Without question, it was Roger McAllister's tireless publicity that sold The Song of Henry. In the months of October and November, 1992, he made at least 10 public appearances each week—early morning chats on small TV stations, late night interviews on the radio, readings in coffee shops, and book signings at struggling independent bookstores. Roger McAllister would always begin by telling the reporter, the anchorpersons, or the assembled book buyers the same story—the story of how he had discovered a manuscript in the attic of a modest little house—a house like hundreds of others in British Columbia.

In 1988, McAllister found his way to an unassuming address in the Fairfield neighborhood of Victoria, where, he had been told, there was a large collection of 19th century European books in the attic. Three middle-aged sisters met him on the porch. The sisters explained that this was their father's house, now vacant. The father had died a month before, after many years as a widower. His name was Jakob Josephson. One of the sisters produced a formidable set of keys, and opened the front door. McAllister followed the first sister into the living room, and the other two followed him. Looking around, McAllister assumed that the old man had been a professor, or maybe a rabbi. The room seemed to have recently been cleaned—every book removed from its shelf and dusted. It felt like a museum exhibition. No one sat down.

The house was so modest, McAllister would always be sure to tell his interlocutor, that he was shocked, later that week, when he realized his clients were the same Josephsons who had been so much in the news three years before, when they sold their family business, JKJ Graphics, to a Swedish conglomerate for $980 million (USD).

"There is something in the attic we want you to appraise," said the first sister.

"Well, not appraise exactly," said the second sister.

"Review... inventory... maybe catalog..." said the third sister.

"And then destroy," said the first sister.

At this point, McAllister would pause, and look at his interviewer, or his audience.

"Now I had never in my professional career been asked to destroy anything—I'd often recommended destruction, in the case of certain collections—snow globes, for instance, but people rarely took my advice. Needless to say, I was intrigued."