Pay It Forward

 After my lifelong friend Kenny died, his partner sent me some of his books, records, and fly fishing gear.  Kenny and I met at age 9 in the dugout of the Sun Valley Little League during the tryouts in 1956.  Through Jr. high and high school we remained friends,  Even though we went to different colleges, we stayed close.  In fact it is during those years between the ages of 19-22 that we cemented our shared interest in the burgeoning folk/rock music scene, beat poets, foreign films, and baseball.  Living in LA in the late 1960s we had a wonderland of opportunities to see iconic blues and jazz artists.  We frequented small bookstore readings, music clubs, and small cinema houses that featured many films from the iconic European filmmakers.  Kenny read widely and most of the time, had his own car and knew the geography of the vast LA basin.  In later years from the 80s to early 2000s we went on fly fishing trips together, camping and exploring many of Northern California and Central Oregon's most beautiful spots.  

As we aged, our visits became less frequent, but always we exchanged birthday gifts, because, ironically, we shared the same birthday.  So, after Kenny's passing, his partner wanted to fulfill some of Kenny's wishes and made some of his books available to me.  I asked only for a small group of poetry books and perhaps a few of his blues/jazz records.  She was anxious to complete the job of clearing out his small apartment/studio and he had previously made arrangements for most of his art supplies to go to the Art Department of Cal State, Northridge.  

Kenny loved the Beat poets and the crown jewel of his small collection of poetry books was a 1969 copy of Howl that he got Alan Ginsberg to sign after meeting Ginsberg at a bookstore reading back in 1991.  

I have enjoyed looking through this dozen or so volumes but since I have also been thinking about where to place my most treasured books, I decided to put some energy into finding a home for Kenny's books.  Then it hit me.  There is a small, independent bookstore in my neighborhood that would be perfect.  It specializes in good used books and sports a nice collection of small press poetry anthologies.  If I were out to cash in on my friend's books I could do the research and sell them piecemeal on Ebay, but I'm not interested in that.  I want to find a good home for these books and know that Kenny would want that and really love this little bookstore.  

I went to the store and as expected, both guys working there went nuts for this small collection.  After spending a little time online double checking the availability and prices some of the rarer books had brought, we arrived on an agreeable number.  The owner of the little store is barely scraping by in this economy, but was really taken with a few of the poetry books.  Some  poets like Diane Di Prima, Jack Horseman, and Kenneth Rexroth.  

This guy really appreciates this stuff, I kept thinking.  Kenny would be pleased.  That happiness was mixed with overwhelming sadness as I walked home.  All part of the grieving process.