Vol. 35 No. 2 1968 - page 316

316
CALVIN ISRAEL
compelled to approach him and to try to solve the small mystery. With
as much bravado as I could muster, I strolled up casually and spoke
to him.
"Hello, Mr. Faulkner."
His eyes flicked up at me quickly and withdrew. He made the
barest nod with his head and was silent. Directly in front of me at
Faulkner's left was an empty space, and I was hoping that he would
ask me to sit down. He didn't. I shifted nervously and was about to
say some polite word of goodbye when his eyes snapped up at me
again.
"Do you go to college, son? Over there?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm a senior, but not over there - I go to CCNY."
This time his eyes held mine and he repeated the college's name
as I had given it. The last letter came out softly and sounded like
wah.
"I'm an English major," I added. "American literature."
"Oh," Faulkner said softly again. Then, he repeated what I had
said last. The word
literature
came out in three syllables and seemed to
end
ooh
as he said it to himself. "What's your name?"
"Calvin Israe1."
He gave me a puzzled look, repeated my name and smiled. "I'm
MAKING
IT
"A FASCINATING, COURAGEOUS AND,
YES, BRILLIANT intellectual foray into re–
cent literary history and the phenomenon
of success. An important clue to the ideas
and values that have so deeply influenced
our present cultural outlook, a book that
will be thought about long after the amused
and envious chattering dies ... a curious,
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-Eliot Fremont-Smith,
New York Times
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"Stands out among life
stories of present-day
young men ... brilliant,
absorbing."
-Publishers' Weekly
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~
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