In Memory Yet Greenwoods'

For over a decade, I made two stops every Wednesday: I went to Warp One on 81st avenue to pick up my comics, and then walked through the back alley and went through the back door of Greenwoods' to shop for books. Both stores are gone or relocated now, but the memories of browsing through those strangely dark aisles remain. 

Super Foul Mouthed

Back when I lived in the Bleak House of Blahs, I had a stand-up cardboard Superman given to me by the folks at comic store Warp One. One day Ron or Allan added a dialogue balloon with an inspirational phrase lettered across it. On another occasion, though, one of them wrote something so indecent and out of character that I was stunned senseless, as captured in this photo. I don't believe you can make out the awful text at this resolution - at least, I hope not! 

Rescue on 81st Avenue

Summer, 1992. I pulled into the parking lot on 81st avenue and 105th street, just a couple of blocks away from Warp One. I had my day planned out: pick up some comic books, walk across the back alley to Greenwoods' to browse for novels, cross Whyte Avenue to spend a couple of hours at the Wee Book Inn, and then break for lunch somewhere along the avenue. It was going to be a good day, I thought as I shut the car off and then swung myself out into the summer heat, making sure to push the lock down and hold the handle up as I when I closed the door; otherwise, the lock wouldn't engage. 

I shut the door firmly, released the handle. And then through the window I saw my keys, still dangling innocently from the ignition. I'd locked myself out of my little silver Corolla station wagon.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the keys for a minute, as if I could step backwards in time and get myself out of this through sheer force of will. There were no cell phones back then, and I had no change for payphones; I was on my own.

Or so I thought. For down the sidewalk came two imposing figures, rough-looking bearded men in jeans and leather jackets.

"You lock yourself out?" asked the burlier one.

"Uh huh," I said shamefaced.

"No problem," he said, and reached into his jacket, unfurling an unwound coat hanger. With balletic grace, he stepped past me and wormed the long, stiff wire inside the door frame, wriggling it around until a catch popped and the lock popped up. The entire process took only a second.

"Thanks!" I exclaimed, opening the door to retrieve my keys. But my benefactors were already halfway down the block, their hands raised briefly in offhand acknowledgement of my gratitude.

With my keys safely tucked away in my pocket, my thumb hovered over the lock once more...and then retreated without pushing it down. I casually flipped the door shut and headed east down the sidewalk. On that day, at least, locks had caused nothing but trouble. Why encourage them?

Last Trip to Greenwoods'

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. According to rumour, there's a rough beast slouching toward Whyte Avenue's Greenwoods' Bookshoppe - permanent closure.

I was a regular customer at Greenwood's from 1987 until 1999 or so, but my visits grew less and less frequent over the years. It wasn't a conscious choice; I simply moved out of the neighbourhood. I shopped more frequently at Audrey's for a while, and then, after a few months' resistance, I found myself at Chapters more and more often. A few more years have passed and I've found that I purchase books online about 25 percent of the time, especially when I know what I'm looking for and physical bookstores can't or won't carry the often obscure titles I desire.

No one except the Greenwoods knows for sure, but it's easy to surmise that Amazon and other online vendors have contributed to the bookshoppe's pending closure. So this morning, burdened by guilt, I parked at the west end of Whyte Avenue today and took a long penitent walk east to Greenwoods'. There were only two people in the store when I arrived - both staff - and scarcely greater numbers of books. Most of the shelves have been laid bare, and posters declare "All books 50% off - All sales final."

I took a moment to wander up and down the aisles, but there wasn't much to see; just row upon row of empty wooden shelves, shelves that were once crammed to bursting with all manner of literary riches. I remembered all the happy hours I'd spent in the original location next to the Princess Theatre, times when I'd accompany university buddies to catch a show and then pick up some books, or vice versa. After graduation I struggled to find a job in my chosen field and wound up driving a parts truck around the city. I was depressed by the rote nature of the work and the abuse I often endured from a number of my customers, but every Wednesday afternoon I had one escape: I stopped at Warp One to pick up my week's supply of comic books, then crossed the back alley to the back door of Greenwoods' to browse for books. That weekly pleasure never failed to reinvigorate me.

Despite my ability to find all the books I've ever wanted online, I still lament the loss of Greenwoods'. Amazon and other online vendors are wonderful if and only if you already know what you're looking for. But they can't replicate the experience of browsing through the shelves and finding something new and wonderful via serendipity. I estimate fully half the books in my collection were discovered this way.

Now there's one last place to browse, and Edmonton is poorer for the loss. All these thoughts flashed through my mind as I handed over the one book remaining at Greenwoods' to catch my interest: Under the Moons of Mars: New Adventures on Barsoom. I'd never heard of the book before the lurid cover caught my eye on one of those near-empty shelves. One last escape, courtesy of a business that's been a portal to wonder for over thirty years.

Thanks, Greenwoods'. I won't forget you.