Rattlesnakes for Grandaddy
The spine smells musty, like wise paper. A first edition of Rattlesnakes by J. Frank Dobie. It opens, stiff, to pages the color of mid-day sand. No one has read this book. 59 years ago, Rattlesnakes was a gift for Grandaddy.
The cover opened easily to a child’s fine script, “To Grandaddy from Louise, Neal, Marsha and Rob and Prissy.” December 30, 1965. Grandchildren greeting Grandaddy after Christmas. Smiles, hugs, and the comfort of infrequent familiarity. A trip to East Texas for candy and watching westerns. A gift for a man that is not afraid of rattlesnakes.
Grandaddy didn’t read Rattlesnakes. He smiled at how big Louise had gotten. He told her how lovely the book was. He rattles off a few questions she delights in answering. He reminded her of the episode of Bonanza with the snake. She laughs and runs off. Rattlesnakes will hide on a shelf.
Grandaddy is gone now. Louise, in her 70s, has forgotten about J. Frank Dobie. This first edition came to me in plastic for $7. J. Frank Dobie told stories. He talked to people. He shared yarns of Texas, and snakes, and sin, and men. In these stories the skies are blue or black, but always clear to heaven. Grandaddy didn’t read stories about Rattlesnakes; he encountered plenty along his way.
Title Page from Rattlesnakes by J. Frank Dobie