Michelle Black Reagan of Everleaf Books

Like so many of my IOBA brethren, my online virtual store began life as a bricks and mortar establishment. High in the Colorado ski country, Wolf Moon Books operated on Main Street in picturesque Frisco. I began my bookselling adventure in 1997 when I purchased “Frisco Books” from my then-neighbor, Peter Brindamour. I was a lawyer-turned-novelist at the time and Peter had offered to host my very first book signing. We became friends and I told him to call me first if he ever decided to sell his store. A couple of years later, he did just that.

Owning my own store was my dream-come-true. For the first year, I was its only employee. I finally hired two part-timers, which included my twelve-year-old son, Ross, who matured before my eyes as he learned to handle customers and operate the computerized inventory system that was integrated into our POS setup. I carried only new books and though I aspired to be a general bookstore, my focus was regional topics since my primary customers tended to be tourists visiting the area.

When a career relocation for my husband occasioned a move to suburban Kansas City, I sold Wolf Moon Books and focused my energy on my writing career, publishing three books in three years for Tor/Forge under my maiden name, Michelle Black.

I still had bookselling in my blood and missed that world. I became curious about book collecting and decided to interview a local used book store owner, Tom Shawver. I admired his beautifully appointed and well-stocked store, Bloomsday Books. He gave me a great deal of insight into the world of antiquarian books and urged me to attend the Colorado Antiquarian Book Seminar in Colorado Springs.

I took his advice and before I knew it, I was out in the trenches learning to book scout. I quickly found out that little of my experience as a “new book” bookstore owner translated into the world of used and collectible books, but the joy of buying and selling books is universal and I soon acquired (and am still acquiring) new skills everyday. The hunt for collectible books became a passion with all the elements of a treasure hunt. I am sure that most IOBA members are infected with a similar strain of this book fever.

I have found the Internet the perfect medium to bring people together with the books they love. I have a general inventory with a focus on collectible mysteries, and even more particularly, pre-1960 Nancy Drew novels. My interest in the American West, which was the focus of my novel writing career for many years, also shows up prominently in my inventory.

Today Everleaf Books is located on my 10-acre ranch in Spring Hill, Kansas, just south of Kansas City. Please stop by our online store anytime.

Michelle operates Everleaf Books out of Spring Hill, KS and can be contacted at http://www.everleafbooks.com.

Happy Hits

Excerpts from recent online book descriptions:

– Very Good + in god DJ. [A book on John Baptist de La Salle.]

– Slight sunfade to spine end, background color only not the words. It has faded to a light purple color and looks good still with red lettering (not faded).

– A spill stain on the cover dose no damage to the rest of book.

– Book is pretty nice, the dj is kind of ratty.

– So much beaurocratic Bla-bla that I can’t figure who the actual publisher is.

– Page 533 has chip on side of page, no words affected. The rest of book id great and this flaw is not large. The low price compensates for it.

– Spine, edges inside border of endpapers all seem to have soil from smoke.

– Hardback about very good condition (front & rear end pages torn out).

– Like New. May be shiny, in some instances dust jackets are not included, no missing pages, no damage to binding, may have a remainder mark.

– Our feedback rating says it all: Five star service and fast delivery! We’ve shipped four million items to happy customers, and have one MILLION unique items ready to ship today! [Actually at four stars.]

– Not a bad copy overall, but toms of little things wrong with it. Worst fault is a brown stain from pp 64-70 top and bottom edges and in the gutters of the pages, bad on pp 66-7, from a very acid bookmark.

– ******SHOWS SIGNS OF AGING*********************.

– Ugly brown vertical streak on dedication page, neat inscription on front endpaper.

– VERY EX-LIBRARY, STAINS.

– The images are excellent but the edges of pages (in the white) look like someone with coal dust on fingers have paged the book.

– Goof Condition. [My own, thank you very much.]

