The ABAA Fair

Guest post from Joe Marchione, Allan's former partner and the proprietor of Shelf Indulgence Books:

A couple of weeks have passed since the big ABAA fair was in town and I feel bad. No, not for any business-related reason. Sure, I didn't get much dealer traffic through the store. Certainly nothing like the old days. But I understand that. Expect it, even. Dealers can't scout stores the way we used to. With Internet pricing at every bookstores' fingertips, the days of scouting for bargains are pretty much history. And even if you think you've found a bargain, you quickly discover that what once was uncommon now is not. At best, you scout for specific wants for known customers. Perhaps regional needs. No problem. I get that.

No, I feel bad because with the passing of each ABAA fair, I am reminded of the first time I ever got really mad at Allan. I was in the right. I was sure I was right. Until I realized I wasn't. So I offer this apology. An apology of the worst kind. A posthumous apology.

It was mid-February ... ABAA in SF so it had to be an odd year. Not '99. Maybe '01 but given the economic downturn and the changing buying habits, '03 seems most likely. We had our usual free passes from Bolerium. Allan must have covered the store on Friday because, well, Friday was always Allan's day to cover the store, at least as long as I had known him, through Tall Stories and our place. So I went to the fair on Friday. But I understood that in the world of booksellers who might drop by the store, I was Valhalla Lite. Did the show, looked at books, maybe even bought a couple. Showed my face and, of course, answered the Allan questions at each booth. "Oh, he's at the store ... probably be by on Saturday or Sunday."

Saturday morning, I showed up at the store and shared my fair finds and stories, let him know folks were looking forward to seeing him. He looked up from his computer in what I immediately recognized as full pout mode and said "Well, if they wanted to see me, they should have come by the store." Arms crossed. Head back.

"I'm not going." Uh-oh. I've seen that stubborn streak before. I try to explain what I am sure he knows already: Maybe if you go chat 'em up, remind them you're here, they'll drop by next week.

Then I made a serious tactical error. While making excuses for 'em ... They're traveling, setting up... They're busy.... I hear myself saying something about the Serendipity party on Wednesday, a day-long affair that all the booksellers go to. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I'm trying to figure out a way to collect the sounds waves and stuff 'em back in. But it is too late. Here it comes: "They have time for *that*" (I'm not sure how you spit out a word that starts with "th" but I can assure you he managed). His position in the chair even stiffer. Arms crossed tighter. I mumble a feeble joke about the free food at Serendipity and that's why the booksellers but he's having none of it. "Nope, not going."

All right. How are we going to do this? Let's try reason. "Allan, you *have* to go. Just to show your face. No big deal." Nothing. I'm getting pissed. "Dammit, Allan. This is important." Nope. I'm not sure which one of us was more shocked with what happened next. Out of nowhere, I find myself kicking one of the desks. Hard! Actually hurt my foot (though I'd be damned rather than let on). I soften. "Allan, you're the best book scout in the Bay Area. You need to go."

That got him. I didn't say it with the intent of getting to him. It was a statement of fact. He mumbled something about not being the best but the facade was cracking. He ended up going. No dealers stopped by at the shop after the show. But he had done his responsibility. And I thought I had done mine (remember, we had 3 or 4 dealers exhibiting in the store at that time... it wasn't only for me or him that I felt this was important).

Flash forward to this year and it's Sunday morning of ABAA weekend. The last place I want to be is the fair. I dragged my ass there anyway, remembering how I had shamed Allan into going. And I enjoyed myself. Saw some interesting books. Touched base with folks I hadn't seen in awhile. But at some point early in the day, I realized it wasn't about drumming up business. That train left the station a long time ago.

Sorry, Allan. I shouldn't have been so pissed. I shouldn't have kicked the desk. You were right. You shouldn't have gone if you didn't want to. I was wrong. Dealers will show up or not as they're time and buying prospects allow. You can't shame them into visiting anymore than I should have shamed you into going to the fair. But more than that, you were right to pout. Because it wasn't about the business, the dollars.

That Sunday at the fair, I looked at dealers who had not been in my shop for 6-10 years and I realized that I just wanted to show off the store. A lot had changed since Allan and I displayed together and I'm proud of the ambiance I created here. Since I'm not in Allan's league when it comes to finding books, I just wanted to show off the shop a little. Not every other year but maybe once a decade.

See, now I'm pouting... more like a whine... not exactly Grand Cru but a whine nonetheless. For you, the showing off would have been in the books you found. A better payoff assuming they bought something. A bigger hurt if they didn't. But I understand wanting to have the chance.

Ironically, I ended up getting a couple of folks dropping by the store the following weeks. No dealers but some regular customers who had seen me wandering the Concourse. Some of them I hadn't even noticed at the fair. But they saw me and dropped by the store. Some even spent some money, not that this is about money anymore. Just a bit of human contact. And a chance to say "Hey, this is what I think I can do well ... I hope you like it .... for my sake and yours."

Comments

[Joe Marchione]

And now, for something completely different. From the carefully displayed tomes in glass display cases of the February ABAA fair to the down and dirty grabbing at books stacked spine-side-up on long cafeteria style folding tables of late September Sunday dollar day at the SF Friends of the Library Sale. Honey, I’m Home.

No old-time scout’s pulse can fail to quicken, at least a little bit, at the prospect of dollar day. Wait. Quiet! Can you hear that? That’s the sound of undiscovered treasures calling out. What? Can’t hear anything? Then what are you doing here? Move along, nothing to see.

It’s like this.... There’s this 50,000 square foot warehouse on a pier. It is filled with perhaps a half a million books. The books have been sort-of sorted before being put out. The sale opened Tuesday evening, then all day Wednesday thru Saturday. On hearing these facts, if your first thought runs to all the eyes that saw the books before Sunday, then you’re not a scout. Don’t feel bad. There’s no shame in that fact. Some (most?) would say it’s actually a good thing.

A good book scout would think only about all the finds that were still there. One of Allan’s favorite descriptions of a sale venue was ‘book-rich.’ Going back for more Allan? Absolutely, he’d say... that’s still a book-rich environment.

That scouting has changed radically in the four years since Allan died there can be no doubt. You’d think that while the occasional pre-isbn treasure might surface, the scanner-people would vacuum up every bar-coded book with anything even remotely approaching value. And yet... 3 hours into the final day of the sale, I approach a table filled with fiction and I come face to spine with a ‘Disco Bloodbath.’

A bit of background may be in order here. Disco Bloodbath (subtitled “A Fabulous but True Tale of Murder in Clubland” is a nonfiction memoir by James St. James about his life as a party kid. There’s drugs, murder...what’s not to like? Throw in that title (I mean, come on, who’s not going to pick up a book entitled ‘Disco Bloodbath’) and buying my first copy at a thrift store back in 2004 was a no-brainer... I had no it was valuable when I bought it but quickly found out it was sought after, providing back story for both a ‘shockumentary’ and a movie (largely panned upon release but gaining a cult following). I’ve owned 4 (now 5) copies over the years. It is an easy sale at $50-$100 depending on condition and demand at the moment I put it up... At any one time, the copies that show as available on-line are usually priced not-to-sell (or priced-to-sell-to-an-impatient-rich-person) at $150+

The thing is, it has a bar code. Yeah, it was on a hardcover fiction table and that wards off scanner-people like a crucifix to a vampire. Still, you’d think that over all those days of the sale, somebody would have scanned it, even accidentally. I’ll grant you it may have been in a box under the table (Do you want to see something depressing? Watch the way some scanner-people treat books in boxes under the tables. But that’s a rant for another day.) Still, is was there for me at 1PM on a Sunday. Allan, here’s one for you.