why we should be talking about George Whitman

Two literary icons died this week and the Internet is all abuzz. But just about one.

Although he was brilliant man, much discussed and debated, Christopher Hitchens won't be the focus of this post. The social media and news outlets have his legacy covered today. And, quite frankly, I'm tired of the smug and pitying comments. There has to be more to a great man's life.

And so this post is about the other icon, the unassuming one. The one whose death should be stealing bandwidth. The one whose name you probably won't recognize.

George Whitman, an American journalist, veteran and traveler, moved to Paris in 1948 and opened a little bookstore on the left bank. Packed floor to ceiling with books, Shakespeare & Company quickly became a haven for roaming writers and book lovers and a literary landmark in La Ville-Lumière.

As a study-abroad student, massively infatuated with my new home away from home, I frequented Whitman's famous bookstore and spent hours grazing the stacks, curled up in cushioned corners and practicing my broken French on Whitman himself. To this day, I can smell the musty pages, hear the creaking floorboards and remember the warm welcome. Even before I discovered the significance of the place, I knew there was something special about that store and the man who owned it.

According to the Shakespeare & Company website, before Whitman moved to Paris, he traveled to an isolated part of the Yucatan, fell ill and was nursed back to health by a remote Mayan tribe. He was so impressed by the generosity and friendliness of these people who lived in such extreme poverty, their philosophy of "give what you can, take what you need" shaped his life forever.

Living in a little apartment above the store until he died this week at 98, Whitman managed to create a home for the homesick and be a friend to the friendless. It was simply his way of doing business.

He didn't write controversial books. He didn't try to unlock the secrets of the universe or debate the meaning (or meaninglessness) of life. He never went on a talk show or wrote an op ed piece for The New York Times. But to thousands of people, many lonely, many lost, he was a brilliant man.

Whitman showed his greatness by welcoming strangers. He left his door unlocked - all the time - so anyone who needed a place to sleep could come in and do so. He shared great books. He shared meals. He shared ideas. He shared love.

He was a beloved man in a city that doesn't really care for Americans. His bright mind, his big heart and his eccentric little shop were known among authors, readers and vagabonds around the world.

On the wall of Shakespeare & Company, these words from Yeats are penned, "Be not inhospitable to strangers / Lest they be angels in disguise."

We would all be wise to stop filling our social media spaces with pitying comments about the dead and fill them instead with Whitman's philosophy. We would then be brilliant to live by it.