Mr. Magazine

Chapter One, Part Two

It is Physical

I soon realized that it was the actual, physical presence of the magazine itself that grabbed me more than the content of what I was reading. Even at that young age, I knew there was more to it than just Superman. I felt that no matter how much I loved the Man of Steel, I loved the idea of the magazine more, holding it, reading the story, flipping the pages incessantly. Because I was really not as fascinated by the superhero himself as all my friends were, it was very easy for me to move on from getting every issue of Superman to getting other new magazines. I began to buy first issues of others. At that stage, it was still all comics.

Once I had a little more allowance, if I saw a magazine that I liked, I would buy it. In junior high, I used to watch my friends buying a Pepsi and a piece of cake during recess, but I would hold my 50 cents because I wasn’t going to waste it on Pepsi. I could at least buy something lasting, a magazine. That fascination was always there. I became obsessed with buying first editions. It was like some higher power put me on this track, one issue at a time. And it’s funny, when I remember sitting down to compare and evaluate those magazines, I would compare all those first editions and daydream about cover stories and what they were going to be. At that time, I was completely convinced that what I had found was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Along with my magazine addiction, I also revered education. I remember my early childhood, crying at the door, wanting to go to school with my sister and brother. I still remember on my own first day, I ran out of my new class trying to find my sister’s class. I was fascinated by the idea of school, but even more fascinated with creating my own imaginary class. I would create exams and tests for imaginary students that I would grade. I would create grade books for those imaginary students. I would lecture about different topics, and I would hold discussions with students on how they could enhance their grade.

Today, those childhood practices seem eerily familiar.

So it begins

Leading a youth group meeting at my church, Tripoli Evangelical Presbyterian Church, in Lebanon.

When I finally came to the realization that I could not buy every magazine because I didn’t have the funds, I started trying to find little jobs. In high school, I even befriended the wholesaler in town, so I could see the magazines before they were distributed that morning.

One day the wholesaler said, “Kid, why don’t you go on to school and start coming here in the evenings? I will let you see what magazines we are going to distribute in the morning and I’ll let you buy them from here.”

I was like a kid in a candy store. To be able to get the magazines before anybody else in town, the night before, regardless of the magazine, was utopia to me.

I have also always had a deep fascination for seeing my name in print. I think I was in the eighth grade when I wrote my first short story and sent it to a magazine. I used to send letters to the publications. Any new magazine that came out, I would send them a letter, with my full name, because I wanted them to publish the letters in the “letters to the editor” section.

Magazines and seeing my name in print became the main reasons I drew breath each and every day. I held firm to the belief that God had paved the road before me and I was determined to follow it. I still believe that today. Although I personally feel that my religious beliefs were very solid, some of the content that my magazines contained could often put me at odds with those beliefs.

One day my sister found a stash of magazines with semi-naked people on the pages.  She asked me, “Why are you hiding these magazines?”

I tried to explain to her how I didn’t want to put them out there for everybody to see due to the content.

I’ll never forget the fierce emotion that I saw in her eyes and the words she spoke to me were just as impenetrable, “If you really believe in those magazines, you don’t need to hide them. If you’re going to hide them, you don’t need to buy them at all.”

But even with my sister’s convictions ringing in my ears, I still had conflicting emotions when it came to the magazines that, at the time, I deemed contradictory to my religious beliefs.

It Was Not a Walk in a Rose Garden

Fast forward to 1980, I remember when I bought my first issue of Playgirl. Well, let me rephrase that, when I had my first issue bought for me. There was no way I was going to walk up to the newsstand and buy Playgirl. That was just beyond the pale. It took a lot of convincing to get my wife to stand in front of me and pretend that she was the one buying it, and of course, she’d never forgive me if I reminded her of it. I could foresee a lot of apologizing in my immediate future once she reads this book. It was during that time period when I became more interested in the creative aspect of magazines. With that mindset, I could justify looking at magazines that were somewhat adverse to my Christian beliefs and be able to critique and enjoy them from a different perspective than simply writing them off as unacceptable.

No amount of fortune telling would have predicted my journey with magazines, my destiny.

But not only did I want to look at the magazines, I wanted to create them. I started my own tiny magazines and my own daily newspapers, creating them from scratch, by listening to radio stations and absorbing all of the media outlets available to me at that time. No matter who I became involved with – scouts, Sunday school, youth groups – any organization that I was a part of, I convinced them to start a magazine. I would call long distance to Beirut, which was expensive, but call I would, and ask all the magazines questions. It was a lot of fun, the whole experience of creating magazines, of getting involved in any way I could, and there was always the chance I would see my name in print. I loved that possibility. I wouldn’t change the childhood I enjoyed for anything.

Needless to say, not everyone thought my fascination for ink on paper was as incredibly wonderful as I did… my mother, for example, was a naysayer. I was the kid that she would always yell at asking me, “Why don’t you go outside like the normal kids and play?”

My mom, until her last breath, felt that I am spending too much money on magazines.

Even until her death, my mom thought I was wasting all of my money on “just paper”. A lot of my relatives still don’t know what I do. They think I just read magazines. It frustrates my wife to no end when she tries to explain it.

I still have some of my magazine collection in an apartment in Lebanon. I moved them there after my mother’s death. I still vividly remember Mom’s voice every time I visited, always ask me if it’s all right if she gave the magazines away. I would ask her, “Mom are they really bothering you? They’ve been sitting in the attic for years.” But she definitely worried about them, whether their presence really annoyed her or not. One time there was some mold on some of the magazines, so she washed them. The mold had to go. The memory still makes me smile.

From There to Here

Sometimes I wonder if the people I work with on a daily basis even understand exactly what I do. I remember one time here at the University of Mississippi, which has been my academic home for 35 years now; the Arab Student Association had a reception for then Chancellor Robert Khayat because he was of Lebanese descent. I was sitting on the Chancellor’s right and the Director of the Natural Pharmacy center was on his left. The good director was also in charge of the marijuana fields that are grown for research purposes here at the university. When Dr. Khayat stood up to make his speech, I’ll never forget what he said:

“I might be the only chancellor in the country that can say that sitting on my left is a man who grows marijuana and tells me he’s doing his job, and sitting on my right is a man who sits in his office all day reading Hustler magazine and tells me he’s doing his job.”

Of course, I know the Chancellor was joking; however, I’m sure there are those who wonder about me and my job, and the director of the marijuana fields. After all, the name Samir in Arabic means the jester or entertainer of kings. Personally, I’d rather go with entertainer of kings, but either way Samir is the person who entertains you and humors you throughout the days and nights. Something to think about. Something so appropriate for a magazine.

To be continued…

In case you missed part one from Chapter One, click here.