent postings about collector James Strand (1935-2023) who died alone, and whose modest house in Portland was ransacked by common thieves who stole much of his multi-million-dollar book collection within, leading to FBI involvement, and ongoing saga raising as many questions as answers.

Joe Fay talks about his interactions with Ira Lipman (1940-2019), collector of Americana, who was Bill Reese’s last major customer. Joe observed the action firsthand, and he promises to recount in writing what can be written. He did mention Ira thought it okay to contact Bill by phone, day or night, anytime, to answer questions about items he’d purchased from Bill, usually having Bill explain details to a guest who was with Ira at that moment.

 There are things discussed in these gatherings that can’t be written: details of deals both good and bad, opinions of certain biblio-players that would be poor form to publish, secondhand stories that are juicy and interesting but uncorroborated. More the reason to attend such live gatherings when possible to fully immerse your book lovin’ soul.

 Scott Brown is not a frequent visitor to Houston, nor I to Portland, so when he confirms he can stop at our house Sunday afternoon on his drive to Dallas, I’m elated. We’ve corresponded over the years, but I hadn’t seen him in person in two decades until this weekend.  A home / library visit is an unexpected bonus.

 I don’t need to explain to you readers what transpires. We briefly catch up on our general lives, then we look at books, we talk books, we inhale books. I have him inscribe two Nicholas Basbanes titles that Scott edited, Editions and Impressions: Twenty Years on the Book Beat (2007), and About the Author: Inside the Creative Process (2010). I nudge Scott to take home a presentation copy of my recent book, although he bought one upon publication and receives extra praise for this. 

Why does life move so quickly during a book visit, I ponder, as Scott’s time to be on the road comes too soon. Relaxed and grateful, I show him a last couple of things and I reflect on the bookish life.

 “You know we got it easy.” I say, as Scott prepares to leave, the confluence of events leading to his chance visit fully appreciated by both of us.

 He nods in agreement, and shakes my hand firmly with a grin, “Take it easy,” he says. And he’s out the door, and I watch him get into his car and drive away, and I know there’s a fair chance he’ll never be here again.

Scott Brown & Kurt Zimmerman

This essay first appeared in my column for the FABS Journal, Spring 2026.

A Rare Book Saga

 

Unbridled elation and bitter disappointment pretty much sum up the extremes of a book collector’s psyche. An instance of either is well-remembered. But when the two intertwine over the same book a story must be told, for that is my only relief.

The elation came at a cost, naturally. The book involved was H.P. Kraus’ A Rare Book Saga (1978). This copy is inscribed to Arthur Houghton, Jr., “To Arthur, the Great Collector, With best wishes, Hans, Sept. 12, 1978.”

Hans P. Kraus (1907-1988) was a budding bookseller in Europe but lost almost everything when he fled Nazi Germany after spending time in a concentration camp. He re-established his rare book business in New York in 1939. Within a decade, he was well on his way to becoming one of the most dominant rare book dealers in the world.  In many ways, he assumed the mantle of A.S.W. Rosenbach in America. A Rare Book Saga recounts his trials and adventures set against the backdrop of a world in turmoil.
The recipient, Arthur Houghton, Jr. (1906-1990) was a famous bibliophile whom Kraus himself discusses below.

The seller was James Pepper, well-known West Coast book dealer, who has a discerning eye for important items and on occasion an unrestrained enthusiasm for pricing. However, he and I are on good terms, and I’ve enjoyed a couple fine conversations with him regarding specific books and the rare book trade in general. He also has a personal collection with many jaw dropping items, but that is his story to tell.

The asking price for Houghton’s copy of A Rare Book Saga was $750. Now biblio-ladies and gents that may not sound like a lot to ye collectors of Incunabula, High Spot Modern Literature, Western Americana, or Heralds of Science, but an inscribed copy of A Rare Book Saga typically sells for much less. I know because I’ve been the primary market for them, and I have six other inscribed copies. So, in my realm this was sticker shock. I put the book in my online “save for later” cart and tried to forget about it, buying a couple less expensive items that day to soothe my irritation.

But the mental gnawing began, like a rogue squirrel in an attic chewing on an exposed wire, at first relatively harmless, but then not so harmless, and we won’t get too graphic, but the finale did not go well for the squirrel, and my mental gnawing reached the point that for my own well-being, I had to buy the book. My wife Nicole found my excuse of mental anguish flimsy but acquiesced.

