August 29, 2024

Inevitably, I finally find a box with some of my childhood books. Boy, did I ever? As usual, the box shows no consistency: 38 books overall, 25 kids' books, and 1 surprise (bear with me). Before I turn to the kids' books or the surprise, I can't help but wonder how Douglas Hofstadter's "Gödel, Escher, Bach" could end up in a box with "Wind In The Willows." Or, how "And The Band Played On: Politics, People And The AIDS Epidemic," Randy Shilts' eye-opening exposé of America's handling of the HIV epidemic, could share room with "I Know An Old Lady," music and lyrics:

I'd like to point out (with 95% sincerity) that I am proud of my eclecticism.

Honestly, though, I have forgotten just how great much of my childhood was, not only because of books, as found in this box, but also because the box had a few non books, my favorite being my "Prehistoric Flash Cards." These were still in the original small square box, adorned with my doodling of the T. Rex on the cover, saying "Let's Pass Frisbee!" while a frisbee has been added between his pathetic T. Rex hands. Honestly, if this doesn't say everything about me, potential maturity, imagination, respect for objects, then I don't know what does.

Forget the T. Rex, the books lead me down a lot of rabbit holes. Nine hard-back Hardy Boys' mysteries, a lot fewer than I would have expected, but all of them bearing those fantastic covers that drew me in every time.

"While The Clock Ticked" -- Joe and Frank bound to chairs while a creepy old dude comes out from behind a grandfather's clock.

"What Happened At Midnight" -- Our heroes in suit and ties being followed by a man with a crowbar.

"The Tower Treasure"-- The very young boys hiding from a search light streaming from an abandoned old building.

"The Haunted Fort" -- Frank and Joe watching an apparition walk across the water in the moonlight.

Trust me, I have spent more time sitting in my dusty, dark basement looking at these books than I have for all else I have unearthed the last few weeks. The Hardy Boys were my original mind munchies, and may have been the impetus for my short-lived junior high school newspaper column featuring Smell-a-lot Bones and his crime-solving acumen. (No, I do not have any of those anymore. If anyone has an archive of Suncrest Junior High newspapers, let me know. Although boxes of stuff my mom saved about me has yet to be opened.)

Equally a pleasant surprise is my find of seven Betsy Byars' books. Byars may be best known for "Summer Of The Swans," which won a Newberry Award. In Morgantown, W.V., where she lived with her Engineering Faculty member husband, she may have been our best-known writer of children's and young adult fiction (was "young adult" even a designation in the early 1970s?). Several of these books, all hard back, with beautiful dust jackets bearing wonderful illustrations, with more to be found alongside the story within, were autographed to either my sisters or to me. Seeing these bring back a flood of memories. I had long forgotten about "The Midnight Fox," "After The Goat Man," The House of Wings," "Clementine" (sheesh, I named a stuffed animal after Clementine; how could I forget?), and "The 18th Emergency."

The latter was my favorite of hers, a little more light-hearted (as I vaguely remembered it) than her other ones. A story about a boy trying to get out of being beat up by the school bully, its cover was a wonderful illustration of the main character, Mouse, fleeing from the large foot and shadow of his nemesis, while the back cover continues the scene in front of Mouse, showing the neighborhood stray, "Garbage Dog," also fleeing.

Needless to say, "The 18th Emergency" comes upstairs for a re-read. And I find it not quite as light-hearted as I remember (it still handles its subject with some humor). Most importantly, and the part I have so conveniently forgotten, is that Mouse has publicly humiliated Marv Hammerman, and he realizes by the end that he needs to fight him because of honor. Funny, somehow I thought the stories of my childhood avoided the "After School Special" morality.

"Honor?" Really? Talk about me forgetting a significant part of the story. I guess all I chose to remember where the silly examples of the other 17 emergencies.

Even beyond Byars, the box produces other great books from my childhood: "The Phantom Tollbooth," "Charlotte's Web," "Harriet The Spy," "The Red Pony." Each of them iconic in the history of children's literature. If I am going to do a significant re-work of this storage collection, these books, with their conglomeration of crazy mixed-up stuff, may be the catalyst. Even beyond the Hofstadter, how the hell does John Grisham's "The Runaway Jury" end up in here?

But, Grisham, is not the surprise.

The surprise is waiting at the bottom of the box. As I unload books, I can tell there is a heavy tome at the bottom that I suspect is my stamp collection. It's clearly one of those big-binder type things that I kept them in (I think I had several), and I get more and more excited as I get closer.

Imagination my surprise to find that it is not a stamp album, but the 2000 Accreditation Self-Study for Detroit College of Business.

Yes, stuck underneath 25 children's books, 12 random pieces of adult-oriented fiction and non-fiction, one set of Dinosaur Flash Cards, lies the first self-study (or any kind of accreditation work) that I ever participated in. There might be something more than symbolic here about why I have saved it with Hardy Boys and dinosaur flash cards?

Seeing the names of colleagues from 25 years ago is a joy, and my role, which was mostly as one of two editors, is one I take great pride in. But if I think children's literature hasn't really changed over the years, than freaking college accreditation hasn't either. Sure, some minor changes with language can be seen (including that of the accrediting body, North Central) but the self-study reveals the same expectations about data, evidence, assessment, structure, and governance that is at the heart of accreditation today.

In other words, I have had a moment of PTSD. Excuse me while I go sit in a dark room.