Unlike their readers, old books never need die. Leastwise not in the inevitable and fleeting way that we’ve come to regard our own mortality. With proper care they might outlive us by hundreds, even thousands of years. The very hands our books pass through wither and gnarl and eventually crumble to dust and even though that is so, each set of hands that touches a book leaves something of themselves behind. An oily thumbprint, a pressed wildflower, a penciled notation or maybe the discharge from a dusty sneeze; something is always left behind. Often it is a prayer card of a loved one who has gone before, placed as a beloved bookmark. More often the trace is less distinguishable; pages embellished only with the unspoken thank you for the knowledge acquired from the pilfered words within. 

Of course old books can be destroyed but more importantly they can be saved, cherished even. Still, the destruction outpaces the recovery. Imagine the countless irreplaceable volumes, resplendent with priceless illustrations and singular knowledge that were lost in the relentless bombings of the great cities during World War II. Consider the bonfires of madmen who piled books in great gasoline doused heaps and struck a match to consume words they felt degenerate or undesirable. Earthquakes, fires, floods and war have erased nearly infinite numbers of ancient and not so ancient volumes. All lost forever. At best a wayward book may be doomed to the pulpy chemical vats of the recyclers, where they can at least hope to be reincarnated into some sleek new release. 

Even in the narrow geographical pinpoint from where I conduct my personal search and rescue missions there are far more orphaned tomes than I can provide a home for; but try I do. I stand shoulder to shoulder with good people who strive to make an industry from the collection and reselling of these discarded old books. In their good work not only do they pocket a profit, which I believe is their only intention, but to their credit they also conjunctively reunite these books with folks who actually want them, monetary worth aside. 

As already chronicled here on several occasions, I do a lot of my scavenging at the local Goodwill Outlet. Books of all kinds and age are unceremoniously dumped in twisted, haphazard piles into giant rolling bins. My fellow divers will actually line the empty space on the floor, facing each other like opposing football teams across a divide just wide enough to accept each new bin that is rolled out from the back room. Before it can even come to a stop they tear through the new arrivals like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Elbows bumping and fingers clutching as they hurriedly grab and claim or toss aside each snatched find. I’ve learned to stand back and watch this spectacle, not with any air of superiority as if it were beneath my dignity to fight for the choicest cuts, but only because I’ve discovered that the profiteers so often leave the best behind. Deeming them too ragged or too obscure or possibly just ignorant to what they are looking at, I have found countless great and gorgeous books that the professionals have no interest in.

Often old cookbooks, old manuals and old Bibles will be teeming with clippings and photographs, receipts and postcards from a gone by era. Of the treasures I keep an eye out for, old primary and high school readers, arithmetic, history and geography books can be the most rewarding. I find many that are over 100 years old and just as they would be today; they are filled with notations and poems, random thoughts and love notes of the students through whose hands they have passed. On their pages are the distant recollections and revelations of forgotten souls who have left long unseen messages that appear as fresh as if they were scrawled yesterday. They are fascinating to behold if sometimes challenging to decipher but these books almost always hold secret rewards.

Here are some pages from just one of these many lingering volumes, wherein I discovered everything from a seemingly naughty verse, to the colored pencil rubbings of one hundred plus year old coins, to a closing salutation that felt like it was written for my eyes alone. Please take a moment to explore these found pages and appreciate the treasures lying dormant within.