In retrospect, I now view this recent purchase as a bargain, a what-was-I-thinking-if-it-got-away item, a priceless relic of biblio-history, which it is. Kraus provides an account of buying Houghton’s Gutenberg Bible in A Rare Book Saga. Let’s let him tell it in his own words:
 

“What was the pinnacle of my bookselling career? What better encore, after buying and selling a Constance Missal, than buying a Gutenberg Bible, the king of all book rarities? . . . To buy a copy for stock, without immediate prospect of sale, was risky, considering monetary uncertainties and the threat of recession. No bookseller could tie up that much capital. Or so it was believed. The doubts persisted on that day in 1970, unforgettable to me, when the world learned of my acquisition of the Houghton copy.

“On Monday, February 2, 1970, out of the blue Arthur A. Houghton [Jr.] called me at my office. He asked me to come for cocktails to his Sutton Place house. . . I knew Houghton and he wasn’t the sort to invite anyone for small talk.  I had a hunch he might be ready to sell [his Gutenberg Bible], or at least explore the possibility, so I accepted the invitation.

“Houghton, president of Steuben Glass, had started young as a book collector.  I met him first in 1940, when he was curator of rare books at the Library of Congress.  He is one of America’s great collectors and his library consists of rare and beautiful books and manuscripts that struck his fancy. . .

“Houghton came right to the point. After exchanging amenities, during which he probably sensed that I knew what was coming, he announced:

“’I want to sell the Bible.’

“These words danced in my ears. . . Though hard negotiations might follow, I knew the book was mine.

“The decision, he explained, had not been reached overnight.  Houghton had owned a Gutenberg Bible, first the very incomplete duplicate of the Stadtbibliothek Trier bought at Sotheby’s in 1937 and then this one, for more than 30 years.  His fascination with the book had not diminished in all that time, but his insurance company insisted he keep it in the bank and he did not want a book he could not keep at home.  The urge to sell comes to many collectors, especially in a bull market.  In 1970 the bulls definitely had the best of the antiquarian book trade. 

“I immediately made a substantial offer.

“This took him by surprise. . .

“’How will you pay?’ he asked.

“’Cash.’

“This, too, proved a surprise.  Not every bookseller is in a position to write out a seven-figure check. 

“After minor bargaining, we reached a firm price.  This was later reported in the press as ‘between one and two million dollars.’  I agreed with Houghton not to reveal the exact sum.”

 Kraus garnered much publicity from owning the Gutenberg Bible. He eventually sold the book to the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz. Kraus wrote, “It is especially gratifying to us that our copy goes home, not only to the country but also to the city of its birth.”

My savoring of this special association copy of A Rare Book Saga continues and will continue but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to add another unique copy to my holdings.

Thus, we come to the bitter disappointment. It involved an Ebay seller, but that won’t shock most, as Ebay is both a potpourri of amazing finds and squirrely misfires.  A collector must keep an eye on the site though or miss out.

I did a regular online sweep of copies of A Rare Book Saga and noticed one offered on Ebay that instantly stirred my biblio-juices. Listed ostensibly by a UK seller with the handle of “plsshipfast,” this copy was inscribed by Kraus to the famous American bookseller Jacob Zeitlin (1902-1987) with a related letter from Kraus laid in. The inscription read, “To my good friend Jake, with best wishes, Hans.” 

Both the inscription and letter were prominently illustrated in the online listing. I wisely in retrospect downloaded copies of each. The price was a very reasonable fifty British pounds (plus the usual zillion shipping fee to the US).

In many ways this association copy was a rival for the Houghton copy already in my hands. Zeitlin, based in Los Angeles, was the doyen of West Coast dealers. He and Kraus brokered one of the greatest sales in the history of the rare book trade (in this case illuminated manuscripts). The transaction happened in 1983 and is not recorded in Kraus’ autobiography because it occurred after the book was published.

Kraus represented the German collectors Peter & Irene Ludwig in the transaction. They were important clients of Kraus. Zeitlin was agent for the Getty Museum who purchased the Ludewig Collection of 144 illuminated manuscripts for a reported forty-two million dollars (roughly one hundred and forty million in 2025 dollars). This filled a major gap in the Getty Museum’s holdings. In financial terms, this was the summit of both men’s bookselling careers. There are more details online about the transaction for those interested.  But this brief synopsis shows why this association copy was so appealing to me. I needed it. I could just imagine it rubbing jackets—gently-- with the Houghton copy.

A hiccup happened when I hit the order button. The seller would not ship from the UK to the United States (and this was before tariffs).  Oddly, the seller was also listed as being located in Houston, my hometown. In retrospect this incongruity was a yellow flag, but I was staring at the copy online with the illustrated inscription and letter and thinking you can’t get more copy specific than that, so let’s proceed.  I emailed the seller, told them I was interested, and asked about options to get the book shipped to me.

