THE FOURTEENTH PAGE

At first, I worked in the front of the shop with the hardcovers and art books, but that venue didn’t last long. Perhaps management didn’t like the way I banged the books for cleanliness or the appearance of my only suit or, Heaven forfend, my latest English dialect.

The front of the store harbored a den of thieves. The big fancy art books easily could be hidden under winter coats and carted away for resale at used bookstores. We clerks felt more like guards than salespeople. Thus, when the invitation to help run the paperback department was offered, I took the opportunity. It gave me a chance to leave the thieves’ den in the front of the store and speak as had been done in the past.

We sold paperbacks and children’s books in the back of the store while remainder copies were sold on the upstairs level of the shop.

Paperbacks were a new product on Fifth Avenue. Down the road the gray, Gothic Scribner’s Book Store deigned to carry only its own grim paperback editions. Doubleday had no shame; we stocked mass market titles and any other kind of paperback we thought salable.

Our area became a popular gathering place for noontime visitors from neighboring publishers and advertising agencies. Business was always good after the editorial folks’ three-martini luncheons.