William P. Barlow Jr. (1934-2021): Personal Rewards and Universal Benefits

 

Bill Barlow in his library 2011

William P. Barlow, Jr. (1934-2021) collected books for almost 70 years – an admirable run achieved by few collectors, and rarer still was his ability to recall just about every acquisition going back to the beginning.  A CPA by vocation, Bill was organized, and in case he needed to refresh his memory, he could consult his large, hefty ledger book in which he had written in chronological order each book acquired since the early 1950s.  And there were thousands and thousands of them recorded within.  I saw this ledger first-hand on a memorable visit with my friend Douglas Adams to Bill’s home in Oakland, California in 2011.  News of Bill’s passing on October 21^st at age 87 from a heart attack shocked me and stirred many thoughts.

Gunnar Hansen, Texas Chainsaw Massacre Legend and Bookman

Gunnar Hansen (1947-2015), famed for his portrayal of the chainsaw-wielding Leatherface in the classic horror film, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), died last week of cancer.  His agent called the character, “one of the most iconic evil figures in the history of cinema.”   Yet Hansen in real life –all 6 - 4 and 300 pounds of him – was a writer and poet at heart—and a bookman.
 

While in graduate school at the University of Texas, Hansen took a bibliography course from William B. Todd (1919-2011), one of the most noted American bibliographers whose wide-ranging interests spanned Richard Nixon's Watergate transcripts to literary forgeries.  Hansen and a couple of fellow students, inspired by Todd’s enthusiasm, decided to play a little biblio-trick on him.  Douglas Adams, collector of literary forgery material, was the first to identify the item that linked Leatherface to Bill Todd and the rich bookdom of the Humanities Research Center at the University of Texas.  I’ll let Douglas (and Gunnar) tell the story from here.

Book Huntin’ on the Bayou—A Rare Texana Item Surfaces

Douglas Adams—friend, book scout, bibliophile, and collector of literary forgeries—is having a mighty fine lunch break.  We can imagine a burger or burrito hastily consumed to leave plenty of time for a scouting stop.  Priorities in order.  After a quick smoke, he steps into a run-down antique store on Westheimer Avenue in Houston, Texas, for a look around.  It’s hot as hell outside and inside isn’t much better.  You sweat so much in the humid air you think you’ve just been swimming.  The building is older than much of the material within:  furniture, rugs, paintings, household items, and smaller knick-knacks.  An item almost missed in an overflowing display case draws our intrepid book scout. Almost is the key word because Douglas misses very little while on the hunt, and he is always on the hunt.  This display case yields a real beauty—a find so rare and marvelous that the book’s acquisition is the kind of story swapped among bookmen for years to come.  But first it must be bought.  There is no price and a helpful lady at the store, glad to see something go, quotes $50.  Douglas is so excited he forgets to bargain.  He has to tell somebody and I’m lucky enough to get a phone call shortly afterwards.

“I just found something really good,” he says.

“What?  Run of Playboys with centerfolds intact?”

“Nada.  How about the first city directory of Houston, 1866, in original boards, with the map.”

            There is a pause on my end as my mind kicks into high gear (I can hear my wife laughing while reading that).  Early directories of major cities are highly sought-after and normally expensive.  They’re also rare because they were thrown away over the years like old phone books.  The information found within such directories—people, businesses, the advertisements, etc.—is all primary source material for historians and the curious. In this instance, the book itself is a treasured relic from the embryonic beginnings of a burgeoning metropolis now over two million strong.

“Damn,” I reply, “that is a good one.”

“What do you think it’s worth?”

 “More than $50.  How about I double your money right now?  Heck, I’ll even throw in free pick up.”

He ungraciously turns down my offer and emphasizes the rejection with a colorful expletive.

Pamphleteering in the Storage Unit

The McMurtry Auction haul written about earlier has sat impatiently in a climate controlled storage unit awaiting Douglas and me to sort it and make sense of it all.  We’ve poked and prodded the 50 plus boxes a little over the last month but that damn making-a-living thing has slowed us down. 

            Tonight is different.  We are meeting at 7:00 pm to begin a serious examination.   In a preliminary trip we modified the single light bulb outlet to accommodate both a light and a standing fan.  I’d supplied a sturdy table.  Douglas brought folding chairs and two old school, pre-globalization metal shelving units entirely devoid of the plastic found in the current box store crap.

            Douglas arrived fashionably late tonight and brings beer—craft beers, God bless him—a couple of bomber bottles of Arrogant Bastard Ale and Abita Andygator Helles Doppelbock.  He calls me a beer snob, but I prefer the term connoisseur.  I’ve tried 214 craft beers (so far) and have each one ranked on my beeradvocate.com account so I’ll let you make your own call.

            We sat facing each other at an impromptu partner’s desk in the middle of our 10x14 storage unit.  We are on the second floor of a huge facility, no one else is there.  The automated hallway light goes out and we are illuminated by our single bulb casting shadows around us. The fan hums.  The beer tastes good, and the first pile of old bibliographic pamphlets is heaped upon the table.

Thinning the Herd: Larry McMurtry Cuts 300,000 Books Loose in a Two Day Auction

The Royal Theater in Archer City, Texas, inspired Larry McMurtry’s novel, The Last Picture Show, and featured prominently in Peter Bogdanovich’s both brilliant and unrelentingly bleak 1971 film adaptation.  The renovated theater hall was now serving as a large dining room for a pre-auction barbecue dinner Thursday night August 9th complete with all the fixin’s and a truckload of Shiner Bock beer.  The heat outside, even at dinner time, was stifling enough to irritate native Texans and cause consternation among attendees from more northern climes.  Inside however the air blew cool and some 150 book enthusiasts enjoyed food and conversation, all glancing occasionally toward the entrance door for sight of McMurtry.

                He showed up fashionably late, moving slow and steady, suspenders in place, white shirt mildly untucked, tennis shoes and jeans worn easy, completing a look that was a cross between local rancher and bohemian college professor: both wellsprings that flow through his complex personality.  He’d suffered a second heart attack a few months back and at age 76 was physically frail and quiet spoken but mentally sharp.