The young man sitting next to me was resting his hand on top of two small books. He was waiting for a book appraiser to tell him how much they could be worth.

He was one of dozens of people visiting the Houston Museum of Printing recently for a book fair, some there to purchase or sell rare books. Others, like him, to have books appraised.

“I picked this one up in New Orleans,” he said, showing me a book with a worn leather cover. “I liked the way the author described all the old-fashioned remedies for ailments.”

He then showed me his second book, a look of pride on his face as he disclosed he’d bought the slim book at a garage sale for 50 cents.

“But no matter what the appraiser says they’re worth, I wouldn’t part with them,” he said, breaking into a smile. “I just love books.”

And that seemed to be the spirit of everyone visiting the museum for the annual book fair. My friend, Pat, invited me to go with her to the museum, and I readily accepted her invitation.

I’ve always wanted to tour the museum as my family’s past is intertwined with newspapers and printing presses. I know my family’s history, but I’ve always wanted to know more about the printing industry that shaped my grandfather and my father.

At the museum, we were treated to the entire history of printing, from using rocks to make prints to sepia-colored etchings to rooms filled with antique books for all ages and interests.

One of the first exhibits we toured featured an old Linotype machine. I knew what it was without looking at the metal plate on the front because my dad ran a Linotype machine for the family newspaper when he was a young man.

From his stories, I knew the printer had to load small letters into a slot backwards, and just laying out a newspaper required hours of behind-the-scenes work.

For the next few hours, Pat and I wandered around the museum, marveling at copies of front pages documenting important days in history – the day President Kennedy was shot and the day the Titanic struck an iceberg.

We were peering through the window of the old-fashioned print shop when a friendly girl came up behind us. She was going on break, but she said she’d be happy to give us a tour first. She unlocked the room and then patiently explained how the machines worked and how much effort was required to print one poster.

She was quite excited about the process and said she began volunteering after taking a paper making class at the museum. Seeing how much time and effort went into these antique presses made me appreciate a printed book even more.

As Pat and I rounded a corner, we ran into the young man we’d been chatting with in the appraisal line. He said the expert told him one book was worth $50 and the other $75.

“Not a bad investment for a garage sale and a souvenir,” he said, a smile spreading over his face.

I asked him if he’d reconsidered selling them, and he said the answer was still no. Books, he said, would only grow more profitable as printed books lose the race against electronic editions. Besides, he confided, he simply loved his books.

Book lovers know exactly how he feels. There’s something about holding a book in one’s hands – feeling the weight of the paper as we turn the pages and running our hands over the covers – that transports readers to a far away time and place.

I know electronic readers are portable and save paper, but I can’t take one to the beach with me nor can I spend hours in a cozy store, my neck crooked to one side as I read titles and authors, getting ink on my fingers and marveling at the beautiful dust jackets that protect old covers.

The Museum of Printing History reminds us to cherish and treasure written words for they are the most powerful tools in the world. They can enlighten and empower, entertain and educate and move us to action, laughter or tears.

And that adventure begins with four enticing words – “once upon a time.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. The Museum of Printing History is located at 1324 West Clay Street in Houston.