Some of the most golden memories of our youth can become somewhat tarnished when examined many years later. One of the joys of my childhood was being read to by the adults in my life. I was introduced to The Wind in the Willows, Sherlock Holmes adventures, Ben Hur, A.A. Milne, a biography of Mary, Queen of Scots, and much, much more.
One of my favorite memories occurred when I was six, living with my mother and grandmother while my grandfather was off fighting in the Korean War. We discovered the historical novels of Joseph Altshelter that were about a young boy who was an orphan raised by Native Americans. A skilled woodsman living during the French and Indian wars, he embarked on a quest to warn the settlers of an impending attack by hostile tribes and French forces. Along the way in frontier Kentucky, Henry encountered all sorts of adventures which kept our pages turning.
At the time, my mother was pursuing a master’s degree at the University of California at Berkeley, and she had some night classes. My grandmother and I had to promise that we would not read a single chapter until she was free to join us and listen in. On nights Henry was on offer, I would rush through my bath and the brushing of teeth so that I could snuggle down in my bed and listen to the next chapter in the saga.
As I grew, I forgot the name of the author and I spent many years going into used bookstores asking for books about a woodsman named Henry. It was finally a literature professor who gave me my answer with a wry look. He gave me the name of the author and commented only that the books might not have stood the test of time. How right he was.
The kindest thing that one can say about them is that they are racist, poorly written, and lacking in a cohesive plot. I could not even finish the one book I bought. But despite the ruination of Henry, there is more gold glinting around the edges of that time than I realized. We had all loved Henry and his adventures, and that was gone. But the real gold had been been that island in time, surrounded by the adults in my life, listening to a story unfold.