I drove down the road in a large,
ugly brown station wagon. I had just
bought it for $600. I came to a stop at
the traffic light, with my left foot firmly on the brakes and my right foot
slightly gunning the accelerator. I knew
you’re not supposed to do this, but in this case if you didn’t, the car would
inevitably stall. As the car idled, I
spotted a rummage sale sign out of the corner of my eye. Those were the early days, when money was
tight, but I could sometimes find a treat for one of my three small children at
a yard sale.
I
got out of the car and headed to the tables set up in the yard. They were filled with crap, of course, that
the owners somehow suspected had some worth.
I glanced at a box of toys – nothing there. I was about to head back to the car when I
saw a cardboard box labeled Paperbacks,
25 cents/ Hardcovers 50 cents. “Ah,
I thought – books.” A box of books might
hold some treasures. I pawed through the box, finding nothing of interest
until I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks – Dan Frontier Among the Indians.
Suddenly
I was transported back to the library as a third grader. We had already listened to the librarian read
a chapter from Willie Wonka and the
Chocolate factory and we had been instructed to pick out a book to read. Of
course, we might use the card catalog organized according to the Dewey Decimal
system as she had told us to do, time and time again, but I have never been one
to do that. I might refer to the posters
on the edges of the bookshelves, with cartoons or icons that give clues to the
contents of that section, but mostly I prefer to browse. Hey, I don’t always
know what I’m looking for until I see it!
I ambled around the room looking at books. I looked down at some books, but noticed that
I had stumbled into the Easy Reader section.
I was about to move on when I noticed the Dan Frontier books. I
remembered them fondly, but something was strange here. I took a closer look. tracks.
I had read them
all, or so I thought. I had enjoyed them
reading six of them – but here was the complete set of eleven books! How could there be eleven? They looked very
attractive all together. Each one had an exciting painting on the cover of one
of the exploits of Dan Frontier the brave pioneer, with the title in bold,
western style letters. They came in different colors, so they looked the same,
as if they all looked like they belong together, but also different. I had read
the first book, Dan Frontier. Wow, that had been easy. I had also read its
sequel, Dan Frontier Goes Hunting. I
looked back over the books and recalled the adventures I had taken with the
frontiersman. I had been amazed when he
narrowly escaped an attack by a cougar in Dan Frontier and the Big Cat.
Now, what about
these new books? I had not even been aware that there was a book called Dan Frontier, Trapper. “Must be someone
had signed it out each time I looked over here last year”, I thought. “I’ve really got to learn how to use that
card catalog.” I knew that I only had a
few minutes to pick out a book, but here was my chance to fill in the gaps of
missing knowledge of the mythic frontiersman, Dan Frontier.” They were easy readers, so it wouldn’t take
long. I breezed through one book and
picked up a second. “What in the world?!”
I exclaimed inwardly as I read the title
of the next book in the series, Dan Frontier with the Indians. On the
cover of this one was Dan Frontier, wearing Indian garb! An Indian stood by as Dan stood shirtless, poised
with bow and arrow. An Indian chief
stood by. Why was Dan dressed as an
Indian? I wondered. I quickly read the
pages to learn that Dan had been out exploring and had inadvertently wandered
into the territory of Chief Blackfish.
The Indian braves kidnapped Dan, but over time he won them over with his
bravery and skill with fighting and hunting. He won the favor of Chief
Blackfish, who decided to make Dan his adopted son. Well, that sounded fun, but what about his
family? What about the other pioneers back at the fort in Kettle Creek? They were counting on Dan.
“Chief
Blackfish,” you are my friend too,” said Dan.
“Now
will you let me go to Kettle Creek?”
“No!”
said the Chief.
“You
come to my land. You cannot go from my land.”
“Oh
my gosh!” I thought. “This is getting good. If I hurry, I can finish, and then pick out a
book to read.” I eagerly turned the
page, looking forward to the exciting conclusion of this epic, albeit easy to
read tale. And then, and then, and then….
“What
are you doing over here?” It was the librarian.
“Reading,”
I replied.
“This
is the easy reader section,” she objected. “What reading level are you?”
“I
don’t know.”
“Let
me see what you have there.”
