“Gary Werne! Not again!”

My husband got a nervous look on his face, but quickly replied:

“Those boxes aren’t for me. They’re for Mr. Wense.”

Several boxes had arrived that day from multiple mail-order book clubs. Another batch of books we had not ordered, from book clubs of which Gary was already a member.

Gary, who never before nor since has shown the least sign of sneakiness, was simply the victim of a mailing-list typo.

Flash back to 41 years ago when we first met. It was the spring of 1981 and I’d invited my beau over to dinner for the first time. He noticed that my deep windowsills were full of books and asked hopefully, “Do you like to read?”

Before dessert was over, I’d introduced my future husband to the delights of mail-order book clubs. The Doubleday Book Club and The Literary Guild. Gary had no clue how they worked, but thought it sounded like a great idea. In rural Indiana, sadly, libraries are scarce and book stores even more hens’ teethier.

Here’s a sample of one of the ads that showed up every Sunday in Parade Magazine:

Gary waited until we were married to dig in and start his own membership. To this day, he enjoys picking up our mail at the end of the driveway. Back then, the thrill that there might be a book or two (or three) in our oversized mailbox was almost too much to take.

To his continued delight, Gary’s choice of non-fiction and military history books led to the book-powers-that-be to invite him to join even more clubs. The Military Book Club. The Book-Of-The-Month Club.

Even The Adventure Book Club.

…and the International Collectors Library book club.

I was so grateful to find someone who liked to read as much as I did – or really, probably even more.

The way these clubs worked, if you didn’t tell them not to (via mail), they’d send you a new book – one that they selected – in the mail.

Each and every month.

Gary did a pretty good job of staying on top of this, as he often set the mailings aside so he could read through that month’s catalogues at his leisure and perhaps order some new titles. As long as he mailed the card back within a week to 10 days, we were fine. But farmers and “leisure” don’t often collide …

Suddenly, this book-club business was clearly out of control. It was like Lucy and Ethel at the chocolate factory when the boss upped the conveyor-belt speed.

Boxes and boxes of unordered books!

Gary immediately knew what the problem was – these unwanted, unordered additional books were all addressed to Gary Wense.

“It’s not my fault, they sent it to Mr. Wense.” (Pronounced WHEN-see.)

Apparently at the book club offices (we quickly noticed they all came from the same address in Garden City, New York), they either bought a list with a typo or someone in Garden City was not being careful enough while keystroking. Either way, a new booklover alias was created in that far-away office.

And there’s more: Mr. Wense, it seems, also received mail half a mile away at Werne Dairy Farm. (Both with and without his middle initial – coincidentally a “J” just like my husband!) By my calculations, we had the grand opportunity to order books under four separate names!

Thank goodness, a Barnes & Noble opened in Evansville (about an hour’s drive away) in 1995. We’d much rather visit a bricks-and-mortar bookstore than order through the mail (Mr. Wense may not agree, but it was high time for him to leave).

Meanwhile, my parents joined an upscale book club – called The Folio Society – when Dad retired in the late 1980s. They collected hundreds of books from the London-based operation and, when that big library in the sky called them home, passed them along to Gary and me.

The books arrive by way of a U-Haul “box,” which measured the contents by the gallon. Gary counted them (of course he did): 240 gallons. Later, I catalogued the Folios (of course I did) and the total came to 550 volumes.

We’ve added to our Folio-only library over the past two years and now have 700.

… with more on the way. After all, there’s a Mrs. Wense who loves to read, too.

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