The most elusive of all things childhood for me, was a early reader I was certain was published as a Golden Book, back in the late 50s. I remembered it was like my other books from that time–the Disney fairy tales, the untainted fairy tales too, Nurse Nancy, Doctor Dan, etc. The title–who knew? The author–now that’s laughable for a Golden Book–no kid would even bother knowing that, they just read, looked, and liked. The style or subject of illustrations? Nope, no ideas poured forth. What I did know–it dealt with professions–different possible people to become when you grew up. And one of my most solid memories was–there were limited outlets for girls. Other than Nurse, Teacher, and Mother, girls were darn out of luck. Sometimes books like these threw in Airline Stewardess, as a glamorous life, and my most desirable vision of a grownup–a Bride. I guess I saw Bride as an end, rather than a beginning, because the dress was what I really wanted, and when old enough to realize that after the dress came a lifetime with some guy, I balked. Until 40. I did get the gown though, right down to the princess shoes.

And the very very most important clue–a MIRROR at the back reflected who you could become!

Before the series of connecting tubes known as the internet was invented by Al Gore, I searched for my boomer book at used bookstores, collectibles barns and malls, street fairs, garage sales, any place that looked like it had some Golden Book stock. In the beginning of my search, I thought it would be a simple request–I mean, how many books had a mirror? Apparently none. Or none anyone had heard of  in their stock. After a few years, I sat in B&N for hours, reading through a reference listing of every Golden Book title that was ever published, ever, ever. And not one of them struck a bell. Without a synopsis, I could only guess by title, and just a handful sounded like possibilities. No mirror was mentioned. When I did get online, I began questioning google, bookfinder, any search engine that may point me towards my goal. I typed in Golden Book, mirror. Kid’s book, mirror. 50s book, mirror. Book, mirror.  Nada. Without a title, my search was hopeless. On flickr, I posed the question in groups such as Golden Books, Vintage Children’s Books, any place that reeked of Boomer content. Still, nothing. No one found the small synopsis I presented vaguely recognizable. Or more inexplicable, no one remembered a book with a mirror! And they were collectors! I began doubting myself. Did I make this book up? Is there really such a thing out there I’ve not yet unearthed? It was looking like it was a figment of an overwrought budding feminist’s imagination.

Then, light! A flickr friend suggested a website of a collector whose knowledge of these type of books was vast. I didn’t think anything would come from it, so ignored the advice, for a year or so. Finally, it penetrated perhaps taking a shot wasn’t a waste of time, so I sent an e-mail, the content I knew by rote, querying about the vague book. Eureka! He not only recognized the storyline, he knew name, publisher, author, And, beat beat beat–he had one for sale???? Maybe??? It was leaning that way, or so it seemed. Dashed hopes, he HAD one, but sold it. Up and down my excitement went, like my stainless steal deadly see-saw and swing play-set  in my  youth’s backyard. (Described as ‘deadly’ because metal play-sets are sooooo dangerous now, every parent knows only plastic pieces will do–and wow, you really can fly down a plastic slide, can’t you?)

Back up to the surface, my hope bubble bobbed–he sent me to someone who did have one, and I was gobsmacked! There before me on the computer screen was the cover, and as soon as I saw it, all manner of memories came rushing back. I quickly made sure I could remember what I ate for lunch an hour ago, just as a precaution, and then let loose my enthusiasm. I cut it short, worried that the time it took for my little celebratory dance, someone else would buy it. I did what you do to buy a book online, and then remembered the most important question–did it still have the mirror intact? The expert had warned me there were copies out there, but sans mirror. Well, that just would not do, not for me, so a pointed question filled e-mail was sent. Yes, mirror intact, it’s a go! Repeat, it’s a go!

The wait period was tough, but the reward was splendiferous. The story was as familiar as if  just read, the illustrations sooooo retro ‘mid-century’,  the professions right on the money–except–instead of three life choices for girls, there were NONE. I pondered–was this published with only boys in mind? No, right on the cover are several girls. So, what’s the deal with this? These thoughts only lasted as long as to think them, before I was doing a baby boomer book jive around the house. I proudly called the husband, my fellow warrior in the search for the golden prize. Funny thing–it wasn’t published by Golden Books-this may be a smidgen reason I couldn’t locate it for so long. It was published by something called Treasure Books in 1954. Before penning this article, I decided to check out how many copies are out there now for sale on bookfinder. Around 4 without mirror, one with–needs re-silvering. Well, so does mine, but I don’t care, I have it!

