94. You’re Traveling Through Another Dimension…

Just before I was old enough to drive, I sometimes took the 15-mile bus ride into the local “little big city,” Morristown, New Jersey.  With friends or by myself, it was a cool place to shop, snack, or explore, and very different from where I lived. Morristown had imposing historic buildings, big department stores, a village green at the center, and a long connection to American history, having been settled in the early 1600's and established as a county seat 100 years later. It is famous as George Washington’s chosen location to winter his army in 1779.  One of the places I discovered there was an unusual bookstore—I’d guess you’d call it that—that seems like an eerie dream to me now.

There’s something I liked about stores that sell used books. More specifically, that quirky hole-in-the-wall shop down a narrow, cobbled street in the old part of town. Maybe you’ve been there with Charles Dickens, Dan Brown, Rod Serling, or Stephen Spielberg. An atmospheric kind of curiosity shop. It always shows up in fiction as a front for some sci-fi spy operation, or even a portal to another dimension.

Down the hill a few blocks from Morristown’s busy center, at the lower level of a very old brick building, and through a weathered door that seemed to have opened a squeak just as I walked toward it… this was a strange place for a lone boy to enter.  The bell on the door jingled as I stepped in, and there he was, the scowly, wild-haired, wizened man with the tattered elbow-patch sweater. He was a little crotchety with me, squinting over his half-frames, “You won’t find what you’re looking for in here, young man.” He was right about that, actually, because I had no idea that I was looking for anything. I imagine he was thinking, “No one ever comes in this shop, what is this boy doing here?” True to my eccentric nature, I was intrigued.

I asked if it was alright to browse and he just sniffed and hmphed, and warned me not to mess up his shelves.  That made me smile to myself—could there actually be a system in here?

Leaning, sagging shelves reached to the ceiling, dusty books were leaning or stacked in some sort of oxymoronic random order. Dimly lit aisles were nearly impassable because of teetering piles on the floor.  Bins along one wall held bunches of aged charts and maps. Back issue magazines and dog-eared sheet music were in jumbled heaps near the front desk.

I eventually spotted a shelf of very old-looking leather-bound books. They were all early 19^th century editions in poor to fair condition, but I could imagine they were once part of a very fine collection. The well-worn covers were embossed and decorated with gilding. Marbled paper lined the inside of covers. I skimmed through pages that had handwritten notes in the margins and noticed archaic grammar and old-fashioned typesetting, like when they used a symbol for the letter s that looks like an f (you must read carefully some words: “suck,” for example.) SInce I found them in this peculiar shop, perhaps you are wondering if the books were full of occult wisdom. Maybe they were keys to unlock a mystical code, or an alchemist’s book of experiments? Did I open one, and unleash a Pandora’s Box of powerful forces? Have you heard of the Voynich Manuscript? Hmm?

Alright, slow down. This story is true and the books were not that exciting! I was simply looking at an 1830 surgery textbook, three volumes of old state law books, a world atlas with hand-tinted maps showing unexplored regions drawn in vague outlines, and an overview of Greek philosophy. None looked like great reading material for me, but I liked the look and feel of the pages and bindings. The prices were marked on the inside cover in pencil, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. These antiques had to be more valuable than $1.50 for the singles, $3.75 for the three volumes of law books! I plopped down my $10 bill and walked out with six antique books, and pocket change for a milkshake and bus fare home.