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by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. Start this article by going at once to any search engine where you will find the stirring, uplifting music, a royal theme, with just a touch of sadness, written by Sir William Walton in 1955 for Shakespeare's Richard III, the film staring Sir Laurence Olivier. Listen to it carefully for not only is it a dirge for that ill-favored and worse regarded king... with its elegiac melodies it is also the dirge for that man of "Shakespeare And Company" George Whitman, as sovereign in his realm of books as King Richard was in his... With both, dynasties ended... and History took over, losing the man in the legend. But not if I can help it...
A bibliophile's bibliophile
Books were not and had never been for George Whitman matters of prosaic commerce, profit and loss. Books were acquaintances, neighbors, friends, lovers... to be treated with care and empathy, veneration and homage. He loved each and every one, even ones he argued with (for bibliophiles are folks of strong opinions); those whose pages were never cut, and the ones, far too numerous to mention, he meant, sincerely too, to read... if there were only world enough and time.
So George Whitman lived his life and counted himself a lucky man on each and every day new books arrived to make his acquaintance, often staying (unsold but loved for all that) for years and years, only to brighten the life of just the right person who had searched for just this book. Whitman presented it to its new owner with the punctilio and ceremony so very apropos. And George Whitman gained a new friend, a fortunate person who instantly saw him as a kindred spirit and treated him accordingly, to the abiding pleasure of both.
Born in New Jersey. Grew up in Massachusetts.
Like so many of us who were born every other place, Whitman and his family selected Massachusetts for their residence. It just seemed the right choice for them, what with their professorial inclinations and a love of books (and foreign travel), two obsessions that started early, and never left. His father, a physics professor, scribbled book after book... and travelled to such places as China, where he took a sabbatical at a Chinese university in 1925. This only strengthened George's innate desire and rooted inclination for the different, the exotic, the magic that comes when inquiring minds are touched and bettered by people, places, ideas beyond their ken. And so life chez Whitman was rich beyond measure in the things that really matter to civilized people... Language! Ideas! Clever people of values, intellect and discernment.... and places worth seeing..
.... And no one worried a bit more than necessary (if that) about enriching themselves... what need they of that when they had so much of what mattered, and what has always mattered to educated people, where kindness, good conversation, and the thrill of knowledge were the fundamental foundation of their enviable existence? And which George Whitman carried with him every day of a life that conferred so much upon him... and which he invited the world to share...
Paris.
In 1935 Whitman graduated from Boston University with a degree in journalism. He then enlisted in the Army; during World War II his family said he treated the wounded at hospitals around Europe. But one place in Europe grabbed his full attention. For like so many Bostonians, proper and otherwise, he loved Paris... a love affaire that never waned until the last day of his long life. Financed by the GI Bill, he moved permanently to Paris in 1948. Three years later he started his bookshop in a down-at- heel building directly across the Seine River from Notre Dame Cathedral. He called it "Le Mistral" after the fervent winds blowing off the Mediterranean. But the shop knew a better name... and in due course the Mistral blew in "Shakespeare And Company."
"Shakespeare And Company", a notion, a Mecca, a celebrated rendezvous sans pareil.
If you are a lover of books, then I need hardly tell you the name of perhaps the most celebrated bookstore ever... "Shakespeare And Company." It was founded by literary sage and den mother Sylvia Beach. And through its portals, into the glorious hodge podge of books high, low and everywhere, every literary giant (both known and as yet unknown) came... all in pursuit of le mot juste and eternal renown. Oh, yes, and money to pay their always behind rent. Sylvia Beach, literary midwife, helped them, all of them. And if you love words, books, and kindness you will say a little prayer for her soul; it's the least you can do; as folks as luminous and difficult as visitors Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and James Joyce (to name but a few) can all attest, beholden as they were to this belle dame avec mercy.
Whitman, in homage to Sylvia Beach, resurrected her iconic bookshop... and ran it as she ran hers... with muddle, inefficiency, absolutely no regard for any known system of business... but with unwavering commitment to books, their authors, and their readers. And so he became, year by year, an iconic figure himself; a free spirit, a bona fide and much loved eccentric, with a generosity which never stinted and never expected or even desired recompense of any kind whatsoever. And so the man became one of the must-visit venues of a Paris which approved of every idiosyncrasy and his boundless kindnesses. He was le beau Americain, of that they were certain.
Every great idea must have believers, exemplars, conservators.
Beach closed her famous shop during World War II; she knew the Nazis and their collaborateurs had no sympathy or understanding for the house that published the single most controversial and important book of the century, Joyce's "Ulysses", which was printed because of Sylvia Beach's belief in its arcane passages and murky beauties.
So closed, there might never have been another chapter but for Whitman... and so Sylvia Beach and her notion were salvaged by a kindred spirit who gave his life so that her dream might live... thereby enhancing the luminescence of the City of Light.
Impecunious authors still came and exchanged lodgings for help in the store. The pampered feline of the moment soon knew what books made the best mattress. And being asked to give a reading was still regarded as proof positive that you had arrived... Nobel Prize in the offing. But time's relentless chariot was beginning to upend these cherished verities... and in due time Mr. Whitman, aging for all that he remained young at heart had to make changes in what he called his "Socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore." At last the final change occurred; laid low by a stroke, at last he, too, went the way of all flesh...
... in this case to Pere Lachaise cemetery, where the remains of Oscar Wilde, Balzac, and Guillaume Apollinaire await him and his unbounded devotion to the cause of words, books, and meaning, the essential elements for which they and all authors exist... and must continue to do so.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Lawrence Rinke http://ActionEqualsProfit.com. Check out Commission AutoPilot -> http://silver45b.comauto.hop.clickbank.net
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