The Choice by Og Mandino

Author:Og Mandino [Mandino, Og]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-78086-7
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

The card, like the first one, was signed A. B. Salom. None of the clerks could recall handling the envelope or placing it in my box. I crumbled both card and envelope into a ball and dropped it into a standing brass ashtray before stepping out into the blinding Phoenix sunlight.

XII

LATE IN MARCH, 1982, CHARLES BERGEN, ACCOMPANIED by David Coronet, president of Goliath Books, largest paperback publisher in the world, arrived unexpectedly at our front door. Charles lamely apologized for the surprise visit, but Louise and I were so happy to finally meet the guy that we welcomed him as if he were the prodigal son. Of course, it took us a little while to adjust to his appearance. Because of his perpetually hoarse voice and his speech patterns, as I have already mentioned, we had visualized an old man, and yet Charles was scarcely in his thirties, walked with the effortless ease of an athlete, wore tight-fitting designer jeans and a black cashmere jacket. Hardly the typical publisher’s image.

David Coronet, on the other hand, was perfect casting. His slim waist tapered up to massive shoulders, slightly rounded, on which was perched a square-jawed, heavily lined face beneath a shock of pure white undisciplined hair. Even his dark blue pin-striped suit and deep baritone voice seemed perfectly in character for this legendary publishing genius who had built Goliath Books, almost single-handedly, into a publishing giant in less than twenty years.

Eventually, as with most of our visitors, the usual tour of house and grounds ended at the lighthouse, where Louise served us coffee and rolls before dashing off to pick up Glenn at high school.

David Coronet leaned back on the couch, unbuttoned his straining jacket, crossed his knees, and raised his cup above his head. “Marvelous—all of this! The Tower of Success! Perfectly named. Everything—the hilltop, your home, this lighthouse—just as so many articles have described them. And you and Louise, Mark, exactly as I hoped you would be, charming, unpretentious—truly down-to-earth. It’s great to be here!”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to have both of you drop in on us.”

“I knew Joshua Croydon many years ago,” the old publisher said. “Almost put out a whole series of his books for kids. He was a bright and talented man. Had much to say and said it well. And to think that all of his well-turned sentences originated here.”

I pointed toward my desk. “That was his typewriter. A gift to me from his wife.”

Coronet rose, walked slowly to the desk, and lightly tapped several keys on the Underwood. “And you wrote A Better Way to Live on this relic?”

“Every word.”

“Amazing! Do you suppose that you could have written the same book on another typewriter and in another setting?”

That was a question no one had ever asked me. “Well, I can’t remember any occasion when the ghost of Joshua Croydon reached over my shoulder and tapped out a couple of paragraphs for me, if that’s what you’re suggesting. This was the man’s studio, and that was his typewriter, but the book, I can assure you, is all mine.

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