There is a quote that appears
near the St. Clair Street entrance to the Indianapolis Central Library. The other day I received a note from Charles Chigna a celebrated writer of children’s and young adult literature saying
“great quote.” It was with trepidation that I accepted the compliment. I’ve seen the quote before in various places
credited to me. I was puzzled, but I wasn’t concerned. I went on about my business,figuring it was a fluke on the Internet. It was no big deal until someone, a real
person, complimented me. Suddenly I wondered if I were a scoundrel and
plagiarist. Or, did I write it? That might seem strange to you. How could I
not know if I wrote it.
Periodically, I Google myself. (And
the truth is, it can be painful.) I
check to see if my novels still appear and what, if anything, is being said
about the sixteen or so in print. This is how I first discovered the above
quote was attributed to me and why, until now, I considered it no big deal. The
reason was maybe, just maybe, I wrote it. I have periodically written the
lyrics of a fictional song in order to avoid going through the bureaucratic
rigamarole of getting permissions to use a real one. I have also written poetry to put in a
fictional character’s diary. I’ve
written fictional news stories to be read by fictional characters over a
fictional breakfast — all to establish character or move the plot along. A quote
with the above sentiment is consistent with stories of my aging private eye who
regularly finds the things he loves disappearing from his life. But, did I
write these quotable and surprisingly popular lines?
Not likely.
Indianapolis Central Library |
Mr. Ghigna sent along a photo of
that quote. It was carved in stone. I
asked him where the photo was taken. He
replied that it was the Indianapolis Central Library. Made sense in a tangential way. The library was a hangout of mine. I lived
behind the library in the Ambassador apartments for a few years. The library
was my second home. In fact, I used the grand old library as a setting for
scenes in various books. But a quote of mine carved in stone? Again, not
likely. First, even as a Hoosier writer, I don’t come close to having the literary
stature. Second, that area of the library was constructed in 1917, the year of
my father’s birth. That means I couldn’t have written it. How did I end up with the credit? The truth
had to be that the verse appeared in one of my novels. Which one? Did I take it and not give credit?
I don’t have all my early books in digital format. Searching therefore was a
boring, manual task. I could narrow it to one of the Shanahan private eye
novels because of the Indianapolis connection. So all I had to do was sort
through 600,000 words.
I thought for sure it had to be
in Nickel-plated Soul. The book is about those things that slowly,
sneakily disappear before we do. Homes, family, careers, friends, loves, optimism.
Little things too. A favorite
restaurant, maybe. A movie theater. A magazine, a tree, even a candy bar, not
to mention memory itself. And
Nickel-Plated Soul is about a man’s heroic or foolish refusal to accept a
loss.
I was right that it was in a
Shanahan book. Going through them one by
one, I finally found the passage in Concrete
Pillow.
“…. She had to see him, but she was frightened just the same. This meeting would be anything but casual. She looked back to the doors she had just gone
through as if to make sure they hadn’t closed behind her. Above the entrance was a poem chiseled into
the base of a huge clock:
TIME BY MINUTES SLIPS AWAY
FIRST THE HOUR THEN THE DAY
SMALL THE DAILY LOSS APPEARS
YET SOON IT AMOUNTS TO YEARS”
There was no credit line in the
actual inscription. If there were I would have used it. In my novel, written 20
years ago, I merely described what was there, apparently. And also, apparently, someone gave me the
credit because I wrote the book in which the poem was printed. Repeated
searches using the lines of the poem yielded nothing that would lead to the
real author of it. Instead, my name kept popping up.
My guess is that those aggregating
quotes for their web sites were content to copy from one another. Someone
mistakenly credited the lines to me and the misappropriation was multiplied through
the ubiquity of the Net. As Tolstoy said, “You can’t believe everything you
read on the Internet.”
All this is timely: The poem comes
back to haunt me now when it has deeper relevance, when so much is slipping
away and as I spend endless hours sorting through old letters, photographs and
other papers.
Now for the obvious — perhaps
the first call a good private eye would have made given this question would
have been to the library. When that finally dawned on me, I contacted the
friendly librarians in Indianapolis. They didn’t know. After some scurrying,
huddling and laughter, they found it.
This quote, immortalized by chisel below a large clock at the beautiful
and now exquisitely expanded downtown Indianapolis library, is from a 1779 hymn
by John Newton, who also wrote “Amazing Grace.”
Incidentally, John Newton’s personal story is extraordinary and alone
well worth the effort I took to solve the mystery.
I’ll do my best to contact the various
quote-oriented web sites to see if I can correct the self-perpetuating error.
Meanwhile, any thought that in the reference books full of eloquent quotes the name
Tierney will not appear between Thoreau and Tolstoy. Drat!
1 comment:
While that's a mighty profound quote, I'm not sure I'd get all excited about its origins. I mean really. It's kind of ho-hum poetry with questionable meter. If you're going to lay claim to a quote, make it a good one! For me, I've always liked "At 45, you can't just decide to start calling yourself 'Skippy'." And no, that's not my utterance. It's just so..so..ponderable!
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