LIZ PERL, New York City, Director of Publicity for the Berkley Publishing Group

   I have a lot of great memories of working in the shop. I think of it often as I sit in meetings and listen to editors and sales directors screaming, or as I fight the subway crowd to get home at night. I think of the Saturday evenings sitting behind the desk listening to the Prairies Home Companion, talking about the latest Dick Francis with one of the regulars.

   Rhoda always had the radio tuned to NPR. Although the classical music did give the shop a dignified atmosphere, it bored my 22-year-old sensibilities. I used to switch the station to WTUL as soon as she would leave. I’d listen for her car, so that I could switch back before she’d return. She usually caught me, though. She’d come back in and immediately switch it back. I believe I tried to blame it on some rowdy customers, but she never bought it.

   One of my favorite visitors to the book shop was Mr. Williams. Mr. Williams was a wily old man with a big, cunning grin that made him look like Dr. Suess’ Grinch. Mr. Williams used to visit Rhoda to hit her up for money. I believe he started by doing odd jobs oddly, then simply began to solicit donations. Each request was accompanied by a fantastic story: He had been hit by a cart and needed medical assistance; his daughter had been hit by a car and needed medical assistance; his daughter hit somebody else with a car and needed bail money . . .

   One day, he ambled into the shop and approached Rhoda. "Hey, Mr. Williams. How’s it going?" she asked. "Not well," Mr. Williams moaned. "I really need some money. I gotta get up to Jackson to see my daughter." "You got to go up there again?!" Rhoda asked. "Yeah, it’s horrible. She got shot in the stomach." "That’s really horrible, Mr. Williams." "And she’s pregnant. Now she’s in the hospital–she’s bad, the baby’s bad, it’s bad." "Well, Mr. Williams, I’ll see if I can help you out."

   Rhoda gave Mr. Williams some money, I don’t remember how much. He thanked her and left the shop. "That was really nice of you, Rhoda," I said. "Except," Rhoda replied, "I believe that is the same daughter that was killed two months ago–then had twins last month."

   I left the book shop to move to New York. Once here, I figured that I would look into publishing since I had already begun with books. I got a job as a publicist at HarperCollins. I knew that I had less experience than many of the applicants. Once hired, I was told t doesn’t make me more popular, but I hope it opens their eyes. that it was my experience at the book shop that landed me the job. They

were thrilled that I had been out there ‘on the front lines.’ It’s amazing how many people are editing, marketing, and distributing books and have never actually sold a book to a customer, stocked a shelf, or placed an order. When some marketing genius unveils a design for a counter display that is three feet wide and two feet tall, I think of the little counter at Maple Street and ask, "Have you ever been in a book store?" It doesn’t make me more popular, but I hope it opens their eyes.

   I’m now the director of publicity for the Berkeley Publishing Group. We publish such authors as Tom Clancy, Dick Francis, John Sanford, Steve Martini, Lillian Jackson Braun, and many others. As I sneak through book stores and airport newsstands, turning my books face out, I remember the good old days of stocking the shelves, and I think of how much I would have hated it if some publisher’s rep came through after me rearranging shelves!