J.D. Salinger, 1919-2010: R.I.P.

J.D. Salnger, they’re reporting , has died. R.I.P Mr. Salinger, 1919-2010.

I was introduced to Salinger’s novel “The Catcher in the Rye” whlie still in high school. It wasn’t something that was assigned for class. Like much of the literature that I read at the time, Camus’ “The Stranger” and Orwell’s “Nineteen Eighty-Four” chiefly among the many books that littered my bookshelf, I stumbled upon it, probably through one of my classmates.

That was back in 1964, long after the novel was originally published in 1951. I didn’t stop there, of course. I wanted to drown myself in Salinger’s works, so I read his collection “Nine Stories,” his novel “Franny and Zooey” and his two novellas, “Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters” and “Seymour: An Introduction.”

While I loved the stories, appreciated the novel and scratched my head at the novellas, nothing could shake my love of “Catcher in the Rye.” Its portrayal of disaffected youth seemed to speak to me personally. Holden Caulfield’s melodramatic take on life, his tendency to think of his fantasies as preferable to reality and his bent for self-sacrifice - all of which he used as a defense against the deep grief he felt over the death of his young brother - had equivalents in my own life.

For some five years, I was never without a copy within easy reach. So, in remembrance of that, I offer another list: my top 10 lines from “The Catcher in the Rye” :

“What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by.  I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them.  I hate that.  I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it.  If you don’t, you feel even worse.” For a Navy brat, who attended 11 school in 12 years, I was always saying goodbye.

“I’m the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.  It’s awful.  If I’m on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I’m going, I’m liable to say I’m going to the opera.  It’s terrible.” I’ve never been much of a liar. But my oldest friend Ed was always good at it. We’d hitchhike and he’d tell the people who picked us up the wildest tales of “Butch” (him) and “Skip” (me).

“When I really worry about something, I don’t just fool around.  I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something.  Only, I don’t go.  I’m too worried to go.  I don’t want to interrupt my worrying to go.” Anxiety has been such a part of my life for so long that I only tend to notice it now when, for some strange reason, it’s gone.

“All morons hate it when you call them a moron.” Self-explanatory, right?

“In my mind, I’m probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw.” Holden may be striving for irony, here. But maybe not. Whatever. It feels right.

“Sex is something I really don’t understand too hot.  You never know where the hell you are.  I keep making up these sex rules for myself, and then I break them right away.  Last year I made a rule that I was going to quit horsing around with girls that, deep down, gave me a pain in the ass.  I broke it, though, the same week I made it - the same night, as a matter of fact.” Oh, hell, who hasn’t been here?

“I was half in love with her by the time we sat down.  That’s the thing about girls.  Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.  Girls.  Jesus Christ.  They can drive you crazy.  They really can. ” Enough said.

“Boy, when you’re dead, they really fix you up.  I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something.  Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery.  People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap.  Who wants flowers when you’re dead?  Nobody.” I’ve had a few friends die lately, so this has a fresh feeling for me. It captures my sentiments perfectly.

“I have a feeling that you’re riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall.  But I don’t honestly know what kind…. It may be the kind where, at the age of thirty, you sit in some bar hating everybody who comes in looking as if he might have played football in college.  Then again, you may pick up just enough education to hate people who say, ‘It’s a secret between he and I.’  Or you may end up in some business office, throwing paper clips at the nearest stenographer.  I just don’t know.” I can’t think of a line, except from Camus, that better captures the ungodly fear I had in high school of what horrors my future may have held.

“Don’t ever tell anybody anything.  If you do, you start missing everybody.” Strange sentiment. More like you start missing yourself. But close enough to feel right.

“I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all.  Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around - nobody big, I mean - except me.  And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.  What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.  That’s all I do all day.  I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all.  I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.” As a teenager, I couldn’t think of a better way to live my life. In truth, I still can’t.

Thank you, J.D. Salinger. Your books helped me transition through my awkward adolescent years. And I strongly suspect that I’m not alone in this.