NO I can’t pick a winner – I even tried passing the buck a few times and no one would take the bait; and I am usually so damn good at avoiding responsibility. YES, they are all winners, and I have a list of prizes that they will pick from in the order they were posted. [by 'prizes' I mean books and junk I found laying around while I was cleaning, so don't get excited.] But I HAD to pick a winner just to get rid of that damn book! And I am arbitrarily picking Lahana Shaw and her “How Books Saved My Life“. All the entrants displayed a passion for books and bookselling, but Lahana’s had one thing the others didn’t have “drama”. Passion, drama and books, what more is there to life?

Hey, I said ‘the’ weekend, so I took that to mean any weekend, I got around to it. 8

Ok, I’ll admit it.
I started out with comic books.
Just a few at first, but it got out of hand pretty quickly.

I graduated to the hard stuff and quickly spiraled out of control. In high school I’d skip lunch and spend the money in musty bookstores on Jackson Blvd., their names long forgotten. By the time I was 16, I was over the edge. I conned my father into a major advance on my allowance to buy the signed, limited edition of Gary Snyder’s Regarding Wave at my regular haunt, Circle Books.

One day Doug and Gordon, who owned Circle and put up with me hanging around almost every day, paid me $20 to help them unload a shipment of books. Of course they knew full well I would spend that $20 right away – on more books.
Little did I know that would be my last paying work in the book business for almost 34 years.
Yes, I had been pulled into the maelstrom of … book collecting!
Almost five years ago I woke up, found I had been working all that time in the Family Business I Never Wanted To Be In, was running it in fact, and there was a bit of a rough spot – actually a major crisis. I did all the right things and was still turned out. There always has to be a fall guy. I looked around at the alternatives, and the more I thought about it – be your own boss, work from home, low overhead, no employees, travel on your own terms, and look at all this, well, inventory I’ve got to start with – the more sense it made to reinvent myself as a bookseller.

Now I ask myself why I waited so long to do this, and I don’t really have a good answer. So be it.

It’s not easy, but I can’t imagine doing anything else. There are advantages. I have very short meetings since it’s always clear who screwed up, and if I want a quick lift I can listen to the traffic report when I walk to the garage. And there’s never a lack of books to read.

Even that copy of Regarding Wave.

Craig

When I was very young my mother read me stories. I loved stories. I wanted them all the time.
When I started school I thought I would learn to read and then I could have stories any time I wanted. But I had a lot of trouble with reading. My parents mentioned it to Mrs. Batts, a retired school teacher who lived next door.
At this time, 1956, I was 8. Mrs. Batts said it was because they weren’t teaching phonics. She told my parents to get a set of books called ‘The Beacon Readers’. In 6 weeks she taught me to read.
Whenever we went anywhere, my father was on the lookout for used bookstores. My mother went for wool shops. I went with my father.
Owning a used book store seemed like too much of a fairy-tale – it would just be too good to be true. I didn’t even consider it as a real possibility. I sometimes got jobs like night gas station attendant, which meant I could just sit there and read for nearly 40 hours a week.
I was about 50 when I spotted an ad in the newspaper for a used book store for sale. I knew that I couldn’t afford it, but then I thought – what are they going to do – beat me up if I don’t buy it? So I phoned. A young woman had started Red Ink Books on the second story of a store in London, Ontario. She’d had it open a year when she got accepted to university. 12,000 books with pine shelves – a good starter collection – and the lease would be up in a week, so the price was right. I gave her a deposit and set off for home.
Sylvan, where we live, has a population of about 25. When we came here we bought the existing gas and grocery store but had closed it after our road was closed for 4 summers in 5 years. I thought I could open weekends only, and with no rent to pay it could work. It was early May – I just had time to tidy the store and get set up.

Old King Cole Rises Again

One of the most bizarre things happened to me a few months ago while I was out hunting the local garage sales for used books to resell.

I picked up an remarkable Mother Goose book. I have a special interest in folklore and collect nursery rhyme books. This book was not old, not nicely bound, and
not in good shape. I was going to thumb through, see it there were any rhymes that were unfamiliar, and if
so, buy it. I expected to put it down and walk away, but–

There on the front endpaper was an illustration I had known since I was about three years old. But the book was completely unfamiliar.

I looked again and realized that no, this was not quite the illustration I knew. But it was a very close match. I realized suddenly that it was the original on which “my” illustration had been based.

Some background here. All but one of my grandparents were artists. When I was about three years old, my maternal grandfather made me an original illustration of my favorite nursery rhyme, “Old King Cole.” Then he framed it, and has hung on my wall ever since.

My grandfather passed away when I was about five years old. I don’t remember him very clearly but I have always treasured his illustration which I can remember him by.

Imagine my surprise to learn, some forty years later, that my grandfather had actually copied someone else’s work! That sneaky man!

(The book is: _Mother Goose: A Random House Book_,
with artwork and claytoons directed by Maxwell Dorne and Bill Sass, color photography by Maxwell Dorne, copyright 1949.)

