“Wouldn’t it be a hoot, I thought, if everyone within the sound of my voice had dropped what they were doing to listen to me read?”
On Saturday, December 11th, 2004, I gave my very first book reading/signing at the Thunderbird Bookstore in Carmel, California. I tell you, there has never been, nor will there ever be, a literary event like the one that took place that day.
I barely escaped with my life. Mobs of adoring fans crashed through the police barricades and nearly trampled me in their wild, desperate lunge for the mere handful of books I had brought with me. “The people will be satisfied!” they cried in a single voice. They chanted, they prayed, they set fire to trashcans, they slashed tires and smashed windows and looted neighboring stores. My wife and I dove under one of the tables for cover. “I told you we needed more copies!” I said to her.
Fistfights broke out among the clientele and spilled into the rest of the mall. Fans toppled book displays as they wrestled one another for the few remaining copies of my book, “He In Me.” A teenage girl crawled under the table where we were hiding. She ripped off my shirt and tried to get me to autograph it. Fortunately, Jann interceded and popped the broad in the snout, which gave me enough time to duck into the men’s room while the two of them grappled under the table. Finally, the National Guard was called in to restore order.
Okay, so that wasn’t exactly how things went that day. Let me give you the real scoop.
First off, for those of you not from this area, I should explain that the Thunderbird was one of the largest and most beloved bookstores on the Monterey Peninsula, and famous for hosting a number of big deal-ish literary events. I couldn’t think of a more perfect place to stage my literary debut. Sadly, the store went out of business soon after… but I assure you, that was NOT my fault!
Reviews of my book and announcements of the reading had appeared in publications from here to Santa Cruz, including the Thunderbird’s own website and newsletter. I’d posted flyers in the local libraries, sent out invitations to the press, contacted friends… did everything I could do to generate public interest on a budget of nothing. People Jann and I had spoken to promised they’d be there, and said they knew of others who were also interested in attending. By the time the big day rolled around, I was ready to take on the world.
Originally, my reading was scheduled for the Community Room, which contains a modest-sized lecture hall with podium in a building across from the bookstore proper. Several days before the event, the store manager decided I might do better if she placed me inside the store itself, in the reading corner. It was less formal, she said, and probably would attract more people from within the store. How neat! I imagined myself flanked by attentive listeners, shoppers pausing from their chores to drink in my golden prose. Like an old-fashioned coffee house! Made me feel I was part of a great literary tradition. I thought it fair to warn the manager, though, that the selection I’d planned to read might get a little loud and dramatic. I didn’t want to annoy or alarm anybody. “No problem,” she said. I trusted her.
Mind you, I didn’t have any unrealistic expectations about the success of my book, which I myself have described as “a mild thriller, a social satire, a domestic Moby Dick.” I understood all about the uphill battle a first-time author faces, especially when his publisher handles virtually none of the promotion. I wasn’t anticipating a stampede. Still, I’m embarrassed to admit I was nervous I wouldn’t have enough copies to meet the demand. In a literate community like Monterey-Carmel, which takes pride in its local talent, twenty-four copies didn’t seem like an outlandish quantity to have on hand. If I had sold half that number, I’d have been disappointed, yes, though hardly ungrateful. Even six, I’d have considered a respectable, if somewhat lackluster, response. Only three, I’d have figured that was three more converts than I had on December 10th.
Anyway, before I tell you who DIDN’T show, let me tell you who did. First off, my dad, Maestro Ted Sr., came to hear me read. Me! I can’t tell you how important that made me feel. And I have his wife to thank for bringing him, because there’s no way he’d have made it on his own. My brother, Terrence, was also there. Both he and my dad had already read my book and were immensely enthusiastic about it. Seated directly in front were my stepdaughter, Shannon, and her husband, Reggie. And of course, I had my wife, Jann, right by my side. All the important people in my life were there to support me. As it turned out, when one o’clock rolled around, they were the ONLY people present for the reading.
I tried dawdling a few extra minutes to give late arrivals time to find their way. Around 1:10, I began with an informal intro, hoping the sound of my voice would attract a few last-minute stragglers from within the store. I let the preamble drag on longer than I should have. Finally, I had to begin.
I gave the reading my best shot. Like the actor of old, I immersed myself in the drama and tried to forget about who was or wasn’t present. I was marginally aware of customers moseying about the store, voices in the background, the chi-chang of the cash register. None of that bothered me. Those summer nights performing in Brooklyn, “Under the Stars,” had been my boot camp. Barking dogs, planes flying overhead, falling sets, people walking across the stage to find their seats, the unruly kid wailing from the house across the way, a sudden downpour—there was nothing I couldn’t work around.
About ten minutes into the reading, when the drama was really beginning to percolate, I did notice how quiet the world around me had become. It seemed as though all activity had ceased. Wouldn’t it be a hoot, I thought, if everyone within the sound of my voice had dropped what they were doing to listen to me read?