Turns out, it isn’t exactly about what professions a kid could pursue but more of a look at what professions there were–half of which do not exist today.  Do I care? Not a whit. So, I’m reproducing it here for those who enjoy a dusty memory from the past, or only wants to know–what are you looking at?

Some time ago I read in the local newspaper that a bookstore in a nearby town needed volunteers for reading to children, and I had wanted to do something like that for quite some time, but never found a venue. I hopped up, that moment, and went off to the store I hadn’t known about before, although my mother told me my godmother had bought her books there for years. It was in an extremely inconvenient location–and had I not been told exactly where to go, I would have never found it. It was on the second floor and the stairs were steep. My disappointment was great to find that it now was a used, trade-in bookstore, and that although they had advertised for various volunteers, they had no real plan to implement volunteers if some popped up, like me. I didn’t get discouraged, yet. I met the owner, who was the daughter of the original proprietor, and apparently a stand-up comic, one with a tremendously filthy mouth. Her mother had the store when it was a regular indie, but now had Alzheimer’s so the daughter stepped in. They had moved all the books up to this location, and were preparing a different one below. A few weeks later, they even had a store opening party, too bad the store wasn’t opened, nor did it look like it ever would. And, it didn’t. After I had brought a ton of books to trade, was given my total on paper, the store closed, my credit, and hopes for a place to enjoy buying books locally, disappeared.

There once was this place called The Mart–it was this interesting conglomeration of cut-rate stores. Cheap shoes, clothes, Elvis glow in the dark velvet paintings, fiber-optic fountains, 3D photos, massages in the halls, hot dogs, and famous Philly pretzels. It was an institution of crap. Enjoyable crap, including a bookstore where my father used to purchase his Mickey Spillanes and other titles one had to go through a toll stile to see– adults only. Recently, The Mart was forced to close by the township who apparently wasn’t a crap fan, and they leveled the place to make room for a huge housing development. (Which was never built).  50 years of selling crap gone, gone gone. Well, not quite–some of the crap moved to another town into another type of long building. Within this I found a used trade-in paperback store that was fun to visit–at least in the beginning. After a while I noticed that none of the stock ever changed. All of my trade-ins were still there–I had to be careful not to buy what I brought. I liked the owners, hoped it would work out–but sure enough, one visit, the store was vacant–we had missed their final sale, probably was all my stuff anyway.

One of the two trade-in stores seems to be thriving-I’ve been to it a few times over a span of  a couple of years, and have found some good things to read. Small, with an elderly lady seated with no idea of stock, it works for the occasional, ‘I need to be in a bookstore, no matter what’. The other store is farther away, and I’ve only visited once–although there seemed to be loads of stock. Hopefully, it’s still there. What I’ve noticed about trade-in stores, you still pay quite a bit for that used book–because the trade-in only gives you at most, half the cost off, the other half you end up forking out dough. And if you buy something without credit–it’s almost as much as the cover price.

In the dim past, I haunted the chain bookstores at the malls in my vicinity. There was a wonderful Waldenbook  where I bought all my huge hardcover movie star references as a teen. B. Dalton’s gave me the occasional gothic fiction when I craved it. I’m not sure when they disappeared, and I only just learned that they were consolidated and somehow K-Mart owned them. And Borders. And, gee whiz, Brentano’s! Brentano’s was an upscale bookstore in Manhattan that one visited to absorb class and style. And to pay a fortune for one oversized eight pound tome on fabrics through the ages. I loved it.

When I heard that The Coliseum had closed, I knew indies days were numbered. The Coliseum seemed to have been on 57th St since Roman times. Huge, with new, older, discounted, obscure, and bestsellers, there was no better place to wile away hours lost in the wonder that is a bookstore. During the three weeks I could stand being a phone pollster in an office across the street, each lunch hour was devoured, eaten away quickly with perusing, and buying–in the end I probably spent the pittance salary all on books to assuage the agony of that job.