The full front endpaper is actually pretty striking: it depicts not only the Merry Old Soul but also his Fiddlers Three.

After I got over my initial shock and surprise, I found that I enjoyed having the original as well as the copy in my collection. My grandfather embellished the original with many clever details like the decorative features along the king’s collar and hemline and his very stylized hair.

It may be a cliche but you never know what you’ll find when you’re out book scouting. And no, although the book is pretty beat up and part of the backstrip is gone, it is not for sale!

I’m a bookseller by birth. My uncle, Craig Ross, was an old-school
gentleman bookdealer. He was the eccentric of the family. It was rumored
in some family circles that he had money, probably because of the few great
items he sold from time-to-time. He handled documents signed by Lincoln,
Custer, the founding fathers and other historical items. During his career
he had at least five true first editions of the Book of Mormon, which he
thought may have been a record although he was too humble to prove it. And
he handled really obscure, one-of-a-kind sort of stuff. One of his
mimeographed lists contained a notarized document from a sheriff (if memory
serves) who testified that when President U.S. Grant visited his town he
never once even stopped by the local pubs

A visit to his old Victorian home was a treat. On my first visit, I
remember being shocked. Books were shelved everywhere imaginable; all of
the large portions of wall space being taken up, he fashioned shelves for
closets, above windows, and anywhere else he could get them. At that time,
he had a large barn where he kept the cast-offs from his book hunting; boxes
of common stuff which were leftovers. I bought three Horatio Alger, Jr.
books from that barn when I was nine. Once a year he would advertise a book
sale in Medina, NY and the locals would all come out and pick through his
cast offs for pocket change.

Craig got me into the business when I found a first American edition of one
of David Livingstone’s books. He explained to me the difference between the
American and British editions, the condition of the book, and how these
factors influenced price. He graciously offered to carry the book on an
upcoming list and sell it on commission. At the time, I wasn’t sure what to
do with it and thought I might like to become a collector. I read
everything I could get my hands on regarding book collecting in the
Rochester Public Library. I started frequenting the local antiquarian
shops; many of those dealers were friends of my uncle’s. I was pleased when
one introduced me to a customer as “the next Craig Ross”. I will never live
up to that billing, but I loved being associated with him. It opened a lot
of doors for me when I decided that I would never be able to justify
collecting rare books, but could sell them. Those were the days when you
needed more than a computer and a credit card to sell books.

Our homes have resembled Craig’s. Right now we have about 30,000 books.
Over the years we have gone in and out of bookselling, but always come back.
The last time we came back my wife surprised me when she said, “This place
didn’t really seem like ‘home’ until now”. My kids love reading and I can
only credit the atmosphere of a bookselling home. They have grown up
believing that books are important. What better legacy could my uncle leave
us?

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in from Tim in Tacoma:

Trial Attorney to Bookseller in 21 Easy Steps

I became a lawyer, in large part, because of a book I read in sixth grade:
Irving Stone’s biography of Clarence Darrow. Fast forward to my senior year in college at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. As part of a seminar, I worked for the Washtenaw County Public Defender’s office. I loved the camaraderie, the spirit and the fight for justice exhibited by the attorneys and staff. I was also thinking of going to graduate school to obtain a Ph.D. in literature. That summer, the Ann Arbor Observor came out with a cover issue story about Ph.D’s laboring in obscure jobs across the country. After reading it, I decided to go to law school.

Yes, I was a closet reader. Literally. My mother would find me with a flashlight reading under the covers past bedtime. Reading got me through law. Law school was not fun. I almost quit after the first semester, as part of me knew this was the wrong path. But being a very stubborn person with an extremely high pain thereshold, I persevered. I moved to Chicago, my hero’s hometown, and soon followed in the master’s footsteps. Life as a public defender in the big city was exciting, terrifying and incredibly interesting. It was also incredibly depressing. I became a partner in a law firm that specializes in wrongful arrests, civil rights violations and worked on several major death penalty and wrongful conviction cases, securing the release of several clients. It was profoundly fulfilling and draining work. I burned out. I moved with my wife to the west coast. I vowed to follow a new path.

That was almost six years ago. For the last two years I have been buying books. Lots of books. I have been scouting for a location to open a brick and mortar store. I have been interviewing bookstore owners. I paid an accountant several thousand dollars to do due diligence for a used bookstore that I was going to purchase until the deal went south. I decided to open my own store instead of buying someone else’s store. I read book blogs, book catalogs, books-on-books and everything I can get my hands on to further my book education. I sell a small carefully chosen number of books on-line.

As I grew older, I grew more and more weary of pursuing a career that no longer makes sense to me. Then one day approximately a year ago, while coming out of court, I saw a sign announcing that a space across from the courthouse was available for rent. A small gallery had previously been located there. I made some calls and viewed the space. That space turned out to be too small, but there was a new building going up. The first floor was all retail. It was available. I am now close to finalizing the lease as I write this. If all goes well, I well be opening a brick and mortar bookstore in the very shadow of Amazon.com. I am terrified, elated and ecstatic. I wake up every day at 4:30 a.m. full of anxiety, yet determined to go forward. I am convinced that this is financially absurd. I’m going to open a brick and mortar bookstore. I have been an attorney for 21 years. Each year has taken me one step closer to this dream.

