Ken,
It does seem as though having books without bookstores, or even worse
libraries, is as bad as the concept of farmland with no farmers, historic
buildings with nothing in them. A great book is a great book, but without
community, what is the point? My regulars are: the Book Trader in MA, the
Whitney Book Barn in Bethany, RJ Julias in Guilford or Northshire in
Manchester, Vermont, and of course, for libraries, The Sterling Memorial at
Yale. I'd love to hear about favorites of the preservationeers, both
libraries and bookstores.
Best,
Leland
Leland R. S. Torrence
Leland Torrence Enterprises and the Guild
17 Vernon Court, Woodbridge, CT 06525
Office: 203-397-8505
Fax: 203-389-7516
Mobile: 203-981-4004
E-mail: [log in to unmask]
www.LelandTorrenceEnterprises.com
-----Original Message-----
From: plz practice conservation of histo presto eye blinks
[mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Gabriel
Orgrease
Sent: Wednesday, December 26, 2007 7:34 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: [BP] Thurston's Dept. Store, Octavius, NY
Interesting comments on familiar themes from 1896. The effect of big box
retailing and the demise of reading.
"Thurston's" was a place concerning which opinions differed in Octavius.
That it typified progress, and helped more than any other feature of the
village to bring it up to date, no one indeed disputed. One might move
about a great deal, in truth, and hear no other view expressed. But then
again one might stumble into conversation with one small storekeeper
after another, and learn that they united in resenting the existence of
"Thurston's," as rival farmers might join to curse a protracted drought.
Each had his special flaming grievance. The little dry-goods dealers
asked mournfully how they could be expected to compete with an
establishment which could buy bankrupt stocks at a hundred different
points, and make a profit if only one-third of the articles were sold
for more than they would cost from the jobber? The little boot and shoe
dealers, clothiers, hatters, and furriers, the small merchants in
carpets, crockery, and furniture, the venders of hardware and household
utensils, of leathern goods and picture-frames, of wall-paper, musical
instruments, and even toys-all had the same pathetically unanswerable
question to propound. But mostly they put it to themselves, because the
others were at "Thurston's."
The Rev. Theron Ware had entertained rather strong views on this
subject, and that only a week or two ago. One of his first acquaintances
in Octavius had been the owner of the principal book-store in the
place-a gentle and bald old man who produced the complete impression of
a bibliophile upon what the slightest investigation showed to be only a
meagre acquaintance with publishers' circulars. But at least he had the
air of loving his business, and the young minister had enjoyed a long
talk with, or rather, at him. Out of this talk had come the information
that the store was losing money. Not even the stationery department now
showed a profit worth mentioning. When Octavius had contained only five
thousand inhabitants, it boasted four book-stores, two of them good
ones. Now, with a population more than doubled, only these latter two
survived, and they must soon go to the wall. The reason? It was in a
nutshell. A book which sold at retail for one dollar and a half cost the
bookseller ninety cents. If it was at all a popular book, "Thurston's"
advertised it at eighty-nine cents-and in any case at a profit of only
two or three cents. Of course it was done to widen the establishment's
patronage-to bring people into the store. Equally of course, it was
destroying the book business and debauching the reading tastes of the
community. Without the profits from the light and ephemeral popular
literature of the season, the book-store proper could not keep up its
stock of more solid works, and indeed could not long keep open at all.
On the other hand, "Thurston's" dealt with nothing save the demand of
the moment, and offered only the books which were the talk of the week.
Thus, in plain words, the book trade was going to the dogs, and it was
the same with pretty nearly every other trade.
The Damnation of Theron Ware, Harold Frederic
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