True story. This past Saturday I was sitting in a 1950's-style hamburger joint in Gainsville, Georgia with the family, listening to the Beach Boys on the jukebox. And, as has been my habit for forty-odd years, I brought along a book for reading. (I typically carry a book everywhere I go, even during sweltering heat and even if I sweat through the pages.)
As it happened, I was reading Manhut: The 12-Day Chase for Lincoln's Killer, by James Swanson. I was more than halfway through the book, totally engrossed in the thing, when this very nice waitress, a true southern-belle, walks up to me and asks for my order. I tell her, "I want a hamburger with slaw, lettuce, tomato, and pickle. And a cherry Coke."
She takes my order and then, no lie, she looks down at my book and asks, "Is that a good book?"
I riffle the pages as if to say, See how much I've read, sweetheart?, and then I answer, "It's a very good book!"
"Is it thrilling?" she asks.
"Yeah, it's thrilling,"I say.
And then here's the kicker . . . she tells me: "I just started reading about two months ago. I've only read three books in my life. And I've really gotten into James Patterson. Have you read any of his books? My husband likes his books, too. We are reading like crazy now. And we don't watch television any more at night. We get into bed, read a book, and then go to bed together."
I was eight hundred miles from home, in a foreign land, talking to a beautiful woman with a southern-drawl, reading a book about the Civil War and the murder of Abe Lincoln, and she flat out tells me how reading has transformed her life, her marriage, and her mind.
As soon as she takes my order I turn to Becky, Chelsey and Logan and say, "You see. That's what a book can do!"
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