a whale of a city

Yesterday I woke at 6am in order to leave the house at 7 to catch my 8am train to Hudson, NY.  I had a headache, but figured it was just sinus-related since my allergies have been out of control.  But then the familiar symptoms of a migraine set in, and so I called Amtrak, moved my departure time up to 10am, and took some medication…by the time I got on the train I was starving, so I ate a bagel and kept the bag it came in just in case the movement of the train made me ill.  Not a great start to the day, but I managed to keep my food down and I reached the Hudson Children’s Book Festival by 1pm.  As soon as I got to my table, three teens came up and said, “We’ve been waiting all day for you!”  I apologized for keeping them waiting, and signed copies of Wish for Jay, Mitchell, and Olivia—about half a dozen white teens bought copies of Wish yesterday, which was somewhat surprising but really encouraging, too.   Later that afternoon I joined Neesha Meminger, Lyn Miller-Lachmann, and Sarah Darer Lettman for a panel on Social Issues in YA Lit; we had a good discussion with a small, engaged group of librarians and educators, and one of the topics raised was the need to encourage teens to read outside their comfort zone.  I think teens today are much more open than we think, yet adults often act instead upon our own sense of what teens want or need.  By the time we headed back to our respective tables in the gymnasium, my migraine was making a comeback.  One of the many wonderful volunteers had brought me a salad for lunch, and so I munched on that after popping a few more Excedrin.  The gym was warm and still quite full of browsers, and for a moment I thought I wasn’t going to last until 4pm…what I like least about book festivals is the feeling of being trapped behind a table.  What I like most about book festivals is the chance to meet readers and teachers, and other authors and illustrators that I never seem to see outside of these literary events.  I met James Preller (we shared our mutual appreciation of Doret), and Loree Griffin Burns (who’s part of the What a Girl Wants panel!), Richard Michelson (who grew up in East New York, Brooklyn), and I caught up with Jeannine Atkins, Jerry Craft, and Eric Velasquez.  My head was swimming by the time I headed outside to wait for the taxi that would take me back to the train station; I marveled at the efficiency of the festival organizers and their team of volunteers—within just a few minutes, the gym was cleared, the parking lot was empty, and invited guests were heading next door for a cocktail party!  Hudson seems like a small town, yet it’s quite diverse and this festival drew a huge crowd on a beautiful sunny day…when my taxi arrived, the driver said, “What time’s your train?”  And as soon as he realized I had half an hour to spare, he decided to take me on a tour of Hudson…the town was known for whaling and prostitution, he said, pointing out that all the street signs are decorated with a little whale—which then explained why all the festival materials also featured a whale.  In my mind, sailors and brothels go hand in hand, yet I suddenly realized I didn’t know much about New York history since whaling had never occurred to me as a likely profession for folks just a couple of hours north of the city.  On the way in, I’d seen some rather run-down row houses that looked like they were from the mid-19th century.  But on the way back, my driver took me to the other side of Warren Street, and those houses were enormous—clearly the property of folks who once were (and still are) quite wealthy (some are B&Bs).  “You didn’t see these kinds of houses coming in, didja?” he asked me, and then concluded, “It’s like black and white.”  He meant the contrast in wealth, but I was thinking about race…b/c most of the impoverished houses I saw earlier that day seemed to be occupied by black folks.  And again, I had to wonder what their history was—how did black folks wind up in Hudson?  Who lived in those row houses in 1850—sailors? servants from those wealthy white households on the other side of town?  Were they white or black?  My driver dropped me off at the station and I paid him double the fare (which was only THREE DOLLARS!).  “Look for that book: Diamond Street,” he reminded me before driving away.  And I intend to…