Searching For Boxes of My Book

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AUSTIN — I spent the first day of Spring Break driving around a compound of at least a dozen massive warehouses, looking for my books, in an industrial park in North Austin. The sales manager left me a voicemail when I missed her call: “Just look for the Customer Pickup” sign.

I could not find that sign anywhere. Finally I found a glass entrance door with the name of the company stenciled upon it. I parked and went to the door. It was locked. What the heck? Did they take off for Spring Break? I called the main number, and after three tries (Welcome to America) a human answered. She was clearly harried and did not want to deal with me. “Just go round the back. You will see the sign.”

I explained I had been looking for the sign for nearly 30 minutes. But I said I would try again. This time, I got out of my car and examined the dozen or so bays, most of which had unmoored 18-wheeler boxes sidled up to them. I jiggled a door. Locked. Finally, I found an open bay door with rubber strips hanging down to keep out the weather. I told a fellow inside I was here to pick up my books.

“What books?” he asked. “It’s called ‘Yours Faithfully, J.A.’,” I said.

“We don’t have that book,” he said.

This was not good news. I had driven five hours the day before to pick up 17 boxes of books. Had there been some mix-up and the books were not ready?

A fellow drove up in a Cadillac SUV, got out and peered over the roof at me. “How can I help you?” he asked. I explained the situation. “You’re at the wrong building,” he said and pointed east a few hundred yards. “That’s our main building.”

I drove there, quickly found the “Customer Pickup” sign and watched as a friendly fellow loaded up 17 boxes of my biography of H.B. Fox, which finally was coming into print. I sliced open a box and pulled out a copy. New books have a lovely smell, a promise of pleasant hours spent together. At least, that’s what I hope folks who buy my book will conclude. Then I drove a few hundred feet down the parking lot, which was empty except for me and those box trailers, opened the lid of my little SUV and…

Took a selfie.

Of course I did. That is what you do now, to mark special moments. This is a skill I have acquired over a few years, despite short arms and a lack of coordination. By coincidence, I was wearing the same outfit worn when my buddy, O. Rufus Lovett, shot my portrait for the back cover. Our daughter, Abbie, immediately noticed: “You match the back cover.” Not much gets by that girl.

I headed to my brother Scott’s place to deliver his copy and take him to lunch. He designed the book and did a fine job. Middle daughter Meredith is steadily pushing sales on social media. My Beautiful Mystery Companion pitched in to help edit it, as did several friends. I am setting up book signings anywhere that will have me. This is a family affair.

So now I enter the second phase, which is peddling “Yours Faithfully, J.A.: The Life and Writings of H.B. Fox, the Circleville Philosopher.” It’s a good read, I humbly say, primarily because Fox was a funny, trenchant writer. My main job was to let that voice come through the pages of this book. As a bonus, 65 pages are devoted to reprinting more than 50 years of his columns, which at one time had a readership of one million.

Here’s the pitch. Consider buying the book. On the same website on which you are reading this piece, there is a “Books” tab. Click on it, and “Yours Faithfully” is at top. You can pay via PayPal or credit card. Or holler at me via Facebook or email (garyborders@gmail.com), and I’ll get a signed copy to you somehow.

Admittedly, my signature is worth more on a check. But there you go.

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