Happy birthday, Atticus Finch

Today is the 50th anniversary of the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird. It is the single most important book in my life.

I didn't read a book until I was 21 years old. It's true! They attempted to force-feed me while attending my below-average schools, but I made it clear that I would only read a book under protest and made every effort to not finish it. I usually succeeded.

Flash to age 21. I'm in the Coast Guard (no university for me, thanks!) and freshly arrived in New York City. I didn't know a soul. I'd not felt so isolated and all alone before or since. At that time, the city was a dirty, overwhelming, scary mess. But I got sick of sitting around and starring at my shoelaces, so I decided to go exploring.

I took the R train from Whitehall up to Central Park. On the way, I passed a street peddler who was selling books. I gave birth to, what I thought was, the most original and exciting idea ever conceived. I was going to sit in the park and read a book. I thought that voluntarily reading a book was a courageous act.

I looked over all the books spread out on the sidewalk (I can still picture it to this day) and saw a tattered, worn paperback of To Kill a Mockingbird. I remembered that some of my friends in school read it, so I thought I'd give it a try. Plus, it was really thin and that appealed to me.

I sat down on a Central Park bench, opened the book and began reading. I was a different man when I got up off that bench. It was a defining moment. That book sucked me in and I haven't stopped reading since. It opened a door for me. I became a reader because of To Kill a Mockingbird. What a gift!

In 2005 I got the notion to write Harper Lee and tell her how much her book meant to me. I wrote that, because of her book, I'm living a better life than someone without a college degree could have expected to live. I wrote that I am a better father to my daughters and honestly don't know what would have become of me if her book hadn't introduced me to reading. I worked hard on the letter and was pleased with the results.

Harper Lee is a recluse who shuns all publicity. All I knew was that she lives in Monroeville, Alabama, so I sent the letter to Harper Lee, c/o Monroeville, AL. I never expected it to arrive, much less be read by her, but I had to get that off my chest.

Just a few short days after I sent my letter, I received the following:



The fact that I moved Harper Lee to write such an elegant thank-you note is meaningful to me. The funny coda is that a few days after that, I received ANOTHER note from Ms. Lee. She couldn't remember whether or not she sent a thank-you note.

"Forgive me if this is a repeat letter; I'm old, my eyesight is failing and I'm FORGETFUL. I may have forgot that I replied to you, but I know one thing:

I'll never forget your letter. In 45 years of receiving fan mail, I never had a letter mean so much to me. Thank you for it."

Happy birthday, Atticus. Thanks for saving me from a boring life.