Saturday, December 19, 2009

On December 12, 2009 I attended the Small Publisher’s book fare at the Gladstone Hotel, as one of the exhibitor and I managed to sell a couple of books. I also set up a little exhibit, on one side of the table. I had the old typewriter that ended up at the Yugoslav Embassy with George Fazekas, the journalist, who borrowed it in the summer of 1955. I also had a police officers winter hat with the red star on it; my oldest book I received at the age of six; an old camera; a book that my father sent from jail, and an “artist” created the cover, with chewed bread, and pressing straw pieces in it, looking like an intarzia, (prison art) –amazing what a creative mind is capable of doing with relatively nothing, – and a medal that my father received posthumously. It created quite an interest.

My mother came down at the last hour to keep us company with Eva, and I was contemplating to put her right beside my little exhibit, as a genuine article. As a matter of fact I sold at least three copies of my father's book, titled: In the name of the Working Class, and it was appropriate that my mother would sign them as well.
Eva turned into quite a sales person too. She kept stopping people walking by my table saying:
"Are you a history buff? If you love a real story about revolution, broken loves, secret trials and long prison, a tragic story that ends well, you must buy my mother’s book.” (I thought it was really funny.)

I also made a new friend, Mike Toth, who has a journalist background, lives in Mississauga, and is more than happy giving me a hand with the publicity. He already gave my name to the local Rogers cable, and a woman is coming this coming Tuesday to interview me.