RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,293
(same muck : case closed)
(Princeton/Labyrinth, pt. FOURTEEN)
It's been a long drift, and I'm growing
tired of it, so I'm bringing this Princeton
and bookstore thing to a close. That's not
to say I don't have more, but I'll save it, for
now, for later. That's pretty cool! 'For now
for, later.'
-
All I really wish to do now, with this last
chapter, is dig the knife in deep as I turn
away, and show these people for what
they were - at that warehouse level anyway,
not so much the store. The Bookstore is in
Princeton, 122 Nassau Street, and right
downtown; pretty much across from
Nassau Hall and Witherspoon Street.
At Tulane Street actually, and adjacent
to The Princeton Record Exchange.
Barry Weisberg or Weisbrod, or some
name like that, was the owner of the
Record Exchange : a real gruff guy, with
an in-your-face and take no prisoners
attitude. No finery. He also owns a nice
bundle of the real estate rentals around
town. You'd never know it; Barry comes
across as an unkempt, sloppy mess. I ran
into Barry once, while I was walking along
my way on 2nd or 3rd Ave., by 13th street
maybe. Barry, in his khaki shorts, sneakers,
and tee shirt, went whomping by me,
speed-walking. We said hi. He said 'Walk
with me, but keep up. I'm on my way to
the theater window to get my tickets to
today's films at the festival. Got about 18
minutes before the window closes. Would you
you like a ticket?' I said no, and he was mostly
flabbergasted by my non-interest in current
cinema. He took us to a bar on the near
corner, and said, 'Wait for me here; order
us some beers; here use my tab-card. I'll
go buy my ticket, and return. Barry always
amazed me. Now he said he had about 45
minutes before the first film for the day. He
said he comes every year, and stays for the
entire Film Festival - way, way into movies.
I said 'Where do you stay?' He said he had
an apartment just a little uptown, which he
and his wife keep as their pied a terre, or
whatever. He was always amazing me. We
sat down, guzzled a few beers each, on his
magnanimous tab (like 8 bucks a beer, NYC).
Then he started his surprising, businessman
like jabs at me. (They're all alike; I know
another guy just like this; houses and real
estate instead of books or records): he asked
what I did in my off-time. I said this: my camera,
sketchbook, writing notebook, and posting and
painting. I asked if he was really interested?
He said, 'No, not at all, wouldn't interest me any
of that. I couldn't do anything with it.' Then he
said, 'You wanna come work for me?' I knew
his staff, they were high-powered barista and
coffee-shop types, piercings, tattoos, weird
get-ups. Usually they scared the shit out of
me. I also already knew that he'd be, in many
of the same traits too, possessed of the same
mindset as book-merchant penny-scratchers.
Buy tons, really low, find something useful,
and sell it high. Always on the grub for
another dollar. It had been making me ill
for years, and I wasn't about to cast it into
stone with this guy, and at (my) age 61. So
I passed, and so did the time. He had to go.
We parted., Pleasantly, and both happy.
Oh, one last thing; he also asked me to
write him an essay or at least some notes,
about what I saw as things he could do to
improve his business, and increase his
business's opportunities. Pretty weird.
-
When I was hired at Labyrinth, one of the
first things they told me was to speak up
if ever I had an idea or saw something that,
perhaps, could be improved by being changed
or re-worked. I had been some 20 years in
the printing business, so I knew a lot of junk
about printing, machinery, cutting and
trimming. I don't know if any of any of
you know what a 'remainder' book is, but
it's a discounted book, one which was
over-printed, didn't sell to expectations,
a reviewer's copy, or whatever. They're
re-sold at deep discounts as 'seconds'
or 'remainders' - bookstores and
discounters love them as fountains
of easy profit. One day, the owner, the
warehouse guy, was going on to me
about how 'annoying' it was that each
remaindered paperback book - otherwise
perfect - had a black slash mark, usually
along the bottom, to alert people that they
were boing seconds, nor first. Know what
I already knew, I said, 'That's a problem?
No way. What do you want to do, take it
off?' He said yeah, and I showed him,
carefully, how the black marker line only
was on the very thin surface, perhaps a
32nd of an inch, at most. It could easily
be shaved off. He said, Shaved off? How?'
I said, with an automated paper-cutter, a
guillotine type cutter. They use it in printing
everywhere, and in all different sizes. You
could probably back 20 books at a time
with one, easy. The light in his head went
on. I could see it! His thinking was not so
much in selling these remainders as new,
once the marking was gone, there'd be no
real way of knowing, except by a minuscule
difference in size, almost really unnoticeable.
BUT, his thought ran to the fact of the 'returns'
we were constantly sending back to the
publishers, legal returns of unsold books
that, after 6 months or so, they would
accept back for credit. They did NOT
accept Remainders for credit however. A
large portion of the discount books he'd buy,
in quantity, were remainders. But, what he
was thinking, and proceeded to do, was trim
the books and return them as new, for full
credits. He told me to proceed - so I then
contacted a printing machinery guy I knew
in Paterson, NJ. They hooked him up, nicely,
for six thousand dollars plus, with an adequate
sized guillotine cutter, and a service contract
(very need for new users). They delivered and
set it up, nicely concealed too in a room of
its own at the warehouse. and - for credit
purposes - old books became new stock in
an instant. For the next 7 years, many of the
books I returned to the publishers - all of
them - Random House, Harper, Penguin,
and the rest - were 'seconds' turned new!!!!
-
No biggy, I guess, but I used to chuckle to
myself how swiftly the high and the mighty,
the righteous and the pure, can disgustingly
dwindle and shrink into drinking the same
muck everyone else does, Case(es) closed.
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