One Man's view of Oz ! from an intrepid Ozophile.

by Ronald D. Rubin
(Davie,Florida, U.S.A.)

At almost 75 my recollections of the early day's, ie. 1940's are much clearer than last month or even yesterday. As a little kid in Germantown, Philadelphia right next to the Henry woods, I recall Mother reading Oz books to me. Then, in Deal New Jersey in the big house on Sydney Avenue next to the Ocean I recall being handed an Oz book from the seemingly endless supply high up in my Mothers closet. In those day's about 1942-1050 there were only two alternatives. "Go out and play". Or, "read".
Only four kid's in my whole town, two younger and two older in the fall and winter when the summer folks were gone. Bike riding, my mothers hand me down, heavy, old bike from the late 1920's or early 1930's and running about on the slippery rock jetties or walking the beach with my trusty pal, "Patsy" a black and white freckled cocker spanial.
That was it. On frequent stormy days or hot summer nights, no air conditioning and in winter the windows thrown wide. A "healthy" thing I was told, I read and read and read. Each new Oz book was an adventure, and now as an old guy I have em' all and am re-reading them with the same verve as when I was a kid.
Over intellectualizing a good tale is to me a strained and unnecesary task. Just enjoying and letting the story carry us away to lands unimagined and far away, seems more sensible and enjoyable pursuit.
All my life I have never been without a good book. From Bora Bora to Paris and now in sunny, southern Florida I fine a good story keeps me content and never lonely. From Oz to Tarzan, to Lord of the Rings, to Harry Potter, it's all good stuff to me. An ideal, non-Electro-Digital, way to quietly while away the hours. A pursuit which I highly reccomend.
So best wishes to all true Ozophiles, those who only wish to dream, and can accept that there are still things in this world which pale with over alalysis and should simply be enjoyed as was originally intended. Ron