Ever since I first read him in high school, I haven't been able to generate much passion for grumpy old Stephen Crane.

Case in point:

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation." - Crane

How come the universe has to be so pedantic? I prefer mine warm and breezy, with a slight chance of showers.

It occurs to me that you could rewrite the above poem, substituting the word "google" for "the universe."

Or the words "the Bronx."

Or the words, "3:15 pm bus crowded with people on their cell phones and yelling, hormonal teenagers recently released from captivity."

Yep, I think that pretty much fits.

Libary Thrills

In the farthest reaches of the New York Public Library is a little room called the "Special Collections Division." I went there today, all the while thinking of it as the “Special Victims Unit.” It’s where the exciting books live, sheltered and climate controlled, under the care of serious, winged librarians whose footfall echoes not.

I needed a book there, and I had to go through yards of paperwork to get it. As I was signing forms, I asked one of the librarians why this particular book (essays by a 19th century New York City journalist) was held under lock and key. He explained that it was part of a private collection of one Mr. George Arants, a successful tobacco executive, who spent most of his adult life amassing books, magazines and advertisements dealing with tobacco. The man apparently loved smoking.

The journalist I was researching (one Fanny Fern) was not, to my knowledge, interested in tobacco, so I wondered what I’d expect to find in this book of hers. Finally, the paperwork was finished, and after much fuss (a librarian carried the volume out on a foam tray!) I opened it and flipped around until, sure enough, I found a short essay titled "Tobacco."

The opening was, well, not subtle: “I despise tobacco!”

I read on: “Men, I deny you the right to smell bad in my presence! I deny you the right to poison our parlors with noxious smoke! I categorically deny it!”

What was this rant doing in the collection of a tobacco mogul? Was he worried that Fanny Fern’s little column would hurt business? Was he putting one of the last remaining copies of the book behind lock and key so that future generations might avoid learning about what a nasty habit smoking is?

A very minor historical mystery, and one probably with a very simple explanation. But guessing's more fun.