Allan Stypeck remembers with amusement what it was like, in the spring of 1976, to set up his wares at a table on the first day of the first year of the Washington Antiquarian Book Fair. As far as anyone knew, such an event had never been held here, and its organizers and dealers, including Stypeck -- who owns the area's three Second Story Books stores -- had no idea what to expect. That uncertainty, it turns out, was shared by the fair's first patrons.
"Sure enough, we had people waiting in a line with these maniacal looks on their faces and carrying bags to hold all the bargains they were going to get," Stypeck says. "They rushed in and were literally pushing past each other and jumping at the books. They picked up the books, turned them over, and then they just froze in place." What froze them in place were the prices -- three and four digits, when they'd expected one or two -- as well as the pristine quality of many of the books, nay, artifacts for sale.
Allen Stypeck owns the region's three Second Story Books stores and also appraises rare-book collections.
(Scott Sullivan)
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And therein lies the difference between a book sale -- where dealers try to move as much product as possible, at bargain-basement prices -- and a rare-book fair, a different animal altogether. At the latter, patrons view prized and coddled specimens, a small selection culled from a dealer's entire stock: books that are rare (think signed first editions) or antiquarian (think 18th century or earlier) or in many cases both. Not all of the items for sale at this year's fair will cost a couple of thousand dollars, but neither are they there for the purposes of grabbing and stuffing.
"I really wish we could have had a video of these faces," Stypeck continues. "They dropped the books like they were on fire -- and then they noticed the ties and the nice clothing, the flowers on the tables. The crowd sort of rhythmed themselves to the event and slowed down and started to really look at what was there."
In a way, slowing down and looking at what is really there is the raison d'etre of the Washington Antiquarian Book Fair, which this year celebrates its 30th installment. But the event, held Friday and Saturday at the Holiday Inn Rosslyn near the Key Bridge, has other worthy goals on its mind.
It was originally organized by three people: Jo Ann Reisler, a Vienna-based dealer in rare children's books and illustrations; Willis Van Devanter, an expert rare-book appraiser; and Nancy Israel, an aficionado of paper collectibles who also co-founded the Concord Hill School, a small private school in Chevy Chase for 3-year-olds to third-graders. Since 1987, the school has called a renovated church on Wisconsin Avenue home, but in the early days it was an itinerant affair, so much so that Israel says she "can't remember off the top of my head where we were in 1976. That tells you something."
Around that time, Israel and her husband, Phil, as well as Van Devanter, Phil's former classmate at St. Albans, met at a cocktail party and bemoaned the fact that cities such as New York, Boston, Los Angeles and San Francisco all had rare-book fairs but Washington didn't. A successful local book fair would not only be a good way to raise money for a home for Concord Hill; it also would fill a community need.
"Concord Hill was such a small school then and had no adult alumni, of course," Israel remembers. "And we still had a small parent group, so we were looking for a fundraiser. We wanted an event that fit with the theme of education, and rare books were perfect. There was very little lead time that first year, but we managed to get a good crowd, and I think the reputation has only grown since." Then as now, proceeds from ticket sales and table rentals by dealers go to the school.
In recent years the fair's weekend attendance has held steady at between 1,500 and 2,000 customers. Some are browsers, others are researchers looking for an elusive source text, but most are collectors in search of "finds" among the fair's eclectic array of items. There are plenty of books, of course -- from first editions of novels to original manuscripts, to tomes predating the invention of movable type, to "artists' books" prized mainly for their decorative value -- but also illustrations and prints, maps, autographs and what experts call "paper ephemera": postcards, posters, old calendars, greeting cards, sheet music, menus, and anything else printed on paper and designed to be discarded after use.
About a third of the more than 70 dealers in attendance are based within an afternoon's drive of Washington, but the rest hail from points more distant -- some from as far away as Quebec, Florida or Washington state. And while a few of the dealers are hobbyists and some are second careerists, most are entrepreneurs engaged in a moneymaking endeavor, such as it is. ("It's a tough business to make money in, but it's a great way to avoid the real world," Stypeck says.)
What unites these sellers is their love of books as things. Ask any one of them about his or her favorite novel and you'll probably be the recipient of a little gentle correction. It's the object itself that's the point. This is a world, you quickly discover, where judging a book by its cover is not only acceptable -- it's mandatory.
"The idea of a book fair is to be exposed to the sensory pleasures old books bring," says Ron Lieberman, who with his wife, Isabel, owns and runs a store called the Family Album out of a circa 1750 stone mill in Lancaster County, Pa. "The smell and feel of the leather, the thick paper. I try to teach people that [a fair is] a great place to touch stuff you normally can't touch, stuff that seems like it should belong in a museum."
The Liebermans, Stypeck and Rhode Island dealer Bernie Gordon are members of an exclusive club: They are the only three exhibitors to attend the fair each of its 30 years. (Reisler and her husband, Don, made it for the first 29; other commitments will keep them away this time, but they plan to return next year and "many years thereafter.") All these stalwarts have been involved in rare books for quite a while, which means that they've managed (miraculously, it seems) to avoid the temptation to become all-out collectors themselves.
"When I was growing up, I wanted to be an archaeologist until I figured out that you had to give everything back," Stypeck says. "Sometimes when you're surrounded by all these great books, you start to become like Daffy Duck. You know -- 'Mine-mine-mine-mine- mine.' But I somehow keep resisting the urge."
