The Old Bookstore That Stocked Living Things, Not 'Products'
Published December 26, 2007
"I love everything that’s old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine." — Oliver Goldsmith
It's funny the things that people get nostalgic about. Some pine for the old general store; some for soda fountains with elephant-head taps; some for cars with fins; some for old-style radios or skinny ties or fedoras or boomerang-patterned formica tabletops. I pine for a certain bookstore.
This bookstore of my memory was a rather dim place wedged into a storefront. At one time it used to be a laundromat, and the ghostly scents of borax and bleach still sneaked out of hidden crevices. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves hulked against the walls and towered in the central aisles. Far in the back was a bin that held a treasure-trove of comic books, old postcards, stamps, coins, and Vargas cheesecake prints in cellophane covers. During the summer, a box fan sat near the door to pull air into the stuffy interior; in the winter the place was always chilly and you had to browse with your coat on.
The proprietor was a morose-looking man who was not yet old but saw old age looming large in the rear-view mirror. He wore thick glasses and had a habit of smoothing his hand over his thinning hair, as if he were distraught over some bad news he'd just received. He seemed to know every detail about every book in his store: how many copies he had of what edition, whether it was illustrated, whether it was paperback or hardcover, whether it was in decent, good, or excellent shape, what it cost, and how much he'd be willing to sell it to you for if you were a good customer. He seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of every book ever published.
If you weren't sure who wrote a certain book but could describe the plot or subject, he could find you the book more often than not. He never hired assistants, as far as I know: he was always the only one behind the counter. He used a calculator to tally your purchases and made change out of a metal lockbox he kept under the counter.
The selection of books was diverse and highly esoteric, but it had strange empty spots: you might find a copy of Izaak Walton's The Compleat Angler, for example, but not Stephen King's latest. On a spinner rack near the front door you could find good paperback copies of Max Brand westerns or last summer's big thriller, but you'd look in vain for a cookbook. There was an Encyclopedia Britannica set lining the entire lower tier of one of the shelves; the set had obviously been there for years and would no doubt be there for more years still.
![The Complete [Compleat] Angler of Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton: extensively embellished with engravings on copper and wood, from original paintings and drawings, by first-rate artists. To which are added, an Introductory Essay; The Linnaean arrangement of the various river fish delineated in the work; and illustrative notes](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41AGyyvP4mL._SY90_.jpg "The Complete [Compleat] Angler of Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton: extensively embellished with engravings on copper and wood, from original paintings and drawings, by first-rate artists. To which are added, an Introductory Essay; The Linnaean arrangement of the various river fish delineated in the work; and illustrative notes")
- The Old Bookstore That Stocked Living Things, Not 'Products'
- Published: December 26, 2007
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Books
- Filed Under: Culture: Personal History, Books: History, Books: Business
- Writer: Monty Manley
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- Monty Manley's personal site
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When I lived in Bloomington Indiana there was a lovely bookstore in the town square kind of like the one you describe. It had books piled up everywhere. New books, old books, blue books, bold books. Books of every sort.
The owner could talk intelligently on just about anything and seemed to know every book in existence and just where it was in his shop, even though there seemed to be no order to the store at all.
I speak in the past tense, but I'm quite sure it is still there, but I no longer am.
Your article took me back to my hometown of Wabash, Indiana where there still stands the lovely old bookstore that I haunted nearly every Saturday from open to close when I was a teenager. I always felt happiest nestled in a ragged, overstuffed chair that had been crammed into one of many corners of the old place, with a good read or when just browsing the many shelves of written pleasure. The best times were when the owner would allow me to go to the basement of the shop and look around. Even though I loathed creepy old basements, this one was a wonderland of books! I was always broke in those days because I spent my allowance on as many paperback novels as I could afford.
In later years, while working at a job I hated (which happened to be directly across the street from the bookshop) I mosied in during an afternoon break, looked the owner in the eye and said, "If you ever need any help in here, give me a call." I handed her a slip with my number and left. She called me in less than 20 minutes.
The next few years I spent blissfully knee deep (literally) in the books that I love. In those few years I learned a lot about books, authors, publishers, etc...I often said that I would have worked for free, or for book money.
Today, I have since moved to another state and my taste in reading has changed considerably, but my bookshelves still contain many volumes from the book store of my past. I treasure them like children. I am still searching for a book shop to haunt in my area, but I know that none will ever take the place of the book shop of my youth.
I've still never found that bookstore, but my first public library was that magical. And, it was still that magic place in the years I was Library Director there. I've moved on, and the library has grown, added computers, and is no longer that small, intimate place. But, then, I don't think I know my books or public the way I did then. I was a hands-on librarian who knew the books by location, and my patrons by name and interest. Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer public libraries like that, just as there are fewer magic bookstores.
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I'm lucky enough to still have one of these nearby, and I buy things in there that I don't really want, just in the hope of keeping it in business.