Ghosts of Bookstores Past, Part 2
Bookstores aren't simply a place. They are an experience. Unfortunately, I didn't form a strong bond with my local Borders before it closed. Still, it brings up the memories of other bookstores I have lost.
In part one, I reminisced about my childhood B. Dalton and how a wrecking ball visited that mall in 1994. Now my memory travels to downtown Hanford and the used bookstore we frequented.
Old Town News and Used Books was in a century-old building facing the old Courthouse Park. On Saturdays, the sound of the carousel would waft through the open door. Hanford isn't a huge city, but it has an older downtown and not enough parking. Oh, how Mom hated parking there. The actual lot behind the building would fill all too fast, leaving small parallel spots along the street. Mom hated parallel parking. Still does. I think I inherited her fear from those minutes she would grumble under her breath, knuckles white on the steering wheel, as she tried to wedge our awful Nissan Datsun into a spot.
When I think of Old Town, the smell hits me first. A small room off the entrance housed a cigar shop. The strong odor of cloves and tobacco walloped you upside the head as soon as you stepped inside. Once you walked past the l-shaped counter and the tobacco room, the other dominant smell took over: the odor of musty old books and mold. Half of the books there must have been stored in attics and garages. They arrived with yellow, brittle pages and freckles of mold on their garish '70s covers. The building had its own issues with mold, too. The roof leaked when it rained. And in the summer-forget about an air conditioner. They had a swamp cooler, and fans spaced throughout the packed aisles. A summer visit to Old Town reminded me of visiting my dad's childhood home in Alabama, just with a lot fewer bugs.
The science fiction and fantasy aisles were at the back, in what would be the hottest area of the store in the summer. The romance books were one shelf away, and that's where my mom would go. The floor creaked underfoot. The stock didn't move very fast, and books overflowed the shelves in boxes cut into trays. Sometimes, there were so many boxes that there wasn't room for someone else to pass by.
Old Town was THE place to get comic books. They had a few shelves of them in the tobacco room, and more on black spinning racks that squawked as they turned. I discovered the Previews catalog in about 1993 or so, and began to place orders for specialty Star Wars stuff or collectible items the store wouldn't normally carry, like Larry Elmore prints and books. Previews was like a Christmas catalog I could anticipate every month.
I didn't get to visit Old Town News much before I moved away. That final year, I was attending college in Fresno and lived on campus during the week. I think the last time I visited Old Town was in October 1999, as the annual Renaissance Faire was going on across the street. The woman who owned the place ran the counter, flipping through a magazine as usual. Often her father ran the store on Saturdays. It was a family business. If her school-age son was sick, she would close shop.
I'm not sure why Old Town closed in the end. My mom had eye trouble and had to stop reading books for several years. One day on the phone, I mentioned Old Town. "Oh, it closed," she said offhandedly. She didn't even remember exactly when it happened.
This was the place where, when I was eight, I bought Bazooka gum for a nickel and felt like I was living a scene out of Happy Days. Where I bought dozens and dozens of books, and brought in even more to trade. I can't even count how many hours I paced those creaking, thinly-carpeted floors as I sought a find.
I remember Old Town.
In part one, I reminisced about my childhood B. Dalton and how a wrecking ball visited that mall in 1994. Now my memory travels to downtown Hanford and the used bookstore we frequented.
Old Town News and Used Books was in a century-old building facing the old Courthouse Park. On Saturdays, the sound of the carousel would waft through the open door. Hanford isn't a huge city, but it has an older downtown and not enough parking. Oh, how Mom hated parking there. The actual lot behind the building would fill all too fast, leaving small parallel spots along the street. Mom hated parallel parking. Still does. I think I inherited her fear from those minutes she would grumble under her breath, knuckles white on the steering wheel, as she tried to wedge our awful Nissan Datsun into a spot.
When I think of Old Town, the smell hits me first. A small room off the entrance housed a cigar shop. The strong odor of cloves and tobacco walloped you upside the head as soon as you stepped inside. Once you walked past the l-shaped counter and the tobacco room, the other dominant smell took over: the odor of musty old books and mold. Half of the books there must have been stored in attics and garages. They arrived with yellow, brittle pages and freckles of mold on their garish '70s covers. The building had its own issues with mold, too. The roof leaked when it rained. And in the summer-forget about an air conditioner. They had a swamp cooler, and fans spaced throughout the packed aisles. A summer visit to Old Town reminded me of visiting my dad's childhood home in Alabama, just with a lot fewer bugs.
The science fiction and fantasy aisles were at the back, in what would be the hottest area of the store in the summer. The romance books were one shelf away, and that's where my mom would go. The floor creaked underfoot. The stock didn't move very fast, and books overflowed the shelves in boxes cut into trays. Sometimes, there were so many boxes that there wasn't room for someone else to pass by.
Old Town was THE place to get comic books. They had a few shelves of them in the tobacco room, and more on black spinning racks that squawked as they turned. I discovered the Previews catalog in about 1993 or so, and began to place orders for specialty Star Wars stuff or collectible items the store wouldn't normally carry, like Larry Elmore prints and books. Previews was like a Christmas catalog I could anticipate every month.
I didn't get to visit Old Town News much before I moved away. That final year, I was attending college in Fresno and lived on campus during the week. I think the last time I visited Old Town was in October 1999, as the annual Renaissance Faire was going on across the street. The woman who owned the place ran the counter, flipping through a magazine as usual. Often her father ran the store on Saturdays. It was a family business. If her school-age son was sick, she would close shop.
I'm not sure why Old Town closed in the end. My mom had eye trouble and had to stop reading books for several years. One day on the phone, I mentioned Old Town. "Oh, it closed," she said offhandedly. She didn't even remember exactly when it happened.
This was the place where, when I was eight, I bought Bazooka gum for a nickel and felt like I was living a scene out of Happy Days. Where I bought dozens and dozens of books, and brought in even more to trade. I can't even count how many hours I paced those creaking, thinly-carpeted floors as I sought a find.
I remember Old Town.