Closing the book on "Appointment in Samarra"

We arrived in staggering sequence at the Lemoyne Cigar Shop for an evening of self indulgence to escape into the 1930 period novel by John O'Hara, "Appointment in Samarra". The shop was already filled with stratus-like layers of smoke slowly set adrift by the slightest movement.  Pompous brought cocktail glasses, ice, and a bottle of Four Roses to keep us company. Six fake looking leather chairs arranged in a sorta circle near the window were empty but not for long. The register was manned by an older gentleman. He works a lot at the shop. As we walked by him to eneter the room size humidor he strained to elevate his eyes without moving his head. A customer mentioned his name. It's apparent that Bill does not place much value on customer service. Once inside tropical dense air nurtured the hundreds of opened boxes of stogies. Kids in a candy store. After browsing and fingerprinting some really fine and unusual smokes we opted for a mild mid-size Ashton. Theres an neat looking cutter at the register. I confirmed with Bill our plan to sit and libate near the door. Man of few words Bill said "ok".

We took our seats reconciled to letting the oversized chairs swallow our being for the next hour. We surronded a Stanley Cup like ashtray centered in the table leaving no excuse to miss an ash flick. One empty chair remained. You quickly warm to the venue as a stream of "regulars" come and go from the shop. With our first pour of Rose and sending smoke signals toward the ceiling we soon felt comfortable in our setting like a well-worn pair of loafers. In the adjacent room a full size pool table with red felt appeared to be retired for the day. Nearby a group of 5 was chatting in monotones clueless about the forthcoming mindful discussions ready to spawn from our corner. It was the first MOP meeting with James. He was dressed for sucess in a casual sport jacket playing to the book's read. We looked like we usually do. It was a memorable first impression that we appreciated.

The shop closes at 9. We arrived at 7:30. During the margin of time, and true to the inquisitive nature of our kind, we took note of the people. Bill was in our focus throughout the evening. Maybe it was the way he was dressed? Maybe it was how he acted? It could have been his hair, grey and thinning on a face unaccustomed to expression? Then maybe it was the drone - like way he negotiated the unobstructed pathway to our area giving no clue to his intentions to clear a weeks worth of papers from our table?  Bill was edgy.

We made small talk waiting to catch the rhythm of dialogue that comes with MOP. Bill wasn't busy last seen lighting a cigar behind the register. When he began emptying a trash container near our table I took the liberty to ask Bill if he'd take a phone photo of us. He looked bewildered and uttered with unequivical certainty that he doesn't know how to use cell phones. He directed us to ask someone in the other room. Angel was more than willing to snap a few shots. Funny thing; for whatever reason I sensed that Bill was getting more comfortable with us. It would just take time and time we had this evening.

As the bourbon evaporated below the rose stem on the bottle and the cigar ash took hold of the ring and the clock aimed its arms on 9 our banter steered to uncommon matters reserved for trusted souls of familiar kind. Perhaps our voices raised; maybe our laughter teased? But for whatever reason Bill ventured over to our area and without murmuring a word or making eye contact plopped down in the empty chair cigar in mouth. Even his expressionless face could not conceal his favor with us. He listened more than he talked. Until that is, until for whatever reason the subject of coffee enemas came up. I was worried that Bill's enlarging cigar ash would drop on the floor. Whatever preconceived notion I had of Bill changed during the enema chatter. Funny how men can morph over the strangest things. My perception of Bill didn't change but I could see that Bill changed. I think Bill will remember his evening sitting with the MOP without realizing that he was a part of it. But then I'm Pompous. We found out that he is 60. We know he lives in Highland Park. I wonder if he'll acknowledge me on my next visit? Probably not.

Shortly after 9 we collected our things found our cars and headed for Framhouse Lane. The book review and meeting was held in the basement. It happened to be National pi Day. The alarm was set and exactly on 3-14-15 at 9:2653 we linked arms in a quasi circle acknowledging a cornerstone formula of physics. A variety of sushi, tuna roll, nuts, and crackers took the edge off something grander. A full complement of single malts, Irish and rye wiskey beckoned our return to Gibbsville.

A first order of business after the gavel struck was for James to declare his MOP identity. He chose to be known as Den Store Rode. Thoughtfully and timely played we agreed. I felt the book discussion was insightful with varied opinions and speculation. I'll offer my critique of the novel for the blog since it was my selection.

"Appointment in Samarra" is a tale that takes place over three days. The dialogue is rich with insight from 30 years of familiar yet necessary baggage carried by the cast in the story. All this is poured out over about 200 pages. O'Hare's prose bends the characters with laser precision. The thrust of his verbage is aimed at a narrow band of upwordly mobile middle aged characters who he eloquently strips down revealing well established residual fears of a privileged social strata entrusted with great expectations while struggling to adjust in the post-war and post depression era, while circumventing prohabition laws in 1930. The book offers many insights into discriminating attitudes towards catholics, women, etc. I think the book highlights; how times change yet people don't.

The story takes place in a make believe town called Gibbsville, aka Scranton. Many references are made to Harrisburg, Reading, and surronding smaller towns. Front and center is Julian and his wife Caroline. They have it all, they want more yet they have made nothing on their own. Sadly as the soap opera nears the end Caroline realizes this and walks out on Julian. In teh end Julian steps out of his life in a car in his garage.

The prose details Julain's implosion in graphic detail for a 1930 period novel. O'Hara was pushing the proverbial envelope. In our discussion we questioned the role of destiny in life. We debated how much a person can change and how long an altered ego can be sustained. We questioned if Julian's fate could have been avoided if the newspaper gossip woman would have stayed with him that fateful night instead of leaving him to fullfill his destiny? Would fate have allowed a different outcome? Or like the servant in the prologue, was Julian destined to meet his fate in Samarra? The story makes you wonder; are we doomed by "a" fate? I happen to believe that Julian could not shake the perception of his father's dissapointment in him which was reciprocated by his father who handled his son's death in an ordinary course of business.

In summary, I think O'Hara's prose wonderfully articulated and revealed the devestating power of ungoverened perceptions and greed filled expectations that can prey on the wounds of damaged egos.

At the end of the book discussion Den Store agreed to jump right into the lineup for the next book. Readie brought his full grown horse which was burned on teh patio under a brisk breeze.

Yours in kind I remain,
Pompous