On Being Daunted
When words fail in the presence of a wordsmith
The first time I “met” Pat Conroy was, like for many of us, through the pages of one of his books. I was a teenager working at a drugstore in a strip shopping mall, just a few doors down from an indie bookstore. On my breaks I would go and peruse the books there, sometimes spending my wages on a new release, sometimes just visiting the books like one might visit friends. Because books were— still are— my friends.
I don’t know why I picked up a copy of The Prince of Tides on one of my visits. I’d never heard of Pat Conroy, but the cover must’ve drawn me in, and the back cover copy must’ve cemented it. Because I bought it and began to read it as soon as I could. We throw around the term, “I couldn’t put it down.” But I really could not put that book down. I was so engrossed in this tale that I even read it during class, hiding the little mass market paperback behind the larger textbook I was supposed to be paying attention to.
At one point, my English teacher caught me reading it. She tilted the larger textbook back to find the book I’d hid behind it and I thought I was surely busted. But she merely looked at me, looked at The Prince of Tides, then gave the slightest of nods as she moved the textbook back in place as if nothing had happened. I took the exchange to mean that I could carry on with my reading. So I did.
To this day that book has held fast in the number one spot of my all-time favorite books. And to this day I think that if I was a teacher and caught a kid doing what I was doing I would’ve done the same thing my teacher did.
Fast forward to years later and I had just written a novel of my own (a dream I carried in my heart back when I read The Prince of Tides). I was at a reader event in Texas promoting my book, part of a group of writers all participating in a weekend’s worth of festivities. But I didn’t really care about all that. I cared that Pat Conroy— the author of my Favorite Novel Of All Time was also there. All weekend long, Pat jumped in and took part just like the rest of us. He served readers at a dinner. He milled around and talked to everyone, smiling and cutting up. I remember he even auctioned off a pair of his khaki pants for a fundraiser. I observed him from afar, breathing what I felt was rarified air. But other than smiling at him when he invariably caught me staring, I never went near him. I was too overcome, convinced that nothing I could say to him would be good enough. So I said nothing at all.
Two years after that I ended up at another event with Mr. Conroy. And this time we had a friend in common. So this time instead of watching him from a distance, I stood in a small cluster of people as he held court, telling stories and cracking jokes, pinching myself that this was really happening, that he was right there. I could’ve reached out and touched him. But of course I didn’t. Other than being introduced to him, once again I was daunted. I told myself I was unworthy to be there and feared if I spoke up, he’d figure that out.
It was only later— and I think we’ve shown this with the guest posts and podcasts we’re sharing this month— that I found out what a kind and genuine person he was, what a friend and encourager of fellow authors he remained until his untimely death. I did not know that I had nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, now I wish I’d engaged him in conversation and not written myself off without giving him a chance. But here’s the truth: I thought I had time. I thought I would run into him again in the future, and by then I’d feel like I was more experienced, with more confidence. Then, I told myself, I’d talk to the great Pat Conroy. Then I’d be ready.
But there wasn’t a next time. And I was left with regret.
I think that’s the reason we’ve honored Pat Conroy this month. You probably read Ariel Lawhon’s post about her own near-miss with him, which is similar to mine. And so we have done what we could all these years later, sharing who he was as a writer, but even more than that who he was as a person— kind, engaging, generous, warm. We got it wrong back then, but we’ve learned our lesson. So here, now, we say: This is Pat Conroy, the friend we almost had. If only we’d been braver, bolder. But mostly, if only we’d had the time.
Thank you for celebrating his life and legacy with us this month. Please be sure to listen to our podcast with Cassandra King, the woman who knew him best and the author of our pick for this month, Tell Me A Story. And to check out his many works of fiction and nonfiction. You can’t go wrong with any of them. But if you’re looking for a place to start, might I suggest The Prince of Tides?
~ Marybeth
That was one of my favorite books too, and I'd have loved to meet him. Thanks for sharing the man behind the legend with all of us.
That was the PWQ where I met Pat!