The Postpaid Poet
January, 1958
At a Literary Tea to which I was recently invited as ballast or something, the subject of childhood reading kept coming up, like radishes. The learned folk on hand recalled, at some length, the pleasure and profit they had gained from reading, at impressionable ages, Hans Brinker, Black Beauty, Treasure Island, Heidi and other familiar works (familiar to them, that is -- I had never heard of half of them, or knew them only as the titles of those depressingly wholesome volumes put into my hands o...
