As with any post about the illustrious E.B. White, I must start out with “Salutations!”
E.B. White was an important name in my childhood. He was a lifelong contributor to The New Yorker, worked on the English major’s must-have: The Elements of Style, and wrote dozens of books—of course, as a kid, I didn’t know any of that, or even what “E.B.” stood for. All I knew was that he told wonderful tales of swans staying at The Ritz Hotel, of great ways to say hello, and of having a mouse as a younger brother!
The Trumpet of the Swan was easily one of my absolute favorite books to read when I was younger. It’s a story about a young trumpeter swan named Louis who turns out to be mute. I followed Louis as he learned to read and write, met his friend Sam Beaver, and learned to play the trumpet. E.B. White’s story has stuck with me for so many years and was a hallmark in my history as a reader. Not only did I read Louis’s story a hundred times, it led me on to other books by White, including Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little—the latter of which led me to Abel’s Island, which in turn sent me on to other chapter books and so and so forth.
Today is E.B. White’s birthday, so happy birthday, Mr. White! You made a reader out of me.
P.S. It turns out that E. B. stands for Elwyn Brooks
This is a repost from our observation of E.B. White’s birthday in 2011 by former Reading Club Staff member.
book.box (bukboks) n. A cardboard receptacle, typically rectangular in shape
with lid, containing words, pictures, ideas and dreams, often
accompanied by excitement, anticipation and the love of reading.