pork is the sweetest meat

did I happen to mention...

A few people of late (hi mom!) have asked me why my dumb bloggie thing doesn't whisper a thing about my work as an editor and development pariah at the non-profit publishing company, Heyday Books. I suppose I was subconsciously separating my daytime book life from my OTHER nighttime book life, hence the psychosubversive division of personality.

For the past eight years (count 'em, eight!) I've worked diligently behind the stacks at Heyday, a true gem of a publisher based in good ol' Bezerkley, California. Heyday occupies a unique niche in the publishing world, specializing in books that encourage a deeper understanding of California's literary, historical, cultural, natural and social resources. It's a dream job, really, reading manuscripts all day about the era of prospecting miners and hard tack. Some of my favorite projects over the years have been the gorgeous photography and art books, the shepherding in a tiny poetry collection that went on to win big awards, and acquiring our fine list of books on Japanese American history. Seeing that I have unlimited work energy, I not only raised tons of money for our annual $1 million plus budget, launched a Central Valley writers' conference, published forgotten internment artists, helped a nature illustrator paint every living thing the Sierra Nevadas, culled photos from the California State Library's collection of snapshots of family photo albums, and mentored young book interns in our office, I also co-edited three books that were published in house.

The first, Only What We Could Carry, is an anthology of literature from and about the Japanese American internment experience. I shared the helm with Oregon's poet laureate, Lawson Fusao Inada, who is not so secretly also a Fresnan with a literary bent.












A year later, I researched and edited a collection of one of my favorite author's short stories, novellas, and letters: Toshio Mori.














And coming soon (by this summer) I will have a third research/editor title under my belt, when Heyday publishes the revised and updated 10th anniversary edition of Highway 99: A Literary Journey through California's Central Valley. My lovely co-editors on this are Stan Yogi (the original editor of Highway 99) and Gayle Mak.









If you're dying to know more about my writing, editing, and publishing experience with the aim of hiring me for your fabulous new magazine or chapbook, just give me a ring. I've got more book covers stuffed under my shirt.

In search of...Shigeyoshi Murao

photograph by Rob Lee.

As many of you know, I am deep in the shadowy, sometimes linty pockets of a major research project, which I hope will emerge intact as a published book. The hullabaloo concerns a certain cultural figure from San Francisco's past— a man named Shigeyoshi Murao.

Shig was the legendary bookstore manager of City Lights Books for over two decades. He was a consumate book man, a nisei who served in the Military Intelligence Service's occupation of Japan, and the man responsible for creating the very ambience, the "cool" of City Lights' physical space.

In 1956, City Lights owner and publisher Lawrence Ferlinghetti released poet Allen Ginsburg's book, "Howl", as Number Four in the Pocket Poets Series, which led to the arrest in May 1957 of Ferlinghetti and Shigeyoshi Murao on the charges of selling obscenity. "Howl" is often referred to as the "Beat Manifesto," and became one of the most influential books of twentieth century American poetry.









Against the background of heightened publicity, Judge Clayton W. Horn, a Sunday School bible teacher, found Ferlinghetti and Murao not guilty in October 1957, a triumph for twentieth century literature and the freedom of speech for generations to come.





Shigeyoshi, attorney Jake Ehrlich of the ACLU, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti at the trail.



I am actively seeking people who remember Shig (the omnipresent guy behind the counter) and who would be willing to be interviewed for this project, in exchange for a cuppa joe, a slice of pie, and my undying gratitude. Having never met the man (he died in 1999) I can only speculate about the depths of his extraordinary character and fierce pride, countered by a boundless capacity to share in his knowledge of books.