Catching up on summer reading

Three decades ago I utterly eschewed reading. Neither I nor my similarly simple-minded peers had children, spouses, or jobs that required even the slightest mental exertion. Why waste time in a library, I reasoned, when there were ballgames to play, females to pursue, and alibis to create when said ladies remained consistently resistant to my charms?

The irony is that today my passion is books, but my once-acute vision is rapidly deteriorating and my job as an English teacher limits me to a two-month window for recreational reading. Once school resumes next month I’ll be poring over frequent student writing assignments and constantly perusing “The Catcher in the Rye,” “The Kite Runner,” and other texts Kennebunk High School sophomores will be studying this year. When summer vacation began I had one specific goal: To re-read “Huckleberry Finn” and prepare for a unit on it this fall. Beyond that I vowed to engage in as much pleasure reading as time would allow. And thanks to slow-growing grass, children who prefer spending time with their chronological peers to hanging out with a graying father, and a wife who encourages and tolerantly supports my hobby (except when she’s giggling at the sight of me in my new two-dollar reading glasses), I’ve managed several truly enjoyable forays into literature this summer.

I’ve always savored learning more about America’s national pastime (or as a football-loving, semi-literate friend of mine likes to say, “Past time”), and summer affords me an opportunity to do so. My first baseball-related read of my vacation was “Top of the Order,” a compilation of essays from 25 different authors on his or her favorite ballplayer. Its subjects ranged from the heroic (Jackie Robinson) to the infamous (Roger Clemens); the modest (Brooks Robinson) to the arrogant (Rickey Henderson); the tragic (Lou Gehrig) to the inspiring (Albert Pujols); and the unlikely (Michael Jordan) to the unknown (Steve Dembowski). The only disappointing thing about “Top of the Order” was that it ended too soon. Another worthwhile read was Cait Murphy’s “Crazy ’08.” Her efforts to dig up long-forgotten history must have been Herculean, since her book’s subject, the memorable 1908 baseball season, had no living eyewitnesses to it when she was doing her research. Ms. Murphy’s exquisite prose never got tired or trite, and lest one wonder how she gleaned so many minute details about events that occurred nearly 100 years ago, there are 60 pages of notes (not including the index) at the book’s conclusion!

Out of curiosity I grabbed “Oh, Johnny,” a novel about baseball and lost romance by a fellow named Jim Lehrer, amused that the author shared his name with the former PBS NewsHour host. I subsequently learned the two Lehrers (the journalist and the novelist) are one and the same, and that he/they have written 19 novels. “Oh, Johnny’s” fictional protagonist was a young man haunted by his experiences in the South Pacific during World War II. That made it a great companion text for a subsequent read, “Terwilliger Bunts One,” a memoir by former major league infielder Wayne Terwilliger who actually did see action on Saipan in 1945. I also read up on more contemporary sports. “The City Game” is Pete Axthelm’s outstanding 1970 opus on New York City basketball. It’s odd, though, reading four-decades-old descriptions of young people who are currently either in their dotage or deceased. Knowing that “The City Game’s” much-praised author died nearly two decades ago from alcoholism, an occupational hazard for many noted sportswriters of his era, adds to the vague eeriness of reading a 40-year-old work of non-fiction. My next basketball-related read will be Vincent Mallozzi’s “Asphalt Gods,” an oral history of Harlem’s legendary summer tournament.

In an effort to mix in something non-sports-related I read “Under and Alone,” the true story of an undercover police officer infiltrating the Mongols, arguably America’s most dangerous outlaw motorcycle gangs. The book was impossible to put down, and reading it gives the distinct impression that author William Queen is the bravest, the luckiest, and/or the most foolhardy law officer in America.

I’m currently poring over “Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw,” Canadian writer Will Ferguson’s recollections of some of his more memorable travels throughout his home and native land. “Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw” is sometimes amusing and sometimes poignant, but often both simultaneously. Mr. Ferguson is a two-time winner of the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour, as is the late Paul Quarrington, whose hilarious and vivid novel “King Leary” was one of my late spring reads. Here’s a tip: If you see any book written by a Stephen Leacock Medal winner, buy it without hesitation.

Unfortunately recreational reading season is all but over for me, since teachers are due back at KHS next week. And even more sobering than that: I’ve yet to start “Huckleberry Finn”!

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