And now it’s down to B&N. The Evil Empire, as we called it. Compared to Amazon, the chain seems almost angelic. Before B&N became a chain, it’s store down around 18th street was a joy to wander through. Across the street was a remainder B&N, another fine treat. All that changed.

So, what to do? I miss bookstores. Even the old chain bookstores. And now, am I going to miss Barnes and Noble? I shudder to think this may happen. If there is no where else but B&N, and you love love love books, and you need book fixes on a regular basis, then B&N will become a necessity, just like the Coliseum, Brentano’s Waldonbooks, and B. Dalton’s before. And if Amazon succeeds in their dark plot to take over the world of print–that leaves absolutely no new bookstores at all. Think on that for a second. A huge suburban area without any new books for sale, anywhere in the physical world. But, if Amazon succeeds, there will be no physical books either. And that makes me physically ill.

It was the mid-eighties and I was wandering through the stacks of the old tower library at Memphis State University with a friend when she first pointed him out to me. He was hanging out at the end of a shelf and we couldn’t help but notice as the shaft of hot Delta sun streaming from a nearby window moved across his  flowing blond mane, illuminating the dark period clothing and smoldering  gaze he was wearing. It was a look that seemed to dare us to ask the title of the book he cradled in his hand like the tender heart of a hyperventilating early twentysomething.

“We HAVE to see ‘The Bride’!”

I agreed with her as I gathered up my library loot for the weekend: Grotowski’s “Towards a Poor Theatre”, a Grantland Rice anthology, Turner’s “Forest of Symbols”, Schechner’s “Performance Theory, a collection of Stoppard’s radio plays and the lone Vonnegut I hadn’t read yet.* All of that moody male prettiness concentrated at the end of the shelf was just one more distraction I didn’t need.

Before we made our way to the checkout desk, we took a side trip to the fiction floor, where my friend added a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus to her stack of books.

Every little thing he does is magic...

Mission accomplished.  The American Library Association’s “Read” campaign inspired yet another person to pick up a book for the pleasure of getting lost in a good story.  The romantic hanger-on in question was not some graduate student with a penchant for costumes and affecting a thousand mile stare in hopes of getting female attention. He was musician/actor Sting as he appeared in the 1985 film adaptation of Shelley’s horror masterpiece and that year’s collection of posters offered by the ALA.

I asked a retired school librarian in Shreveport, Louisiana if she remembered the “Read” posters in general and the Sting poster in particular.

“We went through at least four of them the year it came out. We hung the last one we bought on the office door behind the checkout counter.  It was there for a little over a week before someone’s patience paid off and they caught us in an odd moment when everyone was shelving or helping a student.  Oh! I’m wrong.  We did buy one more that we hung on the wall inside the office.  I’m not even sure it was visible to visitors, which kind of defeats the purpose.”

Was the inclusion of the ALA’s poster campaign a nuisance or a boon to librarians trying to encourage reluctant readers?

“Actually, we loved them.  It was fun for us to pore through the graphics section of the catalog and pick out who we would be looking at for the next few months.  All of the librarians got one pick and the student workers were given a vote.  We would have a ceremony where we revealed the new posters, including the students’ choice winners.”

Female readers’ attempts to stand so close to Sting might have become a part of library lore, but he was not the first celebrity to appear on a poster for the ALA.  That distinction belongs to Dr. Bill Cosby, who was the first real live human to hold a book (Treasure Island) and smile for the camera in 1985 for the “Read” campaign.  Prior to that, the most famous face to grace library walls on behalf of the initiative was Mickey Mouse in 1980.  In its thirty-six year history, ALA’s “Read” program has featured roughly 200 celebrities on 182 different posters as spokespeople.  This does not even include the posters featuring celebrities who  fall outside the Venn diagram section for famous humans.  Yoda, Miss Piggy and Kermit, Wishbone, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, and the Between the Lions Crew have all done their part to remind everyone that reading can be fun.

Judy's first adventure

Nancy Drew, a familiar name even to those who have never opened a juvenile mystery. The original books have been edited, altered, modernized and celebrated in film and TV. Even today there are contemporary stories featuring the teenager and her two girl friends, Bess and George. But if you are like most, you’ve never heard of Nancy’s rival, Judy Bolton. Unlike Nancy, Judy has been forgotten except by her rabid fans and collectors of juvenile books. And that’s unfortunate. Because Judy, in practically every way, is a superior character and girl sleuth among contemporaries in the 1930s and beyond.

