As a book editor, sometimes I have to ask the author on whose book I’m working if a certain passage used in the manuscript is entirely original, or if it may have been borrowed from another source, even if unintentionally. 

In fact, one time I had to ask if a particular story idea was actually inherited from someone else! 

Full disclosure: the person I had to ask was me. 

Here’s a true-life tale that addresses that odd question. But to get into it properly, first we have to take a quick trip back to the Sixties. Welcome aboard.  

I was awakened by my parents just twice when I was a kid after having already gone to sleep: once when Neil Armstrong jumped off the ladder of the Lunar Module. Mom and dad knew that I was a space nut and would never forgive them if I missed that historic broadcast. The second time was when my grandfather appeared on “The Joe Franklin Show” on New York’s WOR-TV to demonstrate his latest invention: a pair of hot pants that steamed up whenever a pretty girl passed by. My parents knew how much I enjoyed Grandpa Benny and that I would never forgive them if I missed his live performance. 

Sure, I’d be tired the next day at school, but I didn’t care. After all, my grandfather was on television! How many of my friends could say the same thing about their own grandfathers? Theirs sold suits or were retired. Mine was no ordinary grandpa. Ordinary grandpas sat around grumbling about social security. Mine wrote books like “What Men Know About Women,” which was comprised entirely of blank pages. Most grandfathers sat around watching television. Mine continued to write songs like “Everybody Wants My Fanny,” “A Goose for My Girl,” “Home Again (Without Pants)” and “Shaving Cream.” As a musical entrepreneur Benny Bell (his stage name) wrote, recorded, packaged, promoted and distributed his own records, which numbered more than a hundred.

My grandfather’s job, as he saw it, was to make people laugh with his music, his inventions, his silly jokes and nutty stories. I enjoyed him very much, and my parents understood that, which is why they knew they would have to wake me up that night, when he wore his hot pants for Joe Franklin. What they didn’t know was that I was terribly confused by the message they drummed into my head throughout my entire childhood:

“God forbid that you should ever turn out to be anything like your grandfather.”

            As I grew up, I learned that my grandfather was an incredibly stubborn and paranoid man, impetuous with his career decisions, narrow minded in his choice of projects, and steadfastly disdainful of anyone’s professional advice. Looking back, I am now convinced that these traits were among those that made “The Joe Franklin Show” the pinnacle of his television career, and why “Shaving Cream” was his only record to reach a national radio audience. I came to realize, at long last, that my parents feared that I would somehow inherit Benny Bell’s obstinacy and mistrust. They must have wondered if those were qualities that would eventually define my own life and career. They were scared for me. 

            When I reached adulthood, I summarily dismissed my parents’ fear. After all, unlike my grandfather, I accepted jobs that would support my family well, even though they were not my dream jobs. Unlike him, I eagerly accepted help and advice, direction and criticism, from many qualified experts as a way of trying to reach a professional goal or two. 

            I was not my grandfather. My parents were crazy. Of that I was convinced. 

            Many years ago, I was given the opportunity to write a book about hiim. For research I went through his papers and notebooks, hundreds of which I kept in a file cabinet in my basement. He had given them to me shortly before he passed away in 1999. I came across a small, thin, yellowed pamphlet that he wrote and copyrighted in 1925 titled “Hobo’s Union.” It was a tongue-in-cheek, eight-page rulebook for prospective members of an organization designed specifically for bums. 

It startled me. It frightened me. Here’s why.

Several years before that I had written a series of short plays collectively called “Six Tens from a Fifty,” which was performed by a small theater company in Manhattan. One of the pieces was titled “Homeless Equity.” It was about two people—a transient and his businessman companion—who try to raise money to build an organization that would do for indigents what Actor’s Equity does for stage performers. The thing is, I had never seen the “Hobo’s Union” booklet before writing that play. I came across it for the first time when I began researching my grandfather’s life.  

I inherited Grandpa Benny’s red hair, his love of music, even his vocal inflections. Those are the kind of things we agree can be inherited. 

But weird story ideas? 

            Maybe my parents weren’t so crazy after all.  

Joel’s weblog about his book editing service can be found at https://book-editing-by-joel.blogspot.com/2020/08/never-underestimate-power-of-good.html.

His book, “Grandpa Had a Long One: Personal Notes on the Life, Career & Legacy of Benny Bell” (BearManor Media, 2008), is available on Amazon.

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