The Persistence of Memory

Poet Naton Leslie's Remembrance of Things Past

by Jack Rightmyer and photographs by Jennifer May, September 28, 2007

It was a perfect place to meet author Naton Leslie: a coffeehouse in a renovated building, where you sit in secondhand chairs, drink out of paper cups, and are surrounded by aged black-and-white photographs of Ballston Spa, New York. Our view looked into the kitchen, where people were washing dishes and making sandwiches. It could have been the location of so many of Leslie’s stories, essays, and poems.

Leslie has been called “the poet of a forgotten America,” and a “poet of the working class.” Through five collections of poetry, a short story collection and a nonfiction book, the author has celebrated the overlooked, the commonplace, the tossed-aside.

“I love old things because they contain stories,” he says, picking up a decorative blue saucer on a nearby windowsill. “Like this old saucer. It’s hand-painted in Japan. See this insignia on the back—Nippon—that means it was made post-World War II, when Japan was occupied and struggling to get back on its feet. It was hand-producing stuff for the West. The Japanese were trying to reinvent themselves. There are many stories in this one object. There’s the story of Japan, and the person who made it, and how this saucer found its way to a coffeehouse in Ballston Spa.”

“Too often, we live our lives just walking by things and not noticing,” says Leslie, which was one of the reasons he wrote That Might Be Useful: Exploring America’s Secondhand Culture, his 2005 chronicle of flea markets, tag sales, auctions, and antique shops. “I decided years ago to buy only secondhand goods when I needed something, and in that book I explored an America that shared my love for old, used things,” he says. “It’s an America that hasn’t been bought, sold, and advertised.”

Leslie’s interest in used things began out of economic necessity, but continues for philosophical reasons. “It was also my rejection of the rampant materialism of this country,” he says, and the impersonal style of commerce it fosters. It’s a point he emphasizes in That Might Be Useful:

“Entranceway greeters notwithstanding, new retailing is faceless: for the most part, customers serve themselves, aided by overhead signs and well-organized merchandise. Soon, if the trend toward a cashless society continues, we will not even get a ‘thank you’ when paying our money. Clerkless debit-lines are appearing, and the personal touch is going the way of the bank teller or gas pump attendant. Buying used goods, in contrast, is a gregarious enterprise. From haggling to appraising the flaws and virtues of an item for sale, used buying and selling is more akin to the traditional bazaar; it’s no wonder flea markets or swap meets thrive in areas with large numbers of new immigrants from cultures that still have vibrant and personal markets. Whether in the antique trade or holding a once-a-year yard sale, most of the sellers I have met agree that meeting people is part of the attraction.”