Several weeks ago I picked up a 10 cent western novel on a whim. It was by Louis L'Amour, who along with Zane Grey, were the only two writers I really associated with the western genre (excluding Bret Harte). I grew up on TV westerns, and pretty much liked them all indiscriminately, but aside from the Lonesome Dove series (which I LOVE), I never gave a fighting chance to westerns in print. I used to miss out on a lot of good food by having pre-conceived notions. I think I've missed a few good books in that same way. The L'Amour book I tried was The Man From the Broken Hills. For me, it shattered my stereotype and made me hunger for more. I thought it would be poorly written, trite, with gratuitous violence, and an obligatory romance. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But if that's all a western novel has to offer, I've got better things to read, thank you very much. But L'Amour really had a gift, as well as a passion for his subject. He was prolific in turning out what he called frontier novels, not western novels. Even after reading just one, I think his self-appraisal is accurate. And as with all manner of fiction, print has advantages in wealth of detail and character development that film can rarely approach.
Well, I'm not going to give you a plot summary. Rather, this blog is about a bit of serendipity that took place even while I was in the midst of my very first Louis L'Amour book. Here what happened:
When I was at Moore Regional Hospital playing the piano as a volunteer, a good friend and fellow volunteer named Jeanette mentioned how much she loved old westerns on TV. When I casually mentioned what I was reading, she said she had a whole box of Louis L'Amour novels in her basement that she'd like to give me. They had belonged to her first husband, long deceased, and she never intended to read them. The following week, she kept her promise. When I walked into the outpatient lobby she was showing three of the books to another volunteer. She held one up and waved, " I remembered!" I thanked her profusely, we talked a few moments, then I signed in. When I turned to the piano, I saw there was a cardboard box on the bench, completely full of more books. I had thought the three she had with her were all she could find. She got a good laugh out of her unintended gag. In all, there were 29 books, one of which was a short story collection. I don't think there's any author of whom I've read 29 books, no matter how much I liked him or her. And many authors haven't even written that many. So I consider this a lifetime supply. I truly have an instant book collection and I look forward to selecting the next Louis L'Amour as soon as I finish what I'm reading now, Sharptop.
Below is the array of my new collection.
If you'd care to know more of the biography of this talented writer of the American frontier, visit
Well, I'd better get busy.
I've got a lot of reading to do!
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