Acres of Books 1934 ~ 2008
There has always been a place in my heart for the massive book emporium in Long Beach, CA known as Acres of Books. Ray Bradbury (author of The Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451 among countles others) loved the place, and spent much of his boyhood here. Acres of Books was immortalized in his essay I Sing The Bookstore Electric. Yes, It’s a bad word play on his own work, I Sing The Body Electric, but what are you going to do? The man is old. In his essay he said about Acres that “it is a watering hole, a grand place to prowl on rainy days to open books never seen before and probably never to be seen again, as the rain chatters on the high tin roofs, and you get that old wondrous time-spell feeling of hoping that when you turn the next stack, you’ll meet a lion with a pride of hunters soon behind… I go to Acres of Books, as I go to Paris, or Rome, or London, or to New York, to be lost.” Acres had served many famous clientele over the seventy-four years of its life, namely Jack Vance, Upton Sinclair, Stan Freberg, Gary Owens, James Hilton, Greg Bear, Tim Powers, Thurston Moore, Mike Watt, Paul Schrader, Fran Lebowitz, Robert Easton Ellis, Eli Wallach, and Diane Keaton. But It was always Ray Bradbury that was in love with the place more than anyone else .
My birthday had just passed, and in my alcohol induced gray-out coma I had the sudden urge to buy some used books. Was it Ray whispering to me in my dreams? Who knows? Mainly I wanted to find a cheap copy of Richard Bachman’s AKA Stephen King’s The Long Walk and Vincent King’s Candyman. If you grew up near Long Beach, CA and were more than a little bit nerdy like I was (am), then there really was only one destination to satisfy that literary hunger, and that was Acres of Books. I’ve read in an article in the Los Angeles Times that described the store as such: “Acres of Books is not so much a store but a barn, shoved to the rafters with books” and this is very much the truth. The place is old, dusty and completely without air-conditioning. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you could stumble upon that book from The Never Ending Story. It’s that magical.
Acres of Books closed its doors for the last time Saturday, October 18th 2008. I know that all good things must come to an end, but why did it have to be this good thing? I write this feeling like someone just broke up with me, which is silly, I know. But what I should feel is like someone died.
Why is Acres of Books so important to the likes of Bradbury and to myself? Maybe because the very walls of the place were radiating with the pulsing energy of history. Bertrand Smith, founder and all-around book-lover, actually started Acres in 1927 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He moved the operation to Long Beach, CA in 1934 with a storefront on Pacific Ave (I suppose if I’d lived in Ohio I would have moved as well). Acres of Books found its final resting place in 1960 on Long Beach Blvd. In 1990, it was designated a cultural heritage landmark by the City of Long Beach. The same City of Long Beach that then bought the place and had since then murdered it to eventually put up a shitty strip mall. The Smith family owned the legendary store up until its final death rattle. They made a valiant effort fighting off developers for years, but times were changing and you just can’t fight off The Man forever. Many bookstores that were actual chains had already fallen in the wake of today’s current temperament of internet boutique and mega-bookstores/coffee shops. Walden Books? Dead. Crown Books? Dead. B. Dalton? Dead, dead, dead. Pretty soon, the only way to find bound text is going to be to print the pages and tan the leather your own damn self. The City plans to build a retail mall, student housing and a public art center. Knowing how Long Beach city government half-asses everything, they are probably just going to stop at “retail mall”, simply because they suck. The Smith family finally sold the 12,500 square foot piece of land for 2.8 million dollars. I can hardly blame them; it’s hard in today’s climate for the little guy.
I showed up last Saturday to pay my respects, buy some books and say goodbye. I thought all the bargain seekers would already have picked the carcass down to the bone and left days before. I was very wrong and had to park three blocks away due to the amount of last day traffic. Upon entering I was struck with the pleasant aroma of yellowing paper that permeates every atom in the store. I had always made the joke that Acres of Books’ demise would probably be a lit match. The entire place is comprised of paper and wood. Wood desk to wood shelves stacked to the ceiling. I have no Idea how they passed the fire codes for all these years. People of all walks of life, from old to young, from hot to not so hot, they all wandered through the store, zombie-like, with eyes squinted as they scanned the shelves for hidden treasure. The walls breathed with warmth and sweat, as the collective body heat from everyone in the store elevated the air temperature to near sauna-like levels. I had hoped to get a word in with the workers and owners, but they were busy doing what they had always done; taking care of the customers. I wanted my last experience here to allow me to savor the memories I had, so I did what I always did when I came here – I jumped in on the treasure hunt.
Even though half of their expansive inventory was already sold to the previous months of vultures, there was still much to go through. I headed to the sci-fi section first, of course. As I scanned the shelves, I noticed that an entire collection of L. Ron Hubbard’s science fiction novels were sitting on the shelf, as still and untouched as the ashed ruins of Pompeii. I muttered out loud to no one in particular, “I guess they just couldn’t move the L. Rons”. A kind looking old lady turned to me and got so close that I could see the pores in her wrinkled face, “I got them all at home. They are so great and he’s so controversial.”
She picked up one of the books. The cover had an airbrushed painting of a really attractive, red-headed, female space pilot that wore her skin-tight suit in a way that suggested that she would perform coitis with just about anyone (maybe me?). “Oh, I don’t have this one. I wouldn’t have this one; she’s too attractive to me!” she said with a giggle. I looked at her and thought, “funny, you don’t really look insane”. I told her that I am not a fan because I just can’t believe that people get depressed because spaceships that look like Golden DC10’s dropped aliens into our primordial volcanoes, and then the spirits of those aliens inhabit our bodies (Google L. Ron Hubbard + Scientology if you don’t know what I’m talking about, or live in a cave). She gives me a look and a shrug that said “what can you do?” and left. It’s these encounters with the kooky old book-loving eccentrics that Amazon.com can never give you.
During the two hour-long book hunt I saw people ripping apart the shelves with hammers. That was when I realized that some of the shelves were actually made of antique fruit crates that were stacked and hammered together. They looked rather old, with those forties-style labels that made the bold statement that eating this particular brand of orange was the way to a better life. Little toe-headed children ran up and down the aisles collecting rusted nails.
I collected a few books that day. And on my way out I saw the whole reason I showed up in the first place; It was an “if you build it, they will come” moment. There, stapled to one of the shelves, was an old yellowing photograph of Kentucky Fried Chicken’s Colonel Sanders. I knew I had to get it at any cost. I inquired about the photo and they told me to take it down and go to the register. Anything they wanted to charge me was okay by me I went to the register and bought my books and they gave me the photo for free. I expressed how sad I was about the store being shut down, and the guys said at least I’d have the Colonel as a keepsake. I left the store. The day was already getting darker and I felt a deep pang in my heart. This was the last time I would ever enter Acres of Books and with that, I said goodbye.
As for Ray Bradbury, he got to visit the old bookstore one last time. This quote is from a video of his last visit:
“Right now there are no bookstores in downtown L.A. That’s terrible. That’s stupid isn’t it?…There’s no really big bookstore. Pickwick used to be there. It was a very important bookstore…bookstores should be the center of our life. There’s no bookstores in Venice, California right now. There’s no bookstore in Ocean Park. There’s no bookstores in Beverly Hills! All those stupid people wandering around, looking for ideas. That is such a dumb place. That is why I’m here…This is my home. There are ten million books here and other bookstores have a couple of thousand, and they don’t smell the same. An old book smells like Egyptian incense. It’s great and it’s wonderful.”
See Ray Bradbury’s last visit to Acres of Books http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD3IeBqRc0w
