That’s the way it was for me, and many readers apparently, when I read J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. At a time when I was maneuvering from the shallow end of the pool, under the rope, down the slippery slope toward the adult end of the pool, I found Holden Caulfield. Scared and exhilarated at the same time, Holden and I were kindred spirits. I could hear my voice in his.
Sophomore year at John Dewey High School, 1979, I sign up for Generation Gap with Mr. Levy. Mr. Levy was part linebacker, part motivational speaker. He had meaty hands, an adam’s apple the size of a real apple and a booming voice that would wake any snoozing teen. We had multiple deans to handle discipline at Dewey and Levy was one of them; he was scary but smart. He was the kind of guy you don’t want to let down. Early spring in Brooklyn, the air is warm and full of blossoms, hormones are coursing and high schoolers are acting goofy. It’s Friday, our English class has just finished The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (also one of my favs) and Levy goes into the closet and takes out a stack of paperbacks. I recognize the maroon rectangles, stamped with JDHS on the binding from our school hallways. He passes out our next book, The Catcher in the Rye printed in yellow on the cover. A few students groan as Mr. Levy gives us an assignment for the weekend.
No need to have assigned anything; I crack the book on the F train on the way home. I had my homework finished before I reached the Church Ave stop, 50 minutes away. Back home on East 4th, I toss my books on my bed, grab a snack and head outside. I play roller hockey with my buddies for a few hours, and then we knock off for dinner.
After dinner, my sister Julie says to me, “I am staying at Sandra’s tonight if you want to use my room you can.” Julie, 15 months younger than me, is the lone female of the Spinner siblings so she had her own bedroom. My brothers, and I shared a room, three boys, one bedroom. It wasn’t too bad sharing a room but Jeff and Jerry were significantly younger so if I wanted to stay up and read or listen to music, my sis knew her room would be a nice option. I always appreciated that.
After curfew, I came in, watched Fantasy Island with my parents for a bit and then went into Julie’s room. It always took a few minutes to remove the pillows and stuffed animals, my sister loved frogs. After setting up the bed, I tune the stereo to WNEW 102.7, to hear Carol Miller playing the latest rock. And I picked up The Catcher in the Rye. I continued to be intrigued by Holden. He talked like me. He used words like crap, and his sentences ended with and all. Like this, when we find out he's leaving school...“I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I wasn’t supposed to come back after Christmas vacation on account of I was flunking four subjects and not applying myself and all.” He had opinions and theories about everything. Holden, clinging to his childhood and hurtling to adulthood at the same time: rebellious, content, confused, angry, happy, sad. A lot like someone else I knew.
I loved reading Holden, talking to me as he picks apart the hypocrisy in the advertisement for Pencey Prep, “You probably heard of it. You’ve probably seen the ads, anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines, always showing some hot-shot guy on a horse jumping over a fence. Like as if all you ever did at Pencey was play polo all the time. I never even once saw a horse anywhere near the place.” Salinger had me, I had never read anything like it.
This wicked-smart underachiever was figuring out the world. He had some answers and he was confused about a lot of things. He was cocky and immature all at the same time. He categorized people, just like we all were doing. I remember thinking, he’s funny and all but where would Holden fit in with my friends? Would I even hang out with him? I loved when he talked about his suitemate in the early scenes. Salinger is opening up a world of prep schools, rep ties and Park Avenue but it seems eerily similar to my world, boys finding their way. Thirty years later, I don’t even have to return to the book to know that Holden toyed with his suitemate, the ever annoying Ackley. Ackley was 18 and a senior, picking his zits and hovering around the room, never knowing when to leave. Holden was 16 and a sophomore but Caulfield insisted on calling him Ackley Kid, just to needle him! He’s doing it on purpose! How freaking funny is that?
I read the book in one night; the first time that happened, besides Where the Wild Things Are. I don’t know what time I finished…2:30? 3:00? I just know I couldn’t put it down, I read until my eyes were burning. I couldn’t wait to get to school Monday morning to discuss the book.
Class on Monday, surrounded by other sophomores; was my first experience with what felt like literary analysis. In our class discussions with Mr. Levy I was on point; I knew the book, and the characters. I could see the many symbols; like Holden clinging to his childhood, typified in his relationship with Phoebe, his little sister. A whole new reading world opened up, like removing the training wheels on my bike. And Mr. Levy validated my feedback, he was impressed. Years later, when I was in his dean’s office for burning Dolores Sigelakis's picture of her boyfriend (that's a story for another time) he said, “Spinner, what are you doing? You’re a smart guy. You should know better.” He looked me in the eye with a little disappointment and sent me on my way, didn't even punish me!
At the end of the book, I was echoing Holden when he said, “What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.” When I was 16, I wanted to call J. D. Salinger and thank him. I wanted to tell him that I was glad that he wrote Catcher and that it helped me through some tough times. I envisioned, in my 16 year old egotism, that I could be the one to pull him out of his self-imposed seclusion. I would take the bus from Port Authority, kind of Holden-like I suppose, and zip up to New Hampshire. I’d just hang around the post office or the General Store until I bumped into old Jerome David Salinger. And I’d look him in the eye and tell him how much his book meant to me and all.
Rest in Peace J.D. Salinger.
Tell me about the books that moved you, the books that spoke to you, the books that changed your life…