In the meantime, my fervor for the book led to extreme proactivity. I went into deep thinking mode, got tired of doing that, took a break to eat, then came back to deep thinking mode, and my internal AI eventually produced an English contact that could order the book for me: Howard Mather of Wykeham Books.  Howard is an experienced bookseller specializing in books about books, bibliography, the book arts and related subjects. I have never met him, but we have become epistolary friends. I’ve bought several nice association items from him over the years. I also found out during this adventure that he had been a corporate lawyer, and this escapade would eventually stir up his legal hackles.

I emailed Mather, told him of my predicament, asked him if he would order the book for me, ship it on, invoicing me for his services, including my contribution to his pub fund. In the meantime, I emailed the Ebay seller again and said I’d found a shipping solution so no worries.

Book time can move slowly when awaiting the arrival of an exciting acquisition. I tamped down the urge to check in with Mather for an update. The monetary amount involved was small beer, but the importance of preserving this copy a large one.

Mather’s first update arrived. He said the book has been mailed to him, but it is coming from Australia according to tracking information. Both of us were perplexed and we decided to just play it out. I was getting a sinking feeling.

A week later Mather’s second update confirmed the book’s arrival, but it is “a very average ex-library copy with stamps and tape marks.”

I let fly favorite expletives. Lots of them. However, we both held a glimmer of hope that perhaps they simply shipped the wrong copy.

The so-called seller replies to Mather’s concern and inquiry:
 
“Thank you again for bringing this to our attention. We truly understand how disappointing this experience must have been, especially when your expectation was set by the description and images provided. We’re genuinely sorry for the inconvenience caused.

“To clarify once more, the listing was for a Used – Good condition copy, and the images were intended as stock photos for reference only. While some listings may include extras like inscriptions or letters, these are not guaranteed unless specifically stated in the written description. [my italics].

“As a USA-based seller, this order was fulfilled by one of our vendor partners. To avoid the inconvenience of an international return, we would like to offer you a 10% partial refund as a goodwill gesture and a sign of our responsibility.”
 
Can there be any more classic case of bait-and-switch, or bookselling incompetence? Both Mather and my biblio-motors were running hot after this ridiculous response.

Mather responded to the message, “No. That is wholly unsatisfactory and unless you resolve this properly now, I shall be forced to leave very negative feedback and raise the matter with Ebay. As for ‘While some listings may include extras like inscriptions or letters, these are not guaranteed unless specifically stated in the written description.’ I happen to have been a corporate lawyer for 20 years and this made me laugh. Kindly tell me where to send the book and send me a full refund without delay.”

The seller eventually complied after more vigorous correspondence, the book was returned, and Mather was refunded the money. I felt horrible to have gotten Mather mixed up in this, and I appreciated his professionalism the whole way through.

This episode served to remind me that an online journey into the biblio-unknown, usually the most rewarding of desk-bound adventures, can occasionally be arduous and frustrating.

Yet someone, somewhere has the Zeitlin copy. Where art thou, A Rare Book Saga? You should be on my shelves nestled next to Mr. Houghton’s copy. Eternally optimistic I remain, as all collectors must be, and I await your re-discovery and arrival.

This essay first appeared in my column in the FABS Journal, Fall 2025.

Where art thou?

“The point is, both live in books and bibliography. Take heed!”

 

Edward Eberstadt. TYPED LETTER SIGNED TO THOMAS STREETER. April 23, 1936. Letterhead of Edward Eberstadt, 55 West 42^nd Street, New York. 1 p. 4to. [with] Howard M. Ballou and George R. Carter “The History of the Hawaiian Mission Press, with a Bibliography of the Earlier Publications,” in Papers of the Hawaiian Historical Society No. 14, 1908, pp. [9]-42. 8vo. Printed wrappers. The bibliography includes a couple of annotations by Streeter. This exciting find was plucked by me from a miscellaneous group of pamphlets and ephemera at Willis Monie Books, Cooperstown, NY in 2024.

 Eberstadt writes, “Dear Tom, Something over a year or more ago we were talking about your acquisition of one of the early Lapwai imprints, and if you will remember I told you that I had a bibliography of the earliest printings of this press. I just came upon this little brochure and am sending it on to you for perusal. The last few pages have to do with the establishment of the press at Lapwai.

“Ballou, who wrote this, was a very dear friend of mine, but he has now passed into the beyond. Carter, who collaborated with him (allegedly) was Governor of Hawaii. Governor Carter brought together the finest collection of Hawaiiana every assembled, and Ballou made and printed a very interesting bibliography of it. I think Carter is dead too. The point is, both live in books and bibliography. Take heed!”