Pray Tell, Private Hell

While on a mid-week visit to Antietam last April I noticed another guy touring the nearly deserted battlefield. He looked about my age and was dressed in the uniform of a musician from the Union Army. He noticed by the lettering on my van that I was a bookseller. He came over, introduced himself, and we started talking. His name was Steve Bartel, a graphic art designer, writer and drummer from Los Angeles. He was a reenactor who portrayed a “sheepskin fiddler” (drummer), and also had self-published a book of poems titled Pray Tell, Private Hell: Extracts from the Confessions of a Civil War Soldier. He pulled a copy from his knapsack and inscribed it to me in a very convincing 19th century hand. After five or ten minutes of pleasant conversation (I’m from California myself) I thanked him for the book, handed him my card, and we parted.

I’m not usually one for self-published books of poetry, but I think I read Private Hell’s 100 poems through in one sitting. I found their sound and feel amazingly authentic. They’re short, very observant, full of the dark humor of soldiering, and refreshingly free of literary pretensions. The book is a perfect lesson in using literature to illuminate history in ways non-fiction rarely can. It seems that Steve was channeling his great great uncle, Pvt. Alonzo C. Hayden, who was killed and buried on the field at Gettysburg.

Many of the poems are based on historical incidents, such as Lincoln’s little speech at Gettysburg (too short to be captured by unprepared photographers), Father Corby blessing the 69th New York Volunteers at Gettysburg, the death of Stonewall Jackson by friendly fire, etc.

Here are a few examples:

Fancy This, or, The Roadbed Is Not On The Level

Oh, fancy the comforts of life such as this! Our rations are hardwood, our coffee is piss. Our money? What money? Our clothes fall apart. Our feet are more weary than Abraham’s heart. We go up against guns as big as you please, and can’t see the forest because of our knees. Our officers know what they know: flowing bowls! So fancy our comforts, then pray for our souls. -Pvt. Hell

Emmitsburg Road, or, Private Haymaker’s Muse*

I have this heavy feeling in my heart as though there is already a lead ball here. And as I look across these amber fields, I somehow feel I’ve come this far to fall here.

It seems to be a thousand yards or more… a thousand yards of shot and shell and hell. Well, Lord, is this the day you made me for? I guess the next half-hour’s work will tell. -Pvt. Hell

*Pvt. William Monte of the 9th Virginia remarked, pulling out his watch as the remains of his regiment reached the Emmitsburg Road during Pickett’s Charge, “We have been just 19 minutes coming.” Moments later he was struck and killed by a shell.

The Last Shot

I am shot! Oh God, please take me quick— I don’t want to go where you go if you’re sick. Oh the blood! I can feel it seep down my shirt but it’s odd in the way that it doesn’t hurt. And is this aroma the smell of death? That’s strange—it’s so like a saloon-keeper’s breath, and the growing stain is not red, I see… why, my flask took the ball that was meant for me! too bad my whiskey’s gone to St. Pete. -Pvt. Hell

Heavenly Perdition

Ignorant, I asked God: “If you are omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, how can there be a Hell?”

And God said: “Hell is where I am not… hence, in Hell, I disguise myself as the Devil.”

“Holiday in Hell?” said I. “Paradox in Paradise,” said He. -Pvt. Hell

At the end of December, while cataloguing a book, I came across an obscure and amusing anecdote about Lincoln which reminded me of just the sort of thing this Mr. Steven Bartel makes into verses. I pulled out his book, read it again, and still thought it damned fine, so decided to get in touch with him. A Google search soon revealed that he had died suddenly just days earlier, leaving a wife and two young kids.

To wrap this all up then, after a couple of unanswered emails to the address I had with his book I sent a note to the mailing address. Last Friday I got a call from his dad. Yes, he has copies of the book. I told him my story of meeting Steve on Antietam field. He told me it was some kind of very aggressive cancer—he was gone in a matter of weeks. I’m not sure why this whole episode affected me so. Must be I’m getting old.