Unlike Thomas Wolfe, the famous North Carolina writer who wrote several American classics dealing with rites of passage, I could, and did, go home again. Of course my wife, Diana, and I have traveled back to Princeton, West Virginia, many, many times over the years. Yet our less-frequent trips are becoming more meaningful as we see the town and family and friends through a filtered lens of nearly 70 years.
The reason for this trip included a high school reunion, a "mini-reunion," set between the usual five year milestones. We are fortunate to have a rock-solid core of folks who keep the communication paths fresh and open after the 52 years since we graduated and went our different ways. As with any high school, we have our share of dignitaries and persons of fame. Over and above the solid core of folks who have taught us, put out fires, kept the peace, and done the routine business of health and commerce, there are some who have reached national fame. These include Rod Thorn, the former All-American basketball star at WVU and now president and general manager of the Philadelphia 76ers, as well as Ken Kendrick, an entrepreneur in business and a major owner and managing general partner of the Arizona Diamondbacks baseball organization. Our neighboring rival city (and high school) of Bluefield is the home of John Nash, acclaimed but afflicted mental giant and Nobel Prize winner in economics. Economically strapped McDowell county, located just west of Princeton and Bluefield, has been the home and influence to two well-known authors of late: Homer Hickam (October Sky, or The Rocket Boys) and Jeannette Walls (The Glass Castle). So our little section of southern West Virginia has produced perhaps an inordinate share of uniquely gifted persons in addition to the thousands who keep the lights on and care for the day-to-day operations of society.
In the shadow of these mega-achievers, I humbly scheduled two book signings and "meet the author" events: one in Bluefield at Hearthside, a treasure of a cozy yet complete bookstore; another at Princeton's Public Library, a magnificent renovation inhabiting the former marble-encased post office, smack-dab in the heart of town at the corner of Mercer Street and Park Avenue. In fact, that's the intersection where the fictitious car-chase scene began and ended with the college football players tangling in a road rage incident with the locals, and their VW blocking the highway on a dangerous mountain curve at midnight.
The Hearthside event was warm and intimate, with eight people showing up in addition to Diana and myself plus her brother and his wife. The owner, Anne Hess, has a lovely store located in a charming small shopping center nook, and seemed pleased with the turn-out and sales. Only Homer Hickam and Jeannette Walls, according to her, drew substantially larger crowds. Hickam, she said, "always packed the place."
The real test of whether I could go home again, so to speak, was the next day, Friday afternoon at the Princeton library. The attendance was wonderful, almost overflowing the room, with nearly 40 people. The crowd included mostly over-fifties in terms of age, primarily former high school graduates of the 50's and 60's era, including one woman who had driven up from Winston Salem, NC to attend the talk. In addition, a handful of women in their 80's—and even 90's—graced the room with their dignity and elegance.
I suppose it was my fifteen minutes of some sort of fame, to quote the Andy Warhol theory modified to the local level, and it was both exciting, tiring, and gratifying. Thanks to Joe and Elaine Simmons, my brother and sister-in-law, who drove my wife and me to various events and helped carry books and refreshments to and fro. On a light note, Elaine was standing in a hallway directing folks to the meeting room when a photographer from The Princeton Times asked her if "she was the author's publicist?" It must have seemed like a professional event, and we all got a kick out of that.
As a follow up, when my wife and I returned to Austin, an email awaited me from a previous Motorola colleague whom I had not seen in a decade. He and his wife live in the picturesque town of Montrose, Colorado, and travel widely to hike and bike. His email informed me that they were spending the night in Princeton, WV, and "we are planning to drive along Mercer Street to find landmarks from your book, which we both enjoyed very much. In addition, we hope to be able to locate Radio Hill and see the radio station."
What a surprise! We ended up emailing back and forth, and finally spoke on the phone. In fact, they did drive up and down Mercer Street, and actually were able to locate, creep up the narrow lane to Radio Hill, and park in front of the building that still operates as an ongoing AM (and now FM) station, with the same huge steel tower in the back, as WAEY. His photo JPEG file is shown below to commemorate their adventure.
Photo Credit Lyle Clugg
One of the most sincere compliments a writer can receive is for people to read his/her work and to "get" it. In addition, it's gratifying for your peers to take time from their busy schedules to come out and see you, to discuss your book, and to request a signature in their copy. A special experience, indeed.
However it was a completely unexpected treat to learn that a couple from Colorado would go out of their way to visit Princeton, to drive up and down Mercer Street to relive the scenes, and finally to seek out (and actually locate) Radio Hill, drive up the small, winding lane to the top, and see the throbbing electromagnetic epicenter of the small-town radio station that was key to many of the scenes in "Reunion."
A thrill indeed.
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