The Back Page: You Ain’t No Koontz.

Ott, Bill (author).

A few weeks ago, I was sitting at the Green Mill, a jazz bar in Chicago, with Keir Graff and Frank Sennett, editor of Time Out Chicago (and a longtime Booklist contributor). Perhaps it was that second Manhattan, but Frank seemed excited about the upcoming publication of a collection of my Back Page columns.

“That’s great, Bill,” Frank said. “You should do something to celebrate. Maybe a book-launch party?”

“I don’t know, Frank,” I cautioned. “The book is published by ALA Editions, not Random House, and ALA doesn’t really do launch parties.”

Not deterred—and I’m sure this had plenty to do with the recently arrived third round of Manhattans—Frank had a new idea. “Maybe Time Out could do a party. I’ll talk to our marketing people.”

More protestations from me did nothing to quell the rising tide of enthusiasm, and by that time, the pizza Keir had ordered from a joint down the street had arrived. The topic changed to whether we should stay for the first set from the organist who was assembling his troops on the bandstand. A longtime opponent of jazz organ, I declined.

Later that week, I heard that Frank had talked to his marketing people and wanted to go ahead with plans to host a launch party for The Back Page in Pritzker Park, just north of Harold Washington Library in Chicago’s Loop. Still a bit mystified over the concept but never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I accepted the odd fact that my little clip book of Booklist columns was going to be “launched.”

Ah, but there were problems. Chicago may be the City That Works, but it works very slowly. By the time permission to use the park finally arrived, we were only a few days from the scheduled date, a Sunday night during ALA’s Annual Conference, held in Chicago this year. And one more thing: it turns out there’s a no-booze rule for events held in most Chicago parks. As any regular reader of the Back Page should know, such a rule goes completely against my most deep-seated belief in our inalienable right to pursue happiness from a bottle.

After nearly 30 years with Booklist, I’ve had the pleasure of attending many author parties, and, frankly, I thought I knew the drill pretty well: indoor events tend to be in air-conditioned, nicely appointed hotel ballrooms of one kind or another; the outdoor version, most often, is in a tent, usually with waiters scurrying about with drinks and trays of hors d’oeuvres. My Back Page party went a different way. There had been talk of tents, but the permission delays scuttled that. In fact, when I arrived at Pritzker Park about 15 minutes before the launch was due to lift off, there were no signs whatsoever of imminent merrymaking. The assembled crowd broke into three categories: Booklist employees, 4; author’s daughter, 1; “urban outdoorsmen,” 50. The Time Out team, hosts of the affair, were nowhere in evidence. A few minutes later, though, Frank and his marketing person (down from “people”) were spotted pushing a wheeled vehicle, something in the hot-dog-cart family, into the park. Party time!

The hot-dog cart contained a case of bottled water, a couple packages of Brownie Bits, a portable PA system, and a Time Out Chicago sign. We unpacked our supply of books ready for autographing, laid them on the cart (alongside the Brownie Bits), and declared ourselves open for business. The promised program, Frank interviewing me, was in jeopardy until one of the park denizens kindly retrieved his recharged cell phone, leaving the only available outlet free for our use.

Gradually, the ratio of book launchers to urban outdoorsmen began to change a bit, thanks both to the arrival of a few of the former and the departure of a handful of the latter, seemingly disgruntled by this sudden disruption of their routine. As it turned out, though, not all of the hardy souls with whom we were sharing the park were uninterested in literary matters. This became clear when one of them shouted in my direction, “Did you write that book?” I replied that I did. He asked what it was about, and I made a game attempt to describe the Back Page. “How much does it cost?” he wondered. “Special party price of twenty dollars,” he was told.

“Twenty dollars!” he exclaimed, aghast. “You ain’t no Koontz!”

A funny thing happened as more guests started arriving at the park. When I first saw the venue, I admit I was verging on panic. Quickly, I went from worrying no one would show up to fearing the opposite. But as the crowd, such as it was, started to grow, the looks of shock or puzzlement gave way first to laughter and then to something that looked very much like enjoyment. This wasn’t your average book party, that’s for sure. The idea of combining book-talking with a sort of urban happening suddenly had become fun, even without booze. Some mild panhandling aside, our remaining park denizens seemed modestly interested in the proceedings—until they weren’t. That moment came with an exclamation point when one of the outdoorsmen strode to a grassy patch just behind the spot where I was declaiming on where I get my ideas and proceeded to relieve himself. I’m guessing that never happened at one of James Patterson’s soirees.

Thanks every bit as much, I’m sure, to the guy who peed as to the author who declaimed, a good time was had by all. I certainly overcame my initial concerns and realized that Time Out Chicago knows how to throw a good party. And I think we all were reaffirmed in our belief that interest in books and reading crosses all social and economic demarcation points. As if to drive that point home further, a woman wandered through the gathering selling her poems for $3 each. She couldn’t claim to be Koontz, either, but she knew something about price points.