Oppenheim Library: Introduction

The "Oppenheim Library" may turn out a perpetual work in progress.

Thanks to the proximity in Laurel, the old location, to a Value Village thrift shop selling off donated libraries for a nickel on the dollar--e.g., $1.90 for a first edition of The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov (Knopf)--I've been able to build a strong hardcover library in various subjects.  In the softcover or paperback categories, I have been accumulating books for about 35 years and have only once returned a box to market.

The "Oppenheim Library" (assuming my brothers have not gone in for anything like it) would seem a small, 19th Century technology.  As other personal library owners may, I am wrestling with space and shelving issues (also the matter of retiring or throwing away old magazines), but the joys far outweigh the headaches. 

Why I consider my home library a critical asset:

• Once owned, a book has neither an expiration or return date--it may be read at leisure, read again at will, or loaned out for someone else's mission (however, note: I'm terrible at returning and have lost a volume or two the same way);
• The collection covers the basics in the arts and humanities, offers much reference for interests in natural science, and, of course, maintains its share of technical reference, certainly for photography, which means to make some money around here, but also cooking, gardening, home maintenance and repair, and other such guidance.
• While the Internet provides a great deal of material to inform both creative writing and journalism, the library supports the basic literary experience--the adventure out of self, the dreaming, the hours engaged in the remarkable minds and worlds of terrific authors, and that, whatever else a few dollars may buy, makes for one of life's more extraordinary and prized possessions.

On February 3, 2006 at 11:30 a.m., a fire broke out in a neighbor's apartment, completely destroyed it and took the habitability of the building with it. 

Anne and I got out the valuable papers, the computer, and camera gear plus, I must say, the perfect sweater and jacket and shoes for the emergency right away. 

About three weeks later, the insurance company's contractor showed up with a crew and truck, and for five days packed every item in the apartment as it was found.

If you're an obsessive-compulsive type, as I have been, do not try this ever.  (Truly, I hope such a disaster never visits your family or home).

The contents of the place went into some 300 packing boxes, the boxes into storage for about five months, and then, all 8,000 pounds of it, made its way here to Hagerstown.  In advance, I cobbled together about 14 pressboard-type bookshelves and hoped that would do it for shelving. 

It did not. 

It has not.

To make way, I am slowly repacking personal papers and throwing away magazines.

I have also started the tedious chore of listing the contents of the library.  I am going to start with the volumes in history and warfare but expect that effort to follow piecemeal my reading as it evolves from my 52nd year.

The old library had an internal and rather fun sort of organization.  I'd marry, say, a collection of Hemingway books with a few by Kawabata. 

Those who know, understand.

In the wake of the fire, however, organization of that sort has vanished.

Also, adding to the complexity of this job, I inherited my father's library, which featured a small but potent collection of academic and Book-of-the-Month club volumes, so while I haven't read them, I now own middling classics like Wendt's In Search of Adam and Robert Ardrey's The Territorial Imperative.

I cannot read through the library I've accumulated. 

Still, it is my hope to get it into a house, to have guests in that house, and to offer my guests their choice in books as well as time and atmosphere for making their way through a volume or two.

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Correspondence and Permissions: James S. Oppenheim

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