Empty Shelves

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All pros have their home court or field. The Blazers have the Rose Garden, the Cubs have Wrigley Field, and the Bears call Soldier Field home. Writers are no different. The bar at The Ritz in Paris was where Papa Hemmingway spent many an hour imbibing and seeking inspiration, decades before it was named in his honor. J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis hung their hats in Oxford's Rabbit Room at the Eagle and Child. Norman Mailer called New York City's White Horse Tavern home.

For the last dozen plus years, my literary HQ has been a single branch of a chain of bookstore cafes. I'm speaking of the Beaverton branch of Borders. Many of my afternoons have been spent within those walls sipping espresso, observing publishing trends, discussing a variety of topics, and receiving bits of inspiration. It was literally the place where everybody knew my name.

I've attended book release parties there, bought my holiday gifts and had them wrapped there (those who know me know how important it is for me to have gifts wrapped for me), held business meetings there, and generally used it as my home base away from home. I've even fantasized about having my first book signing there, once I get published.

This afternoon, I strolled its showroom floor for the last time. Although the liquidation is only in its forth day, the cafe is already dark and stacked with boxes. Garishly bright discount signs hang above rapidly emptying shelves of alphabetically jumbled volumes, as a multitude of shoppers take advantage of bargain prices.

I could write about how the trend toward buying E-readers, rather than physical books, has severely damaged the book publishing and retail industry. I could write about the tragedy of losing 10,000 American jobs as our country heads into default. For me, the closing of Borders is more personal than those stories though. It's about saying goodbye to friends losing a security blanket of brick and mortar.

In a few short weeks, the shelves will be bare, the windows will be void of weekly specials, and the doors will be locked. Ghosts of avid readers and caffeine seekers, will be the only vestiges of life occupying the lonely stone walls, as former employees, some being special friends of mine, will be forced to seek their next source of income.
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