'Wolf Files' Hits Bookstores

Please, Please, Please Read My Book

By Buck Wolf

Nov. 11  — Let me drop to my knees and get right to the point: Please, please, please read my book.

I've been writing this column for six years, and now The Wolf Files: Adventures in Weird News (Globe Pequot) hits bookstores, with a fresh look at my experiences with Bozo, Michael Jackson, John Wayne Bobbitt, the Stanley Cup, assorted Elvis impersonators, retired Munchkins, celebrity garbage pickers — and other people whom I consider "professional contacts."

Frankly, after working on the book for about nine months, I'm tempted to give a copy to anyone who asks. I can't tell you how thrilling it was to tear open the first box a few days ago, and sign advanced copies for my parents and a few close friends and colleagues.

In fact, someone who got an advanced copy of The Wolf Files is even more magnanimous than me. Rather than reading the book, this person decided it was more important to share it with the world. He's now selling his unread edition on eBay.

When I find out who this person is, I'm going to have to figure out how to thank him.

Now I'm in the strange position of bidding on eBay for my own book. If I am the high bidder, I can give the book to another friend, eventually buy it back on eBay, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, until I fulfill my ambition of dying a poor disgruntled weird news reporter. In the meantime, I've given away all the copies my publisher and I can spare.

In the alternative, here's the introduction to The Wolf Files and links to a few columns from years past that you'll find updated in the book. I'll remain on bended knees until you finish. Thanks. Enjoy. Adventures in Weird News: An Introduction

God hates me. I've outraged Bozo the Clown. And, as if I needed one more personal reference, Adolf Hittler said I'm a nice guy. In my line of work, these things are occupational hazards. You chase weird news at your own risk. Ultimately, you become what you pursue — strange. Writing The Wolf Files has been a singular odyssey. The Hittler I encountered was a 61-year-old retired bus driver who was named before that other Hitler (who lacked the extra "T") became infamous. Hittler said he deplored the Nazis, but didn't want to insult his parents by changing his name — a decision resulting in a lifetime of sniggers from neighbors, coworkers, and hotel clerks. I've explored modern mummification. I spoke with one man who plans to have his cremated remains crushed into a diamond and fitted into a necklace for his wife. I also developed a chatty friendship with the last descendant of the European noble we know as Count Dracula.