Occasionally, I would read one just to break up the monotony of Stephen King and Dean Koontz, but sifting through the books was the real pleasure for me at that age. There were also stacks of boxes spilling over with western paperbacks. In an unfinished guest bedroom, there were leaning stacks of welding manuals and plastic bins of old bolts. I can still remember summer days walking up our creaky staircase, hoping to discover something new or exciting about my humble, and often very quiet, father. On the Paperback Warrior Podcast, and on this very blog, I've often reminisced about my early childhood and my father's love of 20th century paperbacks.
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