Since news broke yesterday of the death of J.D. Salinger at the ripe old age of 91 (evidently, his hermit-like existence and obsession with holistic medicine speak to some evidence of aiding in longevity...though he did not make it to 120), memories have been pouring forth. Which is interesting, considering the reclusive author rarely left his New Hampshire farmhouse after withdrawal from public life.
It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a "phony", in the words of Holden Caulfield.
I am touched by this man's desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.
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