Bookstores I Have Known

By Leo Racicot

College City Book Mart was the first bookstore I discovered and grew to love. It was located in what is now Francis Gatehouse Mills, on Broadway Street. The reason I’d found myself in that neck of the woods is: our Aunt Marie had told us the sad tale of how her friend, “Mr. Whitaker” had stood up from his desk at E.A. Wilson Oil Company across the street from Francis Gate, walked calmly over to the canal and jumped in. I wanted to see the place where someone had despaired of Life such that he’d leaped to his death. I was peering into the canal when I looked up and saw the small, unassuming College City Book Mart sign. I was about 13 or 14 and decided to see what I could see. A set of old steps led downstairs to a cave-like place, filled wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with books. I’d never seen so many and thought I died and went to book paradise. Customers barely fit in the small space, so sardine-can size was it. But I came to spend hours and hours browsing its treasures. The man who ran it never asked you to move along if you lingered too long. Ideal. I want to say his first name was Gordon. I can still see his face. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think the College Mart was affiliated in any way with Lowell State Teachers College up the street, although in later years, “Gordon” would run the college bookstores (both campuses). I heard he used his experience at College City Book Mart to get that position. Some of the first titles I remember buying there were: Fantastic Voyage by Isaac Asimov, A Light in the Forest by Conrad Richter, Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim, Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring and Good Morning, Miss Dove, a book about a beloved New England school teacher. In those days, I wanted to be a priest but wanting to be a teacher was my second choice for a vocation.

Harvey’s Bookland was downtown on Central Street. Like Book Mart, it was a somewhat shabby place, not the cleanest place. But that’s what I liked about it, its clutter, its dust, its mountains of books, no organization, its thousands of used books, vintage comics, perfect for browsing. I liked the smell of the used books, their pages musty with time and age. I’d spend hours there, especially Saturday afternoons, and Harvey and his wife were always willing to help buyers find a particular title, a much-desired collectible, a rare comic book. I bought so many comics there (my favorites were Archie and Jughead & Batman), I had as many in my little bedroom as Harvey had in his shop.

Whenever I was in Boston, I’d hop the Red Line and head out to Harvard Square, This was usually after spending long, luxurious hours in The Brattle Book Shop. The Brattle was located at 5 West Street, off Tremont Street, across from Boston Common but in 1980, a bad fire tore through and destroyed the beloved Boston institution. Redoubtable owner, George Gloss, immediately set about rebuilding his shop in the lot next door at 9 West where it continues to thrive at 9 West St. under the direction of George’s son, Ken.  I loved, and still visit, its outdoor book stalls, which remind me of the bouquinistes along The Seine in Paris. Among its offerings are bargain dollar and five dollar carts as well as many first editions, classics and publishing rarities. Magical moments happened there, as I think, happen in all bookstores. One Halloween, a very tall customer standing next to me was recommending the merits of the American writer, Henry Green. The man’s voice sounded so familiar. When I looked up, I realized I was talking to comedian, Red Skelton.

In Boston, chains like Borders Books and Music, Barnes and Noble, Waterstone’s (in the Back Bay) and Lauriat’s could always be counted on for finding the newest in titles and authors.  I’d leave one and head immediately for another.

As I say, a trip to Boston was never complete without a hop-over to Harvard Square and its many bookstores. Of course, there was The Harvard Coop. The third floor poster shop was my favorite floor. Finding posters (art and cultural) for your bedroom was a popular trend in the ’60s and ’70s. I remember tacking up WAR IS UNHEALTHY FOR CHILDREN AND OTHER LIVING THINGS, also Magritte’s Empire of Lights, Picasso’s Old Guitarist and a huge photo of The Eiffel Tower.  M.C. Escher art posters were very popular. All these posters stayed on my bedroom wall till they became tattered and out-of-fashion.

I’ve always preferred used bookstores to new ones and in those days, Harvard Square was a used book lover’s delight; a used book store could be found practically around every corner. There was a slew of them. I liked best McIntyre and Moore and Louisa Solano’s Grolier Poetry Shop where visitors would know they’d always get a warm welcome from Louisa’s bedraggled mascot, Jessica. This dog looked like it hadn’t had a bath or seen the sun since the day she was born. But she had a frisky tail-wag and a lick of the hand for you and remembered you whenever you walked in, as did Louisa whose knowledge of poets, both local and international, was astounding. The last time I was in Cambridge, the shop was still standing, under new management, of course.

