Several years back while driving to work I listened to a short commentary by American radio broadcaster Paul Harvey. He was best known for his famous radio segments called “The Rest Of The Story” which was fortunately carried by Canadian radio stations.
When I was very young I had the good fortune to see Paul Harvey speak in person.
He appeared as a guest speaker at Toronto’s ‘People’s Church’.
His appearance at the church became quite the controversy when during the service it was established that he was not a secular Christian.
In his defence, he never claimed to be one to begin with.
One day, as I listened on the radio Paul Harvey had an exceptional tale to tell.
He told the story of a young woman who was born in 1900.
Fiercely independent, she insisted on working outside of the home.
This continued until she unfortunately severely injured her leg and was unable to work for several years.
As Paul Harvey describes it, this woman became very bored while convalescing at home.
Housebound and with limited mobility, she one day took a long look around her home and noticed that she had accumulated hundreds of small scraps of paper which were strewn all around her house.
They were everywhere. There were bits of paper stuffed in books, inside drawers, vases, cupboards, anywhere you could possibly imagine.
She had hand written on each slip of paper a story of some kind.
These were stories that she had heard throughout her years. Some stories came from family members and some came from friends. Some stories were experiences that she herself had. There were stories that she had read in the newspaper while others were considered local legends.
Any story that she found remotely interesting would be jot down on a piece of paper and saved for later use.
As history would have it, the time eventually came for her to put all these stories to good use.
The name of this woman was Margaret Mitchell.
It took her several years to skillfully put all these stories together into a book which became very popular. In turn, this book then led to one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.
Perhaps you’ve heard of this book.
And so, how many slips of paper have you got hidden around your home?
And her story has given me hope.
Everyone has a fear of one type of unnatural creature or another.
It could be mummies, a disembodied hand, zombies, werewolves and worse.
It all began in the early 1970’s when I went to a vampire double feature at the movies. The first movie was THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS with Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski. This parody was subtitle: “Pardon me, but your teeth are in my neck”.
The second feature was DARK SHADOWS, the movie based on the popular 1960’s television show, starring Jonathan Frid who died not too long ago in Ancaster Ontario, about thirty miles from where I live.
There was a scene when Barnabas Collins suddenly appeared behind a sheer curtain at a moonlight filled window. Only a few seconds later, he was feasting on some poor girl’s neck. For quite a while after that, I wore a scarf to bed and tried my best to sleep with one eye open.
My bedroom curtains were sheer and hid nothing.
Okay, now fast forward to 1977. It is June and I’m on my honeymoon with my new husband in Toronto at the Eaton Shopping Center. We enter a bookstore and begin looking around for nothing in particular.
We didn’t have much money and so that ruled out buying any hardcovers.
While in the paperback section, my husband reaches for a paperback, skims the back cover, and then holds it out to me.
I take it into my hands and begin to read what it’s about. I quickly learn that it’s about… guess what? Of course, it’s about vampires. Even the title SALEM’S LOT (by Stephen King) is ominous.
I remember shaking my head NO and muttering something to Frank that I didn’t like vampires. But unfortunately, he was most insistent.
“Read it,” he insisted as he continued to hold it out to me.
It had been a while since I read a book, and I had heard alot about this new author.
Besides, within a few days we I would find myself on a long voyage out east to Nova Scotia where Frank had been newly stationed. I thought the book might help break the monotony.
Sure enough, before I knew it, Frank and I were on our way to start a new life in a new province. The car was filled with all that we owned, clothes, music, and each other.
I think we were in the middle of Quebec when I first opened the book and began to read it. Oddly enough, when I think back, I remember reading it while listening to Art Garfunkel’s new album ANGEL CLAIRE.
As days went by, I delved further and further into the book. It became more and more bloody and increasingly difficult to bear. Every now and again, Frank would ask me how I was enjoying the book.
“It’s bloody scary.” I’d answer. He’d give me an odd look of puzzlement, which I could never really figure out.
At long last came the day when I finally, …finally finished SALEM’S LOT.
With a deep and heavy sigh, I closed the book for the last time. No doubt the visions of glowing eyes, and bloody necks would stay with me for a very long time.
To this day, whenever I hear Art Garfunkel, scenes from SALEMS’S LOT floods my senses.
“Well,” I began, “the first few chapters weren’t that gory, but boy by the middle of the book I was completely immersed in all the gory ritualistic details that make vampires the blood soaked individuals that they are.
Again, he gave me one of those quizzical looks.
With that, I recounted several high points of the plot… the ones ever etched in my mind and never to forget.