Lucky 67

Today is Stephen King's 67th birthday. I've loved Stephen King most of my life. I inherited most of my first books from my uncle Doug, who had gone away to school and my grandparents shipped a carton of his old books to my Dad's house. I remember loving the lurid covers, and putting them on my shelf next to the kiddie horror books by Daniel Cohen and, of course, my Judy Blumes and Roald Dahls and Beverly Clearys. I never really intended to READ them - there was a book called It that was over 1,000 pages! And still they sat there, enticing me.

One day, bored (I got bored back then), I pulled Night Shift off the shelf and decided to try reading a few of the short stories. "Strawberry Spring" grabbed me at once. "I Am the Doorway" was like science fiction I'd never read, full of body horror and squeamishness. "The Man Who Loved Flowers," a straightforward story about a psychopath, became one of the templates on which much of my early high school fiction was written.

Three of my earliest SK books. Christine is the newest, from 1990. Drawing of the Three came from 1988, while I got Night Shift in 1997 - 27 years ago.

Eventually, I selected The Bachman Books and read Rage, with which I could immediately identify (but benignly). Then, all at once, I gave It a try. And fell in love.

I never looked back. For about seven years, Stephen King was ALL I read. Limiting, yes. But he had so many books that it almost didn't matter. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was go to the bookstore on Saturday afternoon and buy myself a “new” Stephen King book, then buy myself a movie ticket for a couple hours away and sit on the steps of the movie theater and read my book. I distinctly remember doing that with The Dead Zone and Back to the Future, Part 2. Christmas of 1990, my Mom gave me the first two hardcovers that were ever bought just for me: The Stand and Four Past Midnight. (That year, I also got Danse Macabre, The Gunslinger, and, from my Auntie Marg, Christine. Best. Christmas.)

At some point in my fifteenth year, I got a paper route and was suddenly rich, and could afford to buy myself hardcovers. I remember walking into Infinity Books in Quincy Center and pointing to Needful Things the day it came out and saying, “Yes, I would very much like that book, please.” And walking out of the store! With a hardcover novel!

I’ve loved this writer for most of my life. Very few things have brought me as much joy and sustainable satisfaction as this man’s body of work. Happy birthday, Stephen King. May you write forever.