Writers and publishers – Salinger
Reclusive Salinger encountered a small publisher seeking to publish his last known article as a book. That’s the story in the “Style” section of The Washington Post today. That reminds me of several incidents in my life as a publisher and writer in which I had brushes with the famous.
My first encounter with an author of greatness came when I published Infosystems Magazine for the American Broadcasting Companies. We needed a futurist to produce a story and my editor lined up Isaac Asimov! Wow, I was blown away.
I also had an interesting introduction to Michael Porter on the farm of Harvard Professor Les Rollins who lived near Ohio University. Les was married to Edith who was Michael’s mother. Michael was a bright young man in my age group and we were assembled on the farm as a part of the “accelerated achiever program” initiated by William Agee, my boss at Bendix Corporation. There, we also met Mary Cunningham about which a famous boardroom affair emerged.
Back to publishing, I formed my own publishing company called Talon. I was a custom publisher and met Daniel S. Appleton, an information technology guru. With encouragement from GTE President and EDS President, I eventually sold Talon to Appleton. What is interesting is that in the late 1800’s one Henry George, theologian, printer, and economic theorist wanted his book, Progress and Poverty, published.
George finally found a publisher, Daniel S. Appleton who had Appleton Century and Croft publishing company, famous for publishing Bobsy Twins by the Seashore. So you see, Jim George (YankeeJim) became Appleton’s publisher thus completing the cycle in name association only.
I dedicated my new book, Smart Data, to Daniel S. Appleton.
“Publisher Roger Lathbury recalls book deal with J.D. Salinger that went sour
By Ian Shapira
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, January 29, 2010
In 1988, Roger Lathbury, an English professor at George Mason University and owner of a small literary publishing outfit based in his house in Alexandria, decided on a lark to write to J.D. Salinger, asking if he could publish "Hapworth 16, 1924," Salinger's last published work, which appeared as a story in the New Yorker in 1965 and never made it into book form.
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Amazingly, Salinger wrote back promptly, saying, essentially, "I'll think about it."
Then, nothing. For eight years.
Until July 26, 1996, when Lathbury, just having completed teaching his morning classes, picked up the phone in his home office.
"Here was the voice, 'I would like to speak to Mr. Lathbury,' " Lathbury recalled. "People don't know how small the operation is here. His voice had a New York accent, and sounded like the recording of Walt Whitman that's available. He identified who he was -- I don't remember if he said, 'This is J.D. Salinger' or 'This is Salinger' -- and I said: 'Well, um . . . I am delighted that you called.' "
To his amazement, Lathbury's tiny Orchises Press had itself a deal with the reclusive novelist. But only briefly. Half a year later, with the book nearing publication, Salinger pulled the plug on the project, a turn of events that became just one more mystery surrounding the enigmatic writer -- until Thursday, when news of Salinger's death at 91 emerged, and Lathbury agreed to tell the tale.
Though brief, the relationship with Salinger still haunts and enchants the English professor, now 64. Lathbury was 14 when he fell in love with Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye," but throughout his negotiations with the author and his representatives, the publisher was advised never to mention his passion for the novelist's works.
When Lathbury wrote his fateful letter to Salinger -- the publisher didn't have Salinger's address, so he just put the name and town on an envelope, and the post office in Cornish, N.H., took it from there -- Orchises Press was hardly a known entity in the Manhattan publishing world. Now more than 25 years old, Orchises specializes in largely unknown but serious writers and poets. Lathbury's enterprise is a one-man band: He edits the books, designs the type-settings and schleps the books to mail centers.
To this day, Lathbury has no idea why Salinger selected him to publish "Hapworth," which ran over more than 70 pages of the New Yorker. On the phone in 1996, the two discussed details of the book's type-setting. "He was concerned with the appearance of the book, and I also am very interested in that, so in that sense, we had kindred sensibilities," Lathbury said. "I remember saying that my idea is that the type should be unobtrusive."
The project moved on to a face-to-face meeting at the National Gallery of Art's cafeteria. Lathbury packed a briefcase with sample cloths for the book's cover for Salinger to assess, and Salinger's 24,000-word manuscript, which Lathbury had retyped from the original in the New Yorker. He arrived at the museum's entrance, where security guards balked at allowing the briefcase inside.
"I was a bit nervous," Lathbury said. "I told the guards, 'I just have to go to the cafeteria. Time is running out. Can you just walk with me?' "
Lathbury couldn't reveal the nature of his meeting but finally persuaded the guards he was not there to ruin the art on display.”