And Thomas Streeter certainly did take heed, producing the monumental Bibliography of Texas 1795-1845 (1955-1960).

Which leads us to this recently acquired association set…

Thomas Streeter.  BIBLIOGRAPHY OF TEXAS 1795-1845. PART I. TEXAS IMPRINTS. . . PART II. MEXICAN IMPRINTS. . . PART III. UNITED STATES AND EUROPEAN IMPRINTS. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1955-1960. 5 vols. lxxi 259 + [v] 263-616 + xxiv 283 + xlii 278 + xlii 278 p. Plates. 8vo. Contemporary full leather, spines stamped in gilt, raised bands.

The Eberstadt Co. – John Jenkins – Michael Ginsberg set.  Ginsberg writes on the ffep, “This set was in Lindley Eberstadt’s office. J[ohn] J[enkins] gave it to me as gesture of affection.  He was capable of great passion on rare occasion.”

The Eberstadt Company (Edward and sons Lindley & Charles) were major suppliers of rarities to Streeter for decades.  They also brokered the sale of Streeter’s Texas collection to Yale.  Michael Vinson writes in Edward Eberstadt & Sons, “Thomas W. Streeter’s passing on June 12, 1965, meant to the Eberstadt’s not only the loss of a great friend and customer but the end of an era of Americana collecting. . . Since Streeter was a customer of the Eberstadt’s from the early 1920s, it was only natural that Charles and Lindley. . . would help organize and select items for the Parke-Bernet Galleries to feature in the [Streeter] sales.”

In 1975, thirty-five-year-old Texas bookseller John Jenkins purchased the remaining stock of the Eberstadt Company, after a lengthy courtship and negotiations with primarily Lindley Eberstadt.  Jenkins writes in detail of the blockbuster acquisition in “The Eberstadt Caper,” in Audubon and Other Capers (1976):

“By this time [1975] it was clear to me that it was all or nothing with Lindley on the stock; there would be no picking and choosing.  In April he finally let me come to see what I had dreamed of seeing for so many years. I brought Michael Ginsberg, an Americana expert, with me to help evaluate.  Lindley and I talked price awhile—I bluffed about being able to raise the money, and Lindley knew I was bluffing.  For exactly one hour Mike and I looked at the stock.  We added up random shelves and multiplied by the total number of shelves.  We averaged the cheapest with the rarest books.  Each way we figured it, the total value came to ten million dollars or more.  We could hardly believe it.  I told Lindley I would be back in touch and he said fine. . .   On August 6, we all met in New York.  Our side had agreed to put up the entire [purchase] amount in advance, in escrow, to be paid over half a dozen years, with stiff interest. . .

“The packers never showed up.  All afternoon, all evening, all night, all morning the next day, all afternoon and into the evening—34 non-stop hours Mike, Lt. Scott, and I carefully packed 670 crates containing 41,000 fragile rare books.  At midnight the truck arrived.  The loaders also failed to show.  For five more hours the three of us loaded the crates into the truck, ever so carefully.  We crawled into our station wagon and drew lots for who would get the first four-hour sleep shift in the back seat.  For 41 more consecutive hours we followed the Allied van and played games with our walkie-talkies, stopping occasionally for a bite to eat or call in to Texas at various check points. . .  I had a strange nightmare [about Nixon].  ‘Let go, let go, Tricky Dick!’ I screamed as I awoke, nearly causing Ginsberg to drive off the road. . .

“It was an unbelievable collection.  The Texas materials, gathered over a sixty-year period, were extraordinary.  Added to what the Eberstadts had accumulated were many pieces from the famous Thomas W. Streeter Collection.  The Streeter Texas Collection had been sold to Yale, but the Eberstadts (who brokered the sale) got many of the items from Streeter’s collection that duplicated what Yale already had.  The Eberstadts also were instrumental in arranging the Streeter auctions, and were heavy purchasers in those seven unforgettable record setting sales.  In the several thousand Texas items we acquired were hundreds of works listed in Streeter’s Bibliography of Texas, and hundreds more that were unlisted and formerly unknown.”

Jenkins would retain Mike Ginsberg as a consultant after the collection’s arrival.  Vinson tells an expanded version of the Eberstadt caper utilizing an interview with Ginsberg in Bluffing Texas Style (2020).

Michael Ginsberg's note in the Eberstadt-Jenkins-Ginsberg set of Streeter's Bibliography of Texas