Rick Sherman's Corner 

Notes of a Street Bookseller

by Rick Sherman

I could always spot a Rimbaud sliding towards my tables. Hair toussled pale complexion enough stubble to be seen but no more. Jaded eyes would home in on the GroveSeason in Hell/Drunken Boat pick it up without a word and pay five dollars. Was that too much? I think they valued it more. Their first beat-up Rimbaud. Now they could throw out the gleaming Random House sitting on their dorm shelf.

Siddharthas were more difficult, fuckkit, impossible to spot coming. For a very simple reason. Everyone's a Siddhartha. You, Me and Bobby McGee. Shucks, that book never sat out more than ten minutes. Fifteen tops. Four dollars beat up or nice. I love that book. It always shows up at the book sales for fifty cents.

Neil had a small selection, but his books were fucking amazing! I wanted to buy every one. Neil got a feel for the kind of books I liked and would sometimes come back from a sale with stuff he'd picked up with me in mind. It was he who introduced me to Richard Brautigan for which I am eternally grateful. I used to joke that Neil needed some more Stephen King or Judy Krantz. I was half serious, though. You see, I thought Neil was poor. He was out on the street after all.

I make no excuse except to say that I was attending a corporate university that offered nothing unique execpt the opportunity to live in NYC while forestalling the inevitable. From time to time I'd feel the pressure of having to make my way on a film degree. Then I'd muse on Neil.

One day he called me. He was leaving New York for the South and wanted to say goodby. Tears actually came to my eyes. Neil and I had once made tentative plans to get together to watch Meetings With Remarkable Men. But it never happened. The only time I spent with him outside of bookseller context was one morning as I walked through Washington Square at dawn.

"Hey Rick"--

It was Neil seated alone on a bench. We talked. He had been married once. There was more that I no longer remember. He was a college grad. He sold books by choice. Not because he was at rock bottom. In retrospect I must have seemed pretty pampered and naive. So when he called to say goodbye I was saddened. I had missed out on the opportunity to get to really know a remarkable man.

Jay encouraged me to try out bookselling:

"It's easy. You get a table. You get some books. That's it."

He assurred me that finding good books was a knack that could be learned. Finding enough good books came with work. "But don't worry that's the only hard thing about it. And it ain't really all that hard."

That night, by the garbages of my apartment building someone had thrown out a few boxes of good books. Believe it or don't. Books and synchronicity go together like strippers and disrespect. Sometimes I think it's because they're full of words, like our minds, and our minds are connected to everything else. Or sometimes I don't.

I went out with the books the next day. Jay had brought me a battered table. Made fifty dollars. Jay was happy for me. That same day I met Peter Whitney, another interesting fellow Bookman. I started scouring thrift shops. Found books here and there. I knew what I was looking for, books I would like to own personally. Eventually I went to my first book sale.

These were ususally held at churches. The queue would start way early with familiar bookseller faces at the front anxiously puffing on cigs and pulling gulps of coffee down as they checked their watches. When the nuns or whoever opened the doors the
rush began:

Quick!! Art books back left!! I saw a whole row of Kerouac over on the right!!

Push push!!No, excuse ME!

Wow, five copies of The Prophet!!

Get yer hands off that Krishnamurti Grandma, he's Mine!!

Filling bag after bag after bag. Don't matter if the book's a maybe. Sort it all out later. Oh Burroughs! Oh Corso! And Allen too! The beats are still gold on West Fourth. Solheinitzen, no one will buy you but I'll get you for my one-day shelf.

Wait, what's this--four Bukowskis?: Jackpot! But another bookseller is converging. Shit. We'll hassle it out, of course. Booksales...

Selling in the spring was great. Drive out around eleven AM. Set-up took fifteen minutes. On a good day, Jay, Pete and Me side by side between Mercer and Greene. The warm fourth street nino blowing at our backs. Shooting the shit with the folks walking by, chewing the rag amongst ourselves, our cars parked at our backs.

Rare the trouble from the laws. Time didn't pass. There was no time. We were on our own schedules. I never wore a watch. I liked the fact that I could find so many interesting books for my table. Not as out-of-this-world as Paul's down the block or as diverse as Pete's. I didn't specialize in Mysticism or Philosophy like David. But mine was a good hash, stuff I'd like to read. If I had the time to do nothing but read.

Jay and Pete. Cohorts. Jay had cultivated an ease that people who stopped at his table felt. Maybe they sometimes bought a book to see if that would come with it. Pete endlessly ripping pages from odd books to use in collage work. When I finally saw a catalog of some of his work I was in awe. Which I guess is a good response to art.