Judy’s first adventure followed on the heels of Nancy’s debut. In 1932 Grosset and Dunlap published The Vanishing Shadow, the first of 38 titles. Unlike Nancy, however, Judy was not the brainchild of Edward Stratemeyer, the person behind the Hardy Boy series, whose idea for a girl sleuth brought about Nancy.  Nor was the author hired to flesh out a story idea, as Mildred Wirt was for the Drew series. Margaret Sutton created her own character, and wrote every entry in the long series. Wirt began the Drew series, and various others took up the task all under the pseudonym Carolyn Keene. And that’s just the start of the many differences between the two series and perhaps the most important. When a character is the amalgamation of various voices, it loses its uniqueness.

Margaret Sutton, a high school dropout from the middle of Pennsylvania, began a career, not something easy for a woman at that time, after attending Rochester Business Institute in 1920. Marrying William H. Sutton, provided her last name, and the publisher dubbed her Margaret, rather than using her real one, Rachel Irene. As Margaret Sutton, she skillfully wove real experiences and events from her hometown and life into Judy’s fictional world. This technique is another large contrast to the Drew series, where the town, people, and events were entirely arbitrary.  Judy is a well-rounded character with faults, including a temper. A redhead  who is “attracted to any kind of excitement as a needle to a magnet” Judy’s an all-American girl, independent and headstrong. Although in the early novels Nancy exhibited the same characteristics, after the brutal editing and revamping of the series by the original publisher’s daughter, Nancy became a lifeless perfect person. Judy, on the other hand, not only matured as a character, she physically grew up in the stories. Going from very young teen, to mature married woman. Her sensibilities altered as well. Judy’s childish understanding of the world evolved as she learned some profound life lessons, taught in each series entry.

Growing up, as opposed to remaining 16 or 18 forever, like Nancy, afforded Judy more mature subject matter. Right out of the box, Sutton made it clear her setting and characters would face great challenges and even real violence, unheard of in the Drew series which the worst that may happen to any of the characters was being caught by the villains and detained. People die,  just like real life. In The Vanishing Shadow, we are introduced to Judy, her doctor father, homemaker mother, and timid brother, Horace. Being a doctor in 1930s did not make you a grand salary; therefore Judy was not of the upper crust. They lived a modest comfortable life of the newly created middle class. Judy’s grandparents owned a farm. Their little town, Roulsville, sat in a narrow valley between a small stream, and larger body of water. Judy had watched with interest the construction of a new dam, and ‘new concrete road.”  While solitarily reading under a large shade tree to beat the heat of summer, she overheard a couple of construction workers make some inferences to the newly built dam, as they  bullied a fellow worker  to ‘better keep his mouth shut ”.  Thus began a series that lasted until 1967.

Within a couple of chapters of the first book exciting things happen.  “A hand was clapped across Judy’s mouth with such violence that she staggered backward and caught her breath in

Judy marries-but whose the lucky guy? Rich Arthur, or poor Peter?

a quick terrified gasp”.  She was held overnight in a swamp, later tied up, and thrown into a car. Although brave enough, Judy wasn’t a fool or superhero.  When finally dumped, wrapped in a big bag, she was shaken, and questioned not only her valor, but also her thinking. Nancy would have done neither.

The art on the 40s or 50s dust jacket  depicts a close-up of a startled Judy, with a man’s arm firmly over her mouth, and is indicative of how Ms. Sutton wrote her stories.  Even today(!), the jacket can be ‘too disturbing’ for at least one mother. I gave a vintage copy of the book with jacket to a niece when she was around 11 or 12, and the mother looked as though I’d just handed her porn. I knew the book would be discarded the moment I wasn’t present. On the other niece, lol, at 10, I handed her the same title with jacket, and not a flicker of concern passed mother or daughter’s face. This niece loved it.