My all-time favorite shop in those days was Schoenhof’s on Mount Auburn Street. I was a foreign language major in college, and a legitimate tingle went up my spine every time I entered. Schoenhof’s boasted one of the largest collections of foreign language books, maps, guidebooks in the U.S. If they didn’t stock a title you were looking for, they’d do all they could to procure it for you. I loved being surrounded by all the different languages of the world and it was great fun picking up instructional books and tapes to try to teach myself a new language. I remember a frustrating October afternoon sitting on a bench at The Charles River with my professor/mentor/friend, Brother Bob Bousquet, who tried mightily but failed to instruct me in German and Dutch (Bob, like my grandmother, was mind-bogglingly multi-lingual). We finally decided my tongue and vocal cords lacked the guttural punch needed to take on these harsh-sounding languages. It bothers me to this day that I couldn’t get the hang of Dutch. I do remember “Hoe laat is het?”  “What time is it?” and the German curse, “Guter Gott im Himmel!”   Well, better than nothing, right! At Schoenhof’s, I found all the Canadian author, Marie-Claire Blais’ novels. (My professor, Madame Brovender steered me towards Blais for my Directed Studies, scoffing at my request to do them on Saint-Exupery’s The Little Prince (too precious and twee”, she said. “You’ll get a toothache!”)

In Glen Ellen, California, where writer, M.F.K. Fisher lived, in my wanderings I stumbled upon a gem of a bookstore. The World of Jack London bookstore. After hours, it operated on the Honor System—take what you want and leave your dough in the little box outside. I was amazed; if you tried doing something like that around here or in a metropolitan shop. people would have walked off with the whole building. Some called Glen Ellen “a nowhere cow town” but for me, there was an enchantment about it that was hard to define. I imagine it’s a much different place now, some 30 years later but back in those days, magic waited around every corner.

When I found myself living in Las Vegas in the mid-nineties, I couldn’t for the life of me find work in any of its (surprisingly fine) libraries. My Aunt Helen suggested, “What about a bookstore? That’s kind of the same thing.”  Good Advice. I wound up working in three: two BookStars (BookStar was a subsidiary of Barnes and Noble out West), and a seasonal (holiday) stint at Borders Books and Music on Sahara Boulevard. I loved manning the Information Desk there, as well as being able to see all the newest titles come though the transom. Again, a bookstore, any bookstore, is my idea of Heaven so I was indescribably happy working there, if only for three or four months. The employee discount offered on all store items wasn’t bad either. I made friends among the staff who are still friends: Wendy, my boss, who was 25 at the time. I’d never had a supervisor who was that much younger than me. At first, I doubted being told what to do by a twenty-something was going to be easy, but she was so kind, so supportive of my performance. It’s so hard to believe she’s in her 50s now and a grandmother.

I ran into some hard times when the landlord of my Vegas rooming house kept my rent check, claimed he’d never received it and threw me out on my ass (The bank later confirmed he’d cashed it). I knew Bernie was a shady character but not that shady. Anyway, long story short — I could easily have become homeless if not for the instant, unblinking kindness of two Borders’ employees, a couple, Shane and Kari Jane, who took me into their home, no strings attached. They refused to take any money for rent and said I could stay with them until I was able to get on my feet. I came away from my Borders’ experience believing bookstores not only to be spiritual places of culture and uplift but also places where compassionate, book-loving people can always be found. I’ve always referred to libraries and bookstores as Sanctum Sanctorum of Civility and Decorum, When I’m down or whenever Life circumstances have left me lost, I know I can go to them and feel instantly better.

Harvey’s Bookland ad, 1960s

Brattle Book Shop

Harvard Coop

Louisa Solano in Grolier Bookstore

Schoenhof’s Foreign Books

The World of Jack London Books, Glen Ellen, California

Bookstar interior, Las Vegas, 1994