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"Look for the Green Awning"
66
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1990
(formerly Birmingham Bike Shop)
Confessions
Of A Book Addict
CHANA SHAPIRO
Special to The Jewish News
I
t didn't take me long to
realize that my husband
was "Mr. Right."
The first time he came to
visit, he forgot his sport coat,
but he managed to bring an
impressive assortment of
books that filled his
backpack and a nifty shopp-
ing bag from Barnes and
Noble.
When we went to the mu-
seum, he brought along a
couple of books. He carried
books to the zoo, the sym-
phony and my Aunt
Shirley's.
We were already out the
door and well on our way to a
lecture when he had to run
back for a book. The 10
minutes of tardiness were
crucial; the doors were clos-
ed when we arrived, bearing
a sign, "Sold Out."
We ended up taking a
walk, during which one of us
proposed and the other ac-
cepted. So, naturally, I have
a special fondness for books.
Someone once asked my
husband why he always br-
ings a book along.
His answer: "I just like
having books with me."
My answer: "Compulsion."
Yes, friends, I am a co-
dependent: I, too, am a com-
pulsive bibliophile. And I
have the receipts to prove it.
Let me take you to our first
apartment, just to get you in
the mood.
It was 1964, in a three-
room, rent-controlled flat in
the Bronx. My friend Edith
complimented us about our
end tables.
"Oh, those are just piles of
beige books," I answered,
deftly placing a coffee mug
on top of them.
The walls throughout were
floor-to-ceiling bookshelves,
saving us the embarrass-
ment of hanging cheap re-
productions of Van Gogh and
Monet where family por-
traits ought to be. When we
got ready to leave New York,
the movers charged us the
commercial rate because of
the endless boxes of books
and not much else. We gave
our plants away, sold the
sofa and donated our
clothing, but we did not part
with a single volume.
Ghana Shapiro is program di-
rector of the Atlanta, Ga., Jew-
ish Community Center. Her
husband is a rabbi at an
Atlanta university.
"You folks really like
books!" the moving man
commented.
"Compulsion," I clarified.
As our daughters grew up,
they learned to deal with our
malady.
"I know some really poor
people who don't have any
books," one daughter tried.
"Could we give them some of
ours?"
The transparency of this
feeble ruse made us snicker.
"Some friends are coming
over," the other daughter
ventured. "They're really
tired. How about getting the
books off some of these
chairs in case they want to
sit down?"
We weren't pleased, but
we complied. We always felt
that any piece of furniture
looked better with a few
books on it.
Buying gifts presented a
cause for concern.
"Please, please, please
don't give him a book," our
daughters would plead.
There might be
some who feel that
libraries were
made to cure
people like me.
"Can't we ever give some-
thing normal, like
binoculars?"
Not wanting to shame our
children, we bought gift cer-
tificates to book stores, so
the envelopes would look
like they had checks in
them. We book people are a
clever lot.
"What a lovely gift," the
salesperson would say.
"Compulsion," I had to ex-
plain.
I just heard that there were
no books in the Trumps'
Manhattan apartment.
Since I assume that Donald,
Ivana, Marla and the chil-
dren all can read, I'm puzzl-
ed.
Perhaps they keep their
books in closets and drawers
to keep from dusting them.
Perhaps they give their
books to the bookless who
sleep in Penn Station.
Maybe, as in our own case,
whole stacks of books have
been mistaken for Art Deco
furniture. We must not
always believe what we
hear.
There might be some who
feel that libraries were made
to cure people like me. I ad-