Judy didn’t have a Ned in the background for exploiting when needed, as Nancy kept her male pal. Judy had two, yes two, viable handsome boyfriends. Rich Arthur Farringdon-Pett is an engineer, who named his sedan Bluebird, and flies his own plane. When we first meet Peter Dobbs, Judy’s other beau, he’s studying at college and lives with his grandparents, his grandfather making the mistake of selling his interest in the town’s industry, the paper mill. Peter later becomes a lawyer who then evolves into an FBI agent. Each is older by a few years. Also, Judy doesn’t limit herself with only two close girlfriends like Nancy’s posse, George and Bess, she collects them throughout her life. And, they don’t all belong to her social class. Some are richer, some poorer. Some are real bitches to begin with. Some have questionable morals. Some are sweet as candy. All turn out to be swell through Judy’s influence and sleuthing.

Switched babies?

The upper crust girls are snobs to Judy and the lower class ones, in a mystery following close behind the first. Another title deals with missing siblings. There is social commentary in a soft manner dealing with labor issues, class differences, adoption, abducted children, switched at birth babies, and later on, the evils of communism. Judy reflected current events that the Nancy Drew novels didn’t bother with. Trivial things such as poverty or changing political atmospheres were nonexistent so long as Nancy had her roadster, perky blonde hair (later titian), and lawyer father. The early publications before the cleansing, were rife with racism, anti-Semitism, and other norms of the times. And a spunkier more independent Nancy. And a very rich Nancy who was unaffected by the Great Depression, WWII, just plain life. Although her character was a bit more fleshed out than in later editions, Nancy nonetheless seems to be a girl who never does a day’s work in her life, lives off of her dad, and detects, looking for jewels and wills, and the occasional conveyancing of property, whereas Judy tends to be assisting a friend in some way during her sleuthing. Some may argue that once the offending material was removed, the Drew books have a more universal appeal because they’re not set in a particular time and place. Perhaps so.  But with no historical context,  you have cardboard characters and unrealistic situations. Not lively moving plots with suspense and depth.

Each book in the Judy Bolton series has some foundation in Ms. Sutton’s real life experiences growing up. The biggest event – a flood wiping out her entire town, one that was used to perfection in her first book. After the flood, Life is altered for all who lived there. Some move to the nearby Farringdon.  Judy’s family takes an offer to live in a ‘haunted’ house rent free in town, thereby setting up the next exciting chapter in Judy’s life.

A favorite book remembered all these years later.

As each book is read, Judy matures, chooses a mate, and changes with the times. By 1967 Margaret Sutton has stated that The Stratemeyer Syndicate saw Judy as a threat to their big money maker, Nancy Drew, so decided to pull the plug on the series. Judy had a long quality run under one guiding hand. And here’s where I become puzzled. Whenever I mention the series to a comtemporary, no one remembers reading the books. My mother handed Nancy Drew and Judy Bolton books down to me, and I sent them off to cousins when I’d out gown them.  Wasn’t Judy given to other girls my age? The books must have sold decently to be published for so long. Why girls my age didn’t read Bolton is strange to me. When the books stopped being written and published, I understand why they disappeared from the public eye. While Nancy Drew has been reprinted and reborn in each decade, Judy faded from sight.

A few years back we were at a favorite used bookstore in Bordentown, NJ, The Old Bookshop, and sitting in several boxes was almost the entire set of Judy Boltons—most in jacket—not 30s, jackets, but 40s which is a novelty too. I wanted to re-read them to find out if I was exaggerating the quality and importance of the series in my own head. My sweet husband made an offer, it was accepted and I began my journey anew, in Margaret Sutton’s imagination. It hasn’t disappointed, quite the contrary. They are just as readable and enjoyable when read as an adult. Perhaps a teeny bit more because we now have life’s experience to see underneath the girl sleuth’s actions and to appreciate her uniqueness, bravery, and outstanding early role model for young girls. To me, the most telling and important of the differences between Judy and Nancy—Judy is now an adult, like real girls become, suffering through loss, happy events, and just plain life. Nancy will always be stuck at 18, in her privileged world with perfect features, perfect hair, perfect cars, perfect friends and  boring one-dimensional world.

What was that 'voice in the suitcase'??

A fun footnote ( at least for me)–caution–spoiler for The Voice in the Suitcase. Turns out, the ‘voice’ was a ferret!!! Naturally, it became one of my favorite Judy Bolton books immediately.