I
looked down at the book I held in my hand, with my finger marking the
place. I just wanted to finish it. It probably wouldn’t take two minutes. I
reluctantly handed her the book. “Dan
Frontier?” she asked, incredulously.
“I
like the pictures.” The pictures – oh,
the glorious pictures. The stories were
interesting, yes, but let me tell you about the pictures. I could feel Dan’s
buckskin breeches as if I were wearing them.
I could feel the warm sun on my face as I stood in the tall grass, hunting
with bow and arrow with Chief Blackfish standing by my side. I had explored the western frontier all through first and
second grade, feeling the rough bark on my hands as we cut down trees to build
the fort at Kettle Creek and carved paths through the untamed wilderness.
“The
pictures?” she sneered. She glanced
again at the cover. “You’re supposed to
be picking out something to read, not looking at pictures! I think you can read
harder books than this,” she said, “I’m going to ask your teacher. She stomped
away, taking with her the book, leaving me standing there in the easy reader
section. By now, we had attracted the attention of other third graders, who
looked on as I awaited the verdict for my crime. I perused the titles, looking
forlornly at the spines of Dan Frontier titles, all together in a row, with
only one gap – the only book in the series I had not read.
The
librarian finally returned with my teacher Mrs. Lindbergh in tow. “What seems
to be the problem?” she asked, a little more patiently than the librarian.
“Don’t
you think this book is too easy for him?” asked the librarian. “He’s been standing here in the Easy Reader section
looking at the pictures!”
My teacher flipped
through the pages. “He can probably read a harder book,” she replied.
Mrs.
Lindberg patiently led me over to the fiction shelves. “These are the books for
kids your age, she smiled. She picked
one out and handed it to me. “Here’s an author you might like,” she suggested,
showing me Henry and the Clubhouse by
Beverly Cleary. I had to admit – it did
look interesting. It had great pictures. Pen and ink drawing showed lanky kids, pouty
younger siblings. It appeared to be stories about kids doing
things that kids really do. I signed it
out that day, and stepped into the world at Klickitat Street in Portland,
Oregon. I came back to that section
until I had read all the books by Bevery Cleary – Henry and Beezus, Beezus and
Ramona, Ramona the Pest. But my favorite by far was The Mouse and the
Motorcycle. That one became my favorite
book. I was delighted to learn that there was a sequel, Runaway Ralph. I couldn’t
imagine there would be more, but I could not believe my luck when I was at the
book fair and saw that Beverly Cleary had completed a trilogy – Ralph S. Mouse. And in this one he was driving a car!
From
that section I branched out, discovering the abridged editions of Mark
Twain. I played hookey with Tom Sawyer
and floated down the Mississippi with Huckleberry Finn. C.S. Lewis led me to step
through the wardrobe and into Narnia. There
I helped bring freedom to a magical world with the help of a mystical lion. As
the years went on, I swung from the highest branches of the jungles of Africa
and did battle on the fields of Mars thanks to Edgar Rice Burroughs. I joined the quest for the ring with Frodo
and Gandalf with J.R.R. Tolkien as my guide. I never stopped reading and loving
to read, I never stopped enjoying the discovery of new adventures and new
worlds, but I never thought again about Dan Frontier until that day – that day
at the rummage sale. I stood there,
flipping through the book, until I got to the page where the librarian had made
me stop. In an act of reader’s
rebellion, I stood there as a grown man and found closure. Rebelliously, I read
the book, a grown man, finishing the book I had not been allowed to read. As an
artist and art teacher, I thought about what had appealed to me in that book. I
took in the illustrations with the eyes of an artist and a visual learner, but
I also saw them again through they eyes of a nine year old boy. I’m grateful
for the teachers who pointed me to new authors and to new worlds, but I had to
admit as I read Dan Frontier and the
Indians, I thought, “What would have been the harm of giving me a few more
minutes to read this?”
I
bought the book and took it home. It was
not as appealing to my sons. After all, there were no ninja turtles or mutants
of any kind. They were enthralled by
different worlds, but I kept the book.
It had a special place on the shelf for me, a place of honor in my home
for many years. I kept it because I was
a teacher, and I wondered, were there times when I impatiently told a student
what they needed to be doing, and missed out on an opportunity to find out what
they most wanted to learn and why.
