MAX EBB
H
oliday gift shopping can be problematic at times. It seems that I know too many people who “have every¬ thing”. But one resource that has proven very helpful in the last few years, at least when I remember it in time, is the used book
when I saw the name of the author, Alfred Loomis. This was a real find — the classic 1936 edition of the first comprehensive book^ ever written on the subject. At least the first good book ever written on the subject, as far as I knew. It had been on my list for a long time; I eagerly reached for the book. But an instant after my fingers made con¬ tact, the book moved back into the shelf, and then started to slide out the other side. This was a double-sided shelf, and apparently there was another shopper removing the very same book from the other side. I was too dumbfounded to utter a word — and the
book slid out of my hands. “Hey!” I finally said when I recovered from the shock. “I saw that one first!” As I spoke I stood up on my toes to get a look through the opening in the shelf left by the removed book. The shopper on the other side of the shelf did the same, and what I saw was a one inch by twelve inch vertical slice of a woman’s face. From the dark eye, the thick eyelash, the sun-tanned cheek, and the small glimpse of straight, dark hair I was able to recognize my adversary. “Max! What on earth are you doing here?
first!” store. Of course, the main purpose of a trip to the used book store is to find things for my non-sailing friends — sailors are easy to shop for — but I often end up browsing in the sail¬ ing section anyway, just to see if there’s anything interesting at a bargain price. Which is exactly what 1 found myself doing the other day, perusing the nautical section of one of the larger used book stores in town. This particular book store, although large, was not very well organized. I had to sift through all the books on arctic exploration, fishing, outdated copies of the Coast Pilot, useless and obsolete navigation tables, and about two-dozen copies of a mediocre book about whaling that I already owned. But there was a lot here. The shelves were stuffed with books wherever there was an inch of space, some crammed horizontally over other books, some stacked on the floor in odd corners. Judging by the collection of titles, I suspected that the store had recently acquired a relatively intact library of sailing books. It would be good hunting — and I barely gave a thought to the likelihood that it was the death of some old sailor who liked to read that was responsible for the successful shopping trip. Eventually I located some interesting older books on racing and cruising, on a shelf just above eye level. I was attracted to a faded blue binder with a stylized anchor and a star on it. The title printed on the binder simply read Ocean Racing. My excitement grew page 132