On stage, I never would have acknowledged the audience. This being an informal reading, however, I figured it was okay to look away from the page every so often and glance around the room. So I raised my head, expecting to see a cluster of onlookers gathered around me, gaping, spellbound, breathless with amazement. Instead, I saw… NOBODY! Nobody, that is, but the same handful of people I started out with. Seems I had cleared the entire store.
The air began hissing out of my balloon so fast, I was almost afraid someone would hear it. Still, if the theater taught me anything, it’s that an actor gives his all, even if he’s playing to only one person. In this instance, that one person might as well have been my dad. So I forged ahead, undaunted, and brought the piece to a stirring finale.
Needless to say, there was no shortage of books that day. I did get to sign one, though. Good old Terrence had brought his copy from home. Today was the first time this whiz kid (only half my age) got to see his big bro in action. He was clearly enamored with my reading (which meant a lot, coming from him), and encouraged me to record an audio version of my book to sell on Amazon. Hm!
Imagine how much more impressed my dad, the maestro, must have been. He’d never had the pleasure of watching me perform while I was theatrically active—never got to see me chew the scenery, much less a bookstore. He was blown away. He gave me that serious, thoughtful nod he usually reserved for great composers and musical performers, and pronounced my reading “Good! Very good!” He told me I “still had the stuff” after all those years I was away from the stage… wished he could see me in a play someday. I tell you, that endorsement carried more weight than all the critical accolades I could hope to receive in my lifetime.
Shannon and Reggie also enjoyed themselves, what with Shannon providing the most audible giggles through the funny parts. As for my dad’s wife, it was hard to tell from her demeanor what she was feeling. From what I knew about her tastes, I’d have guessed she wasn’t too thrilled with the material, and cared even less for my over-the-top presentation. Jann later told me the woman had been staring at her the whole time I was reading. (Probably wondering: Are you going to just sit there and allow that insane husband of yours to go on like that? Didn’t you lecture him about bookstore protocol?) I hope the experience wasn’t too painful for her. It just makes me appreciate her all the more for bringing my dad to an event she wouldn’t have attended herself.
Jann and I both agreed, in retrospect, that the selection I had chosen, and the accompanying histrionics, were inappropriate for that particular venue. It would have been different had I written a book about basket weaving, or the history of baby food. But my material was, after all, highly emotional, dramatic. I wanted to razzle-dazzle my listeners and bring the story to life, not scare them away. Maybe I should have stuck with the lecture hall.
Another adverse factor, according to Jann, was the Christmas season. Here’s another example of… what? Impaired judgment? My spectacularly lousy timing? I figured the Barnyard in Carmel would be bustling with holiday shoppers, that the bookstore itself would be overrun with readers buying gifts for fellow readers. By all rights, drawing a crowd on a Saturday afternoon, two weeks prior to the Big C, should have been a breeze. Like catching flies in a stable.
Then again, Jann was correct in pointing out that Christmas was the worst possible time in which to unveil a depressing story of power, madness, and other such twisted, un-yule-ish sentiments. “A Teddy Bear’s Christmas,” or “Winky’s Wah-Wah,” might have made a better selection. I’ll admit the title, “He In Me,” can be confusing to people. It doesn’t mix with their visions of sugar plums. It doesn’t jingle. You can’t dance to it.
Obviously, I didn’t CHOOSE this time of year to debut my book. At this stage in my career(?), I have to accept whatever time or venue is offered. Ironic, isn’t it! It took me 17 years to bring this baby into the literary world, and I couldn’t get 17 people to devote 17 minutes of their time to hear me read it. Figures, my “world premiere” reading had to fall smack in the middle of freakin’ Christmas! Well, excuse me, folks. Maybe I should burrow back into the ground and poke my head up in a different point in time.
I’ll admit, I was disappointed at the poor turnout. But not discouraged. One isolated event (or non-event) is hardly a barometer by which to measure one’s success. There are so many channels to explore, contacts I need to make, books I have yet to publish. But that, my friends, is a whole other story.
The most positive thing I can say about that Saturday in December is that my family was there for me. It was especially important to me that my dad came to see me. I know he came because he wanted to, not because he felt obligated. (He had to climb a number of steps to get to the Thunderbird—not an easy feat for a man of 89.) The man got to see me at my best… finally got to know the person behind the son. I may not have made much of an impact on the world that day. But I did make an impact on my dad. And that’s what I’ll be taking with me, long after the petty disappointments have faded from memory.
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Ted Gargiulo’s stories and essays have appeared in The San Jose Mercury News, The Monterey County Herald, Wilde Times, The Gamut, and The Fringe. Born in New York City, the former stage actor and prize-winning author now lives with his wife in Seaside, California. Ted is currently working on a collection of short stories. He In Me, available from PublishAmerica, is his first published novel. Foolish readers can visit Ted’s website, www.tedsway.com, to find out more about this foolish novel, along with the crazy fool who authored it.
