Out of Print
OUT OF PRINT In the tight little world of the city's used-book market, some dealers, when making a bid on a library, will first wait to hear what the Strand comes in at and then offer 10 percent above that number.
Some of them don't even bother to look the books over. Let Strand do all the work, they figure. If Strand bids X, that's good enough for them. They tack on 10 percent, and that's their offerand don't talk to them about business ethics. With earnings in the millions and a staff of 200, Strand is the recognized Goliath in the field. Any advantage to be gained over the giant is considered justifiable in the eyes of the Davids.
This wait-and-see ploy used to grieve Marvin Mondlin, a burly, wide-faced man with a rich baritone who retired the other day after 50 years with the Strand, the last 30 of which were spent as Strand's estate book buyer. On his final day at work, he lounged in his desk chair and harked back to some of the libraries he lost to one of the schemers.
Mondlin is one of those quaint individuals who knows favorite poems by heart and needs no encouragement to declaim them in public. The cliche of the bookman who doesn't read books might apply to others, but not to Mondlin. Twice while chatting in his office, he broke off to recite a poemboth by the obscure Robert Clairmont. That Mondlin wore a silk scarf loosely knotted around his neck and a sharpened No. 2 pencil wedged behind his ear added to his genteel flavor.
Some of Mondlin's best personal buys, so he claimed, were made while browsing the Strand's own wares; in particular, the one-dollar stands out front. But his primary purpose in browsing the stands was to see for himself "what we're dumping," as he put it. A book he had purchased for the Strand in a lot to be sold for three or six dollars, let's say, he sometimes found being "dumped" outside. Mondlin would get upset at those moments and demand an explanation from one of the other buyers. "Why the hell is this thing being thrown out?"
For a senior executive vice president with a half-century career, it seemed an anticlimactic last day. The Strand is so big now that some of the employees were probably unaware that Mondlin was leaving. Or so he surmised as he sat at his desk. Meanwhile there was still work to be done. The post office was closing at four, and he still had a written appraisal to get out. Eying the clock, he said, "And now, if you'll excuse me "