Miss Oehler's Lost Book

Though not addicted to such excursions, I admittedly love to browse through antique malls and thrift stores. When I do treat myself, I am usually and immediately drawn to the crystal and porcelain items, always flipping said items over to look for watermarks and stamped makers' marks. However, it doesn’t have to be Waterford, Meissen, or Limoges to attract my interest. I often find a pretty, old, and yet inexpensive, piece of crystal or porcelain as utterly perfect in many ways as the more expensive ones. There’s just something indescribably wonderful about holding someone else’s previously treasured items in your hands. It’s as if you’re looking into an unknown individual's life and getting a slight glimpse into that person's soul, if only for a mere moment.

In as much as I love all those breakable and sparkling things, the third item I am drawn to in such a store is an old book. I adore the smell and the feel of one, and I think there is little as enchanting or intoxicating. I suppose it can be traced back to many years dedicated to reading, as well as to earning a degree in English Literature, but whatever the cause, I find there’s nothing better than picking up an actual book, opening it, and then partaking of its contents as if it’s a huge glass of delicious wine or a decadent dessert. As such, I have never been able to accustom myself to a Kindle or the like; in fact, it just seems like sacrilege to me.

The year was 1995. I had entered a quaint, little thrift shop with several booths presented by various vendors. After browsing for at least an hour, I neared the end of the booth displays, pausing to pick up a little, delicate crystal bowl and turn it over. However, my eye was inadvertently drawn to a shelf of old books displayed at the rear of the booth. I repositioned the little, crystal bowl on the table and walked over to the books, feeling as if I had been summoned by some unknown force.

The first book I picked up was by an obscure, unknown author, but then my eye caught an old edition of The Beautiful and the Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald, his second novel published originally in 1922. Having read The Great Gatsby when I was in junior high, I immediately put the unknown author’s book down and picked up the book by Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald had always held a strong fascination for me. He seemed to be a hopeless romantic, always searching for undying and abiding love but seldom finding it or a happy ending in his novels and short stories. Indeed, his own personal life had been a reflection of such apparent struggles in the realm of love.

I held the book for a moment and took note of it before carefully opening it, running my fingers over its somewhat tattered and fragile cover. It was not the prettiest of books. It was bound in a blueish green fabric with several stains and a large watermark on the front of it. It was all too obvious to the casual observer that it was a very old copy, and it indeed had a copyright of March of 1922, so there was a possibility it was a First Edition.

Carefully I opened the book. The first thing, to my horror, that I saw was a pen mark of $10 written on the inside left cover. Who in their right mind would ever think to mark a book in such a way? I was appalled. This action was unforgiveable as far as I was concerned and was nearly akin to a toddler's scribblings in a book. But then, my eyes fell upon the inscription written on the right, inside page and my eyes widened in disbelief. In extraordinarily aged, brown ink, and with a delicious flair of a writing style that is seldom used these days, it read:

For Miss Oehler -

in memory of her patience with its wild manuscript

from

F. Scott Fitzgerald

I think my heart skipped a few beats as I read the inscription. Could this be real, I wondered? Was I holding a book that F. Scott Fitzgerald himself had once held and signed? And who was the mysterious Miss Oehler to whom he felt compelled to dedicate this book? It goes without saying that despite the blasphemous $10 pen marking on the inside front cover, I quickly bought the book (for the designated $10) and took it home where I carefully displayed it, feeling as though I had just plundered and robbed a sunken treasure.

Now before I go much further, I beg you to remember that the year was 1995. While it is true that computers were in existence then, it is also true that I had not yet become privy to one of these marvelous technological mechanisms to any large degree and certainly was not privy to such wonderful search engines like Google. Try as I might, I could not come up with a way to authenticate the inscription and signature at that time other than an expensive appraisal, so the book remained sitting on my dresser in full sight for several years. I did not need authentication, I told myself, as I was more than sure the inscription was Fitzgerald’s. And regardless, it was a treasure to me even without such.

A few years later in 1999, I happened to be browsing in a local bookstore when I stumbled (coincidence? I think not) upon a book written about the letters exchanged between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Earnest Hemingway, who were close friends in the 1920’s while they lived in Paris. I immediately picked up the book and opened it to find copies of the letters printed therein upon the pages with the actual representation of signatures used by each author. My mind raced as I bought the book and hurried home to compare the signature in this book against the one on The Beautiful and the Damned that I had bought several years earlier in the thrift shop.

Arriving home, I retrieved my treasured book and compared the inscription to Miss Oehler with the signature noted in the book I’d just bought. My breath caught in my chest and my hands shook: they were quite obviously one and the same. I could not believe that I was holding a book that Fitzgerald had himself once held. As I stared at the two signatures, there was little doubt as to the authenticity of the inscription. His capital “F” was a most discernable and unique display of the alphabet letter, as was his writing style in general, and there were many similarities which I was able to note while comparing the two. Despite my discovery, I ventured nothing further than to treasure the book even more so, if that was possible.

The year turned to 2008, and a search engine was a very real and easily accessible technological tool. I began the task of looking for any information that could tell me who the woman noted in the inscription was. Miss Oehler. I had a profound desire to know something more about her beyond a name. After several searches, I was able to stumble upon an article that referenced the fact that Miss Oehler was Fitzgerald’s typist. It was no small wonder he had credited her with patience regarding the book’s wild manuscript. Surely, as he wrote a book, its manuscript was ever changing, and as such, provided the ultimate challenge for a typist in the early nineteen-hundreds.

A few years later, I contacted an antique book dealer about the possibility of auctioning off the book and its potential value, sending detailed pictures to the company of my treasured item. I did not think I could part with my book, but I was curious as to for what the dealer thought the book might sell. The company wrote back that there were no guarantees with an auction of such a book. Since the book’s condition was not pristine and needed restoration, it might sell for approximately three to five thousand, but it was hard to say, especially considering fees that would be owed to the company holding the auction. Since I was more curious than anything else and not serious about selling the book, I did not keep the email exchanges, nor did I pursue the thought of selling the book.

I also saw a nearly symmetrical example of an inscription by Fitzgerald while watching "The Antiques Roadshow" in later years. Except in this instance, it was only the page with the inscription by F. Scott Fitzgerald that had been framed and appraised with no actual book; the appraiser valued the item at $5,000.

I have never had my copy of The Beautiful and the Damned officially appraised despite its beautiful inscription by the author to his typist. Regardless, I know that the value thereon that I place upon this treasured item is worth far more to me than any amount a dealer or appraiser could designate. When I hold it, I feel a strength and a tenderness that embodies what I envision of the man who wrote it: F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I remain ever so thankful to have stumbled upon my beloved edition of The Beautiful and the Damned during my visit to a quaint thrift store one lazy Saturday afternoon in 1995. While I have many other treasured items of Waterford, Wedgewood, Meissen, and more that were discovered in such stores, for me, my rare copy of Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and the Damned is by far my most perfect acquisition. Indeed, to me it is invaluable, and as a lover of old books and literature, I will always consider myself the owner of a true, immeasurable treasure that extends beyond the obvious.