It was a dark and windy night in early fall, 1960. Dear One and I were sitting in the kitchen of our 4- room cabin, chatting about this and that, when we heard a car pull up out front. Then there was a knock on the door. This was unexpected. Where we lived, in the foothills of the Ozarks, it was customary for a visitor to call out to the house from the road and get an “OK” before parking or stepping onto the property.
I moved toward the door, but Dear One gestured for me to get back. He opened the door and there was a middle-aged lady in business attire, carrying a briefcase. This was interesting, so he invited her in and we all sat down in the parlor.
Our visitor explained that she was doing a political survey and asked if we would be willing to answer some questions. “Who is commissioning your survey?” I asked. She replied that she wasn’t allowed to say.
We agreed to take the survey. We answered her questions regarding our ages, level of formal education, and political affiliation. (Dear One had no political affiliation and mine was Democrat.) Then we got into the sociological questions.
As she asked her questions, I speculated that the entity paying for the poll was the New York Times. The Times then, occasionally ran feature stories regarding the eccentricities of white Southerners—as though we were some recently discovered stone-age tribe.
“Do you own any books?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“More than one?” I suppose she referred to the Bible. “Yes,” I replied. Then she followed with “More than two?” And “More than three?”
Dear One decided to cut to the chase. “We’ve probably got more than a thousand books. What do you think, Honey?”
“Yes,” I replied, “at least that many.”
Our visitor laughed, uncertainly. Dear One said, “Why don’t you show her our books.” So I rose and gestured for her to follow me. I opened the door to the other front room of our cabin—inside were rows and rows of free-standing, six foot tall iron bookshelves, back to back, and all full.
I never saw or heard the outcome of the poll, and don’t know for sure who commissioned it or why. But we may have skewed it.
