Recently on the ERBList (A list server devoted centrally to the subject of author Edgar Rice Burroughs and his works—though we sometimes wildly veer off the subject) the topic of eccentric book store owners arose and we were treated the story of an ill-tempered bookstore proprietor on Hollywood Boulevard who knocked doors in the basement walls, creating passages into the basements of nearby stores so that he could store the tons of books that he acquired.
My story tells of a book store from Washington State and of an owner with a much milder temperament—but perhaps equally eccentric, and with a mania for collecting that would prove to be his downfall.
Gary's Comics and Collectibles resided off Hewitt in old Everett and provided the widest selection of new and old comic books and science fiction and fantasy books within a hundred miles. The shop was kept mostly organized by a small handful of dedicated employees, who tried valiantly to keep the comic boxes from getting double stacked on the display tables. However, Gary haunted swap meets and often came back with more goods than he sold and eventually they rented the space next-door so they could spread out the ever-growing inventory.
This expansion continued when some other enterprising businessman had the temerity to open up a comic book shop only three blocks away on Colby. To express his displeasure, Gary rented a third space, this one directly across the street from his nemesis' comic book shop and appropriately named the store NEMESIS.
What Gary's business rival lacked in inventory it made up for in organization. Looking for back issues at Gary's usually required the direction of an employee and fifteen minutes of digging. At the rival comic book store one only had to look behind the new issue on the rack to find 6 to 12 months worth of back issues. However, if you a person wanted to find the really good stuff, the really old stuff, the really rare stuff you needed to block out several hours to search through the boxes at Gary's—a store which was becoming increasingly cluttered and disorganized as Gary continued to acquire inventory and as they suffered from employee troubles.
Eventually Nemesis closed its door; it turned out that Everett's economy couldn't support three comic book stores within three square blocks. This wasn't surprising to most outside observers; the decision to open a store directly across the street from a rival seemed more an emotional one than a carefully weighed economic-based decision.
It didn't seem like long after that when Gary was no longer able to rent two adjacent slots and moved around the corner to a double story building. The plan was that the second story would initially be storage, and then they would get it organized and open it up to the public. That never happened—and the piles of books, comic books, toys (1,000 Mcdonald 101 Dalmation toys, anyone?) began to grow.
Going to Gary's was like a treasure hunt. You didn't quite need to bring a shovel but you knew you were going to get dusty and grimy. Sometimes the treasure hunt was fruitless, but sometimes you'd come away with rare treasures. It was at Gary's that I filled out and completed my collection of Edgar Rice Burroughs and Robert E. Howard books. Also, I filled in large corners of my Kenneth Robeson Doc Savage paperback collection.
However, it was becoming more and more difficult to locate anything. When the entire city block was demolished to make way for an events center and ice rink for a local semi-pro hockey team Gary moved his shop into a niche behind a paint shop on Broadway. Last time I dropped by stacks of books, and comic books towered over my head, tottering and leaning as I squeezed through the aisles, stepping over boxes filled with toys and games. Any misstep might result in an avalanche from which it would require a crew of rescue workers to dig me out. The entire aisle to the new comic book releases was blocked off and I asked how I could get to them.
“We stopped ordering new books about six months ago,” said Gary. He launched into a long diatribe against the comic book distributors and his former employees—especially one who had taken him for thousands of dollars during the Magic Card and comic book boom of the eighties. He blamed all the financial woes of the last 25 years on this one unscrupulous fellow.
Then Gary went on to bemoan the fact that he had several storage units full of other goods, which he was hoping to redeem from hock as soon as he sold a rare piece of World War II Navy memorabilia. I looked around at the mountains of merchandise that would never be sold because no one would be able to find anything, and I wondered if maybe he shouldn't concentrate on selling the stock that he had in the store.
As if to reinforce the point I had made in my head, Gary resumed complaining. “The Landlord is whining about the boxes stacked in the hall behind the store."
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