This month's Puzzler 
On July 13, 1903, this man was born into a wealthy London family (his father had inherited a fortune from his Scottish ancestors and went on to achieve notoriety as “the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo”). Raised in an atmosphere of privilege and educated at England’s best schools, he developed an early passion for art and carried this passion with him until his death at age 79 in 1983. 

He was a teenager at Winchester College, one of England’s oldest and most prestigious boarding schools for boys, when he became enthralled with the world of art, an interest that was fueled by the writings of the noted English art critic John Ruskin. At age nineteen, he went on to Trinity College, Oxford, where he formally majored in modern history but devoted most of his attention to the study of art.

He was only twenty-five when he wrote his first book (The Gothic Revival) in 1928. In the 1930s and 40s, he served as Director of Britain’s National Gallery. During WWII, he became a national hero for protecting artworks from bombing raids, keeping the museum open to the public, and hosting free lunchtime and evening concerts. 

He will be forever remembered, though, as the writer, producer, and host of BBC-TV’s Civilisation, one of broadcast history’s most successful and influential documentary television series (first broadcast in England 1969, and the following year in America on PBS-TV).

Who was this man?  (Answer below)

Thanks to all of you who responded to last month's first diary entry.  We'll keep printing them until someone tells us to stop. 

February 24, 2024

I had the day off from Printed Page, but I went in in the afternoon anyway because things can get busy on Saturdays, and I wanted to see if John needed a break.

It's also nice to be able to have time away from the counter to talk to customers. When I asked one if I could help him find anything, he said he was looking for rare books about the occult because he uses them for his work as an exorcist -- or a provider of "energy worker protection services," as his business card reads. He said that people often don't know what they're summoning when they use printed spirit evocations. He said that even an innocent novel might have the power to summon a spirit. I wondered how that might affect pricing.

Tony -- by now we were on a first-name basis -- said that he is a non-denominational exorcist, and that helps him get business. I asked him how someone would know they needed his services. He said maybe things break without reason, or there are too many coincidences that just aren't coincidences, or maybe your teenage daughter has bloody scratches appear along her rib cage. I told him of a time we saw a long, thin, black cylinder move across our living room. "It's like going into a forest," he explained, speaking of the supernatural. "Sometimes, it's just squirrels and birds, but sometimes it's worse." I thought about asking him if there were any laws, regulations or licensing requirements for exorcists, but then I remembered:  When it comes to exorcism, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

We were having this, uh, spirited discussion when the phone rang. I answered it. The caller said he had a question: "Who writes used books?"

I answered, "The same people who wrote the book when it was new."

"No, I mean, like with Stephen King, who wrote his used books?"

"Stephen King."

"He writes used books?"

"Let me explain. You buy a new book by Stephen King. You read it. It is now used. Stephen King still wrote it."

"How about John Grisham?"

I took a different tack. "Let me ask you. Who makes Toyotas?"

"Toyota."

"Who makes used Toyotas?"

"How did you know I have a Camry?"

I told him I was sorry, but I could not be of help, and I hung up.

Back at the counter, a girl was buying a book on French Impressionists. It had been part of Pat Grego's stock. Pat was a bookseller who willed us her books when she died several years ago. I didn't know we had any of her books left, but I did know that within ten minutes, I'd encountered an exorcist and a person not of sound mind. And now a dead woman was selling books.

I threw some salt over my shoulder and got the hell out.

- Dan Danbom

 

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