Dangerous Books

Going through a book fan website and checking off books that I have read, books I need to read, panning some books while praising others, there arises a trend similar to the one I spoke of concerning music and its influences on me. There are certain books I am certain that set me on the road for my 20-year jaunt on the road around North America. This includes most provinces in Canada, every state in Mexico and the contiguous 48 states of the United States. Since this roaming began in the middle of my senior year of high school, the time-frame for reading these books can reasonably be set at anywhere between my 8th-grade year and December, 1966 when I hit the road.

One of the earliest read and most influential books for me was Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The thought of grabbing a raft and just floating down the river stays with me to this day. When I first read Huck, there was no question in my mind about the language, especially the controversial language, since somewhere along the line I had been alerted to something called, "historical context." Of course, this was before actual history was replaced by something called, "social studies." In other words, someone had managed to pound enough sense into my skull to allow me to read certain words with the knowledge that the manner of speaking in this book was not necessarily the way people in my era were supposed to speak, but that su8ch language may have been perfectly natural in another time. Go figure. I hope I never forget my lessons in historical context.

It was sometime around the 10th grade when I read, The Great Imposter, by Ferdinand DeMara, a man with a knack for impersonating just about anything he wanted to impersonate, including a teacher, a surgeon and I forget what all else. A movie starring Tony Curtis was made about this real-life character. But the main thing is that DeMara traveled a lot and gave me another nudge to hit the road.

The Catcher in the Rye was influential but to me not the great book it had been hailed as by people around me. I know it was the first time I had read the infamous "F" word in print and remember being both shocked and amused at this novelty. Beyond that, the book was not directly responsible for the sand in my shoes, but it did give me a push in the right direction, attitude-wise. And I already had a wise-ass attitude. Congenital, most likely. It ain't me; it's my genes, Your Honor.

Back to Mark Twain just long enough to mention that I read most of his travel books long before I read his fiction. Life on the Mississippi, The Innocents Abroad, Following the Equator and A Tramp Abroad were important to me, especially the first one listed in this sentence. I have always found myself attracted to rivers and lakes. The ocean is okay, but I prefer tamer water, not that you can tame the rivers in this country or anywhere else. Just look at the Mississippi, the Red, the Platte here in this country. Twain's talk of going here and there almost effortlessly helped to hook me on peregrination as a way of life.

There are more books that guided my feet out to US 24 to foolishly head north that stormy December day and I am sure I will mention more in the future. The decisions were all mine and I long past the age of reason, so no one takes any blame for what came after but me. These "dangerous books" were not at all dangerous to me, but I am sure my elders would have found them so if they had known where they might lead me.