Blast from the Past

Last Sunday’s Times Book Review repeated something it occasionally features: reprinting best seller lists from previous years. It’s interesting to see which books I’ve actually read and how the public’s reading tastes have changed over the years. Last Sunday’s entry was from a date very close to my own birthday: May 17, 1953 (I’m even older…). A couple of titles I recognized: The Silver Chalice, by Thomas Costain, The Silent World, by Jacques Cousteau. And a few that I would now consider classics: East of Eden, by John Steinbeck, The Caine Mutiny, by Herman Wouk and The Power of Positive Thinking, by Norman Vincent Peale. But there was one title that really jumped out at me.

Now, I confess that, unlike many of you, I didn’t like to read as a child. I was much happier roaming around outside barefoot, getting into trouble, than sitting inside for hours with a book in my hand. When it was time to choose something for the inevitable book report in school, I was usually at a loss as to what to read. The shorter the better was my rule of thumb. So, several years in a row, I chose this little book that sat on my mother’s bookshelves: Angel Unaware, by Dale Evans, wife of the famous TV cowboy, Roy Rogers, which happened to be number 9 on the non-fiction best seller list for May 17, 1953. It was the perfect choice, clocking in at just under 100 pages.

It is a terribly sad story, written from the viewpoint of a toddler who eventually died from complications of Down Syndrome. Being young myself and terrified by the concept of death, especially another child’s death, I was immediately drawn into this little book in a way that no other had been able to do. I have no idea what my teachers thought of my choice of reading material, but I did manage to pass from grade to grade without being sent to a child psychologist, so I guess they weren’t too alarmed.

I had totally forgotten about this book until I saw it referenced in the paper, but I can still picture the cover, with a photograph of the face of the little girl, Robin, who died. And now I wonder if it’s still sitting on my mother’s bookshelves. Must check that out on my next visit…