Finally Jay started videotaping everyone. It was funny. Anything for you Jay. I hope you
make the important film you need to make. I sold books on West Fourth for two years on and off. I didn't stop when the rain snuck up and drenched half my books. When my car was stolen I stopped. The other half was in the trunk. Oh well.

I do know this. If I ever do hit rock bottom, I can be out on the street the next day.

Booksellin'.

Mr. Rosette's Response

Rick 'ola--
Got your letter; I'll put it on the site. Anyway I gotta tell you about this strange vision I had last night. Was asleep, it was around three or four in the morning when I suddenly felt very very cold. I went to shut the window, but found it already shut, and the heater was on full blast. So I thought, "hmmm, wonder why it's suddenly so cold in here?" when I looked over at my closet and saw the spectre of Polish Joe lingering next to my thrift store Tuxedo...next thinng I know, he's got it on and he's levitating.

...so he's levitating out the closet and he floats on over to my bookshelf where I usually keep the three-dollar apple pies I buy in Chinatown (they last me all week) and he takes the pie and, in one quick swoop, floats out the window and he's gone...it all happened so quickly I couldn't believe my eyes, and thought it was a dream until the next morning when I went and examined the floor of my closet and found a freshly smoked cigarett butt. From the Ghost of Polish Joe?

Anyway, didn't mean to scare you, but I thought I should let you know.

All the Best,

J

Rick's Letter Back to Mr. Rosette:

Well my catma slinked away from old dogma runned over by some karma. Old emerald lunchboxes strune amidst the cluuter of old workaday hustlers making a buck. Peer inside:: a soggy tuna sandwich some cheese and crackers miniature candy bar and a note from Mom. Listen now Rick is it time to stay were you are feet finally toucning ground are airs blowing round yore head?

The new film festival is starting at 21st century holographic tri-d sofa lounge, Jay Rosette is there with his beautiful companion, I'm there with my beautiful companion, Cormac's there Polish Joe is there Pete is there we're all there. Sunk low in coxy sofas, sipping herbal boost smoking those new healthy cigs and chittin the chit chat. Old times new times. It's time for the new tri-d print of the BookWars to premeire. There's a decididly earthly smell in the air, yeah.

Everybody's there.

If it ain't happening be suspicious. Not worried, nah, that's my old gig--worrying. Shit I'll leave that old bag in some bus depot locker one day just you wait. New times new days new knights. Old Jack's still scibbling out poesy somewheres--where?

Self discovery: I don't always own up to the watery parts you know. Not tricklin from my heart lies frozen in my ears around my heart sometinme. Ya' knows?? Slowly my masque slips off real slow now you unnerstand? real slow s l o w. I'm catching up. Maybe I could write more. Maybe you can help.

Back and forth email interstellar communications over throbbing intgernet nooral nets. Heart to heart. Friend to friend. Romatincs you see? There on to us I think. Like the phoenix you know? Dusty embers of cynicsm. Schixm. Lonely nights thingking dreaming of True Love an invitation for the Goddess to arrive how do whe greet her. How do we disrobe in her radiance ?

Down and dusky we chaet. Spooning melon balls into a goblet . Slurp it down put on the foolscap. There's always a joke there if we squint for it shake it up turn it upside down. Married men. Hiding flowers under our curls for fear of being easy prey.

Book Men enjoying the slowtime of the street and all the delicious synchros. Flexible not hard. I'll learn it yeah. Sure. I know it.

Gimme a sock for my underwear it's lonely and skids or not it has character and dare I say heart? Commitment is forever and forever is Now. Iddnit? That's what they tellme when I'm real quiet.

Burnt lettuce creamed corn and extra Joe, a whole cupful of Joe. Slurp slurp mmmm....'sgood.

Never did take that plunge. Guess i'm still afraid .

Falling going down

Aaaaaah....wasn'tn that bad there's always friends for those who love beauty and the the early morning crust from my eyes saved in a jar next to my bed with toe nails and old nail polish bottles aaaah it don matter much sping cleaning in harvest season now. Harvest season man what are the fruits and nuts and berries and marigolds and sweet cracker jack pizes of my own labors and rest s. Yeah man rest wow it's amazing what ic an forget if I really put my mind to it.

Joe asks how you are. He's quite a guy. I haven't see n Pete in a while I heard he's doing art dept stuff these days and I can't find his #, zap it my way will you. Ray's store closed I hear but his band is playing it seems like he don't fall to far. Tony says hi to me and shakes my hand when I stop by.

I guess every one misses you and eagerly awaits your return. Meanwhile my internet connection is down and we'll see how long it takes for this missive to get to you.

Until then,

Sun Moon Air Earth Love-

Rick

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