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Bookstore Lover

First of all, why a bookseller? Because books are important to me. They have given me solace, led me to adventures I would not otherwise have had and to places I would not otherwise have been. And I want so much to share all these things with others! Books can help one to think and consider ideas one would not otherwise have thought of (either to accept or reject) and in the process broaden one’s horizons. I would like to work with school to encourage kids to read.

Secondly, bricks and mortar versus online: I would ultimately like to do both but my real love is for B&M. I would like to hold literacy classes and encourage children/adults to read. I would like to hold a reading night for children. What better thing to do than share one’s love of reading and uncountable worlds with children and watch their faces as they are led into a new adventure? When children are read to they are more likely to read as adults. My sons were both read to as children and both love to read as adults. To see the face of someone when they pick up a book and start browsing through it. What compares to the smile on someone’s face when they pick up a new book (new to them) or an old friend? Yes, making money and paying the bills is one of the goals but not the only one. I would like to have a storytelling night and also encourage reading that way. Storytelling is an art that can be shared at a B&M store. I would like to have local poets and writers share their work at my B&M and make the store a focal part of the community and a place for people to stop and talk, as well as to buy. These are my goals.

I am selling ideas and the wisdom of the ages. Masterfully constructed tales that can inspire hope and provide solace. I am selling entertainment and humor to lighten the ravaged soul. I am selling exotic theories and the simple universality we all share in being human.

I am selling Voltaire, Twain, Dickens, Vonnegut, Dunning, Erma Bombeck and Orson Scott Card. People come to me when they want to utilize solar energy, or build a canoe, save money for their retirement or delve into the infinite mysteries of the cosmos.

I sell time, hopefully well spent. To children, men, women and the occasional reading bear on the unicycle. Time that heals, and teaches and that fosters dreams. I sell dreams. Think of it.

One chain in the link. Writer, publisher, retailer, wholesaler, thriftstore, dreamseller. I have the power to decide which books will survive into the next decade, the next century, and which will be left unbought and tossed onto the scrapheap of mediocrity forgotten. I have the power to decide which books will survive…..
I sell a friend on a boring bus ride home from work. I sell the miracle of a child at play. I sell an old woman a memory long forgotten that is welcomed back with the blush of coy youth. I sell a man down on his luck the strength to continue, and an idea to better his lot.
I sell the uninitiated, initiation. The unloved, love. The uninspired, inspiration. The collector, the collectible. The unwanted a sense of belonging. And to those who thought they couldn’t ever dance again, I sell Happy Feet.

Sometimes, I give them away, free. And sometimes I make a lotta money from these ideas, these dreams. But most times I make just enough to get by. I am rich in books.

“An unlocked box, filled with leaves, speckled with ink” — Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

That’s what I sell, but I guess it all depends on how you look at it.

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A Bookseller’s Tale

Once Upon a Time…there was a young woman with long hair and hippie overalls who worked for a man named Howard at the Enigma Bookstore. In those pre-computer days, there wasn’t much to do but sit in the shop and occasionally sell a book, but she loved it. The cash was kept in a cigar box. The place smelled of old books and pipe smoke. Hours were spent playing endless games of cutthroat backgammon, which Howard taught her to play. She didn’t learn much about books, but she was young and she loved the life.

Time passed. The young woman went to college and unlocked the world of literature. She went into the real world, and worked as a low-paid peon in bookstores. She went back to college for another degree and became a librarian, allowing her to revel in books without having to sell them. She toiled in the world of academia for ten years, until it dawned on her that she hardly ever had her hand on a book.

She wanted to stay in the world of books, but how? More time passed. One morning, she opened the paper and read in the business classifieds that the little used bookstore in her town was for sale. The next morning, she appeared there at opening time and met the owner, who was out front sweeping the sidewalk. They shook on a deal, and before she knew it, she was the new owner of Main Street Books.

Did she live happily ever after? So far, she’s not doing so bad. In the last nine years she has tried to single-handedly turn the place around. It is a much better store than when she bought it, and she has made many friends, some who have changed her life. She has sold books to people who didn’t know they needed them, and whose lives may perhaps be changed by them. She likes to think so.

She likes to think it’s worth all the discouragement, the hours on the computer, being stuck there all day without a break, having no source of cheap labor (i.e. family members) to help out in the shop, the rising costs of staying in business, the occasional cranky customer, the very small profit margin.

She counts her blessings, which are many. She has no idea what she’d do if she weren’t doing this. She feels that she has come full circle, from the Enigma to Main Street, and everything that’s happened in her life has brought her here.

She hopes, like everybody else, to be able to continue doing what she loves. Like everybody else, she’ll do it one day at a time, one step in front of the other, always looking forward to what will happen next on the journey. And always, with a little help from her friends.

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