When my father of blessed memory died in 1998, I inherited the home office supplies he bought in bulk quantities. Woohoo! I still have two boxes of 5,000 Swingline standard staples. The reams of paper went pretty quickly -- all except one double-ream box of 100% rag that I held onto for practical and sentimental purposes.
Practically speaking, it only stopped reeking of cigarettes in the past year or so. Plus, 100% rag, even malodorous and yellowed, always seemed too substantial to use as scrap paper; too scuzzy to allow out of my home office. At some point last year I started using it.
The box's label has had enduring sentimental value. It's stamped "Bozell & Jacobs, Inc.," which students of advertising and public relations history will recognize represents an earlier incarnation of what would be come Bozell, Jacobs, Kenyon, & Eckhardt, and then Bozell Worldwide in the 1990s. My father freelanced for a B&J outpost in Union, NJ.
Below the B&J name (set in a font no one uses anymore) my father had boldly written in black marker: 100% RAG WHITE. Clearly, this had been written long before his printing would deteriorate into a wobbly scrawl.
Last week, I discovered that I'd finally used up the paper. I have not yet been able to toss the unfolded corrugated cardboard box into recycling. I've been hanging onto it like it's a third class relic. I think I'll eventually use pieces of it to protect my books when wrapping them up for shipping.
In any event, I was going to keep the label, but then realized I was being ridiculous. After all, I still have on a bookshelf in my office the business card box filled with my share of his ashes. Charming? Weird? I can't decide.
