I began my PG Wodehouse book collection quite by accident. I’d just moved to Toronto for school, and had a yen for a bit of Plum. I only knew of Wodehouse in the Penguin editions because that was what my father’s collection consisted of and his Wodehouses were the only ones I had read at that point; and I knew that Canada had more Penguin books available than we had in the US.
Part of a ready-made collection currently offered for sale here.
I went from store to store with little success until a helpful clerk looked up Wodehouse in some mysterious directory, and noted that all the titles seemed to be from Barrie & Jenkins in the UK. He gave me their Canadian distributor’s address, I wrote to them, and they replied with a list of in-stock Wodehouse. The prices were rather odd—$4.95 or so. In 1971, when no paperback sold for more than $1.50 and hard covers were generally around $9.95, what in the world could cost $4.95?
Well, I took the plunge and ordered four titles (sorry—I can’t remember exactly which) and shortly received a box of four pristine British first editions. It was, of course, the work of a moment to write back and request the other titles, and those ten or so books became the nexus of my collection.
Once the bug bit and the fever was on, the next stop was used bookstores. Toronto had several on Queen Street where I picked up a few volumes; and by the time I graduated from university my collection was well on its way. Returning to the US, I soon found that booksellers Charles Gould and “Frits” Menschaar (of blessed memory) had numerous treasures available; and as my income increased, so did my collection, thanks mostly to those fine gentlemen.
Luck intervened again when the James Heineman collection came under the gavel a mere two or three months after I sold my company and was flush with cash. I won’t take time here to tell the whole story of attending that auction other than to say it was one of the most memorable days of my life. I bought several lots and my collection expanded considerably.
My first edition collection—American and British, with some Canadian firsts thrown in for good measure—wasn’t absolutely complete, as I never could manage The Globe By the Way Book or The Man with Two Left Feet. I had all the others, though, along with most Omnibus firsts and other unusual stuff, and my collection ultimately numbered over 700 volumes.
However, the pride of my collection wasn’t the books, but items I’ve learned are referred to as ephemera: Wodehouse’s waistcoat (which I wear with my tux at all Wodehouse-related formal events); the engraved invitation sent by Oxford to PGW to come collect his honorary PhD (which I’ve donated to the Vanderbilt University Special Collections); the photos of Ethel and Leonora which he kept on his desk (also now at Vandy); and the complete collection of Jill Krementz’s photos, taken shortly before he died—all signed and authenticated by Ms Krementz (about half of which are now sold or donated).
With time, I began to wonder who in my family should inherit my collection. It soon became obvious that the answer to that was “Nobody.” My children (who read on screens and collect nothing) admired it, but wanted no part of it. I’d begun to offload some items to Vanderbilt, but things went into high gear this past summer when we suddenly sold our Detroit place and I had less than a month to sell off the entire collection. Which I did—at what I considered bargain basement prices, but c’est la vie…and now the collection is broken, and its pieces scattered to either Vandy or new Wodehousean homes where they will be appreciated.
Such is the life of a collector. I wonder what Uncle Tom did with all his silver what-nots…..
—Elliott Milstein
A marvelous post! Thank you!