What I'm reading

I started reading at an early age and jumped quickly into voracious reading. I remember reading all the Oz books in the bookmobile because the editions found there fit into a scarce category of books long enough to last me for a while but with the large print needed for my immature eyes. I couldn't handle the small print that was generally used for books at my reading level.

I don't know when I moved on to small print, but I think it was still in my early years that I discovered the Lone Ranger -- not more than 3rd grade, I imagine. I don't know what it was about the Lone Ranger that attracted me but I devoured that row of books in the bookmobile. They were old even then. Many had little "treasure hunts" scribbled onto their pages, i.e. "go to page 45" and on page 45, "go to page 110" and so on until one would finally arrive at a "you are here" message. There were a smattering of black marks where someone had thoughtfully crossed out bad words to protect innocent young eyes like mine.

As far as I can remember, no one ever told me that the Lone Ranger was a radio character before riding into the series of books about him. I thought the books contained everything there was to know about him and Tonto.

As I matured and became more discerning in my reading, I discovered that one can often tell when a book is based on a television show or movie. The storyline depends more on dialog and action than inner observations and the characters, having lost the body language they could convey on screen without picking up a well-developed thought life, tend to be rather flat.

I've sometimes wondered about the Lone Ranger books. Did they fall into that category? Would I laugh at my childish attraction to them if I went back to them as an adult? But alas, whatever else was true about them, the Lone Ranger books did not survive the test of time to become classics. They faded out of print and off library shelves. I moved away from my beloved bookmobile, which has likewise disappeared off the streets of my hometown, and there were no more Lone Ranger books in my life. Nor large-print Oz books, for that matter.

A couple of weeks ago someone clearing out their personal library in preparation for a move donated several boxes of books to the public library. I glanced through them to see if there was anything that should be added to the library collection rather than being set aside for the next book sale. And there it was -- The Lone Ranger by Fran Striker, copyright 1936.

So that's what I'm reading. It's not bad, although quite musty - definitely not for the asthmatic. There's nothing grand about it, just an old western that is now completely politically incorrect, but at least I haven't noticed that "made for television" feel to it. I'm fairly pleased with the taste of the young reader I used to be. I've been dawdling my way through it, but I may have to push to the end tonight and see if they ever got that east-to-west railroad completed.

Hi-yo, Silver, away!