Since I’m currently studying the First World War, I thought I’d get a book of poetry by Alan Seeger. My first stop is always the last indie bookstore left in town (there used to be 4, dammit) which is owned by a great guy who’s a rabid Socialist. We’ve had many excellent discussions over a few pilsners since I make John D. Rockefeller look like a Bolshevik. Unfortunately Bob wasn’t there so I had to deal with the new guy.
“Hi. Do you have any compilations of the poems of Alan Seeger?”
“I know we’ve got a CD with him on it…hang on a minute. Yeah, here it is. It’s got 2 of his songs on it.”
“No, that’s Pete Seeger. I’m looking for Alan Seeger, the poet.”
(Insert deer-caught-in-headlights-stare here)
“Are you sure it’s not the same guy?”
“Yeah, pretty sure. Alan was killed in 1916.”
“No…sez here he wasn’t even born until 1919…”
“Uhh…is Bob here by any chance?”
“No. He’s working all day Sunday. Ya want the CD?”
“No, thanks…I was really looking for a book. Have a nice evening.”
I’ll try again Sunday, but Bob’s buying the brews…