I see them listed on the Internet as “the best bookstore,” and someone else claims Judith is “the nicest person you’ll ever meet.”

Shirley and I knew them from years ago in the old location, same street, a few doors away. They were wonderful and we came there often. We bought a lot of books, not just for our own bookstore which we kept buying for, that famous bookstore we always wanted that would also have folk art and sculpture and fabrics and paintings and jewelry and glassware and and and…and we never found a location affordable and wound up with a lot of stuff, practically everything there ever was, but no store.

Century Books had a dance section. Judith proudly steered us to it and we nearly cleared the shelves, bought almost all she had. Their store was eclectic and inclusive, intelligently assembled, and she and Steve knew where everything was and could talk about the collection.

They were fun to be around, and you didn’t have to buy books, but we did.
The legend of the place included references to Einstein’s off-campus office when he was at Caltech, with, if I remember correctly, underground passages so he could avoid the crowds that were likely waiting on the street for a glimpse.

The bookshop itself had stairs up to a higher level, more books, some for children, and enough space at the juncture where musicians could sit and perform, and did, and a small eager crowd would cluster around, refreshments provided, snacks and drink, because Steve and Judith were not only community oriented, they genuinely liked people and not just as customers.

Shirley and I would often see them in Trader Joe’s as we were shopping for groceries and they were buying refreshments for the evening soiree, often live jazz, and they would remind us and renew the invitation.

Wonderful people.

Educated, cultured, enthusiastic, the way people should be in the world that should be. We just couldn’t stay away.

If I remember correctly, we invited them to dinner at a place of their choosing, but schedules conflicted, the invitation left hanging in the air, and now I think I’ll be able to honor it.

It was a shock to me to see the old store closed, gone, out of business, empty, windows vacant like the feeling that struck me down.

It was a joy to discover, thank you Internet, they’ve recently re-opened as I said just a few doors away, like so many businesses experiencing rebirth after covid. Kristina and Chaz and I went down to Green Street, bringing several boxes of quality books I was happy to donate.

It was about a year after Shirley died and I almost died myself, from despair, a bad hip, a house that had become unlivable, and crushing debt from storing 60,000 books for a store that never was and now never would be.

Judith and Steve were so sad to hear about Shirley. Everybody loved her. Everybody misses her. Kristina saved me, brought me back to life, and is helping me reconnect.

We talked for a long time. The Covid Lockdown was hard on all of us for many reasons. Sympathy went both ways. He and Judith are still the happy couple so much like Shirley and me that we share a special bond. She also shows intelligent restraint as she looks lovingly at Steve and doesn’t have to say aloud, “I’m a Steve adore.”

(I apologize for the pun, but it seems appropriate, and I couldn’t resist.)

The shop is now operating on very limited hours as they reorganize the stock in their new location. They explained. The piles and stacks of books and boxes just now clearing passages, the shelves still richly filled and somewhat reachable. A College Professor friend of theirs contracted a sell-on-consignment, projected about a thousand volumes which turned out to be over five thousand. They’re working on it, still maintaining a presence on the Internet. I’m delighted to see the quality offerings.

They’re almost overwhelmed, and I try not to feel guilty as I bring donations. They commiserate with me as I say, almost in tears, almost ashamed to admit how I had to let the majority of my collection go to the dumpster because the storage cost was eating me alive and I literally would not have survived. I came that close.

The loss of books is a loss of civilization, a loss in the hope for the future. I tried and tried to find anybody who would/could take them off my hands, but they were all intimidated by overwhelm – bookstores, libraries, charities, universities, all showed interest but were frightened away. They just didn’t have room.

Now I’m going through the shelves at home, thinning the herd. I’m keeping the special, the sentimental. But both Shirley and I always wanted to get books to the people who wanted and would read them. It was never for us about the money.

When Kristina and Chaz were working on the house, I took four bags of carefully chosen treasures, drove down and parked on Green Street. Judith was overjoyed to see me, cleared a space, brought a chair, offered water, limited at the moment to sparkling. The lights were off, the door was open but the store was not. Even so, a few people stopped by. Some came inside, were welcomed, offered sparkling water, a space to sit, a chance to look around. The lights were turned on. Judith knew most of the visitors. One woman seemed to be a longtime friend and they talked about family and health. The friend selected a few books and tried to pay the full amount. I saw it push back and forth, friends haggling. The friend took the books, new treasures for her, telling Judith next time she would pay full price. Judith smiled and said, “Next time.”

I sat on my chair and watched the whole thing. Then a youngish man came in looking for books on minerals. Judith said, “We don’t have many,” went right to the shelves and started pulling one by one by one. He looked them over while standing, was offered a chair and a space to sit, gave in, sat, and dug in to the growing pile of possibilities, uttering excitement along the lines of “Yes, this could work, no, don’t put that one back, let me look at…” He, or maybe it was Judith, steered the conversation to another passion of his revealed on a former visit: frogs. So there was talk about frogs for awhile, he praised a book he treasured from Japan, about five inches think, possibly the world’s most complete book on frogs, pictures of each special kind of frog from inception to tadpole to birth to maturity. He pulled up a picture on his phone showing a newly discovered species with a glowing red belly incandescent from within like an actual light, and we oohed and aahed.

Then a girl in her teens paused outside the door with her mother. She was obviously attracted by books the way many young people are, then cautiously entered and was welcomed. Judith was showing her around, and I went outside to bring in the rest of the books I had brought.

The mother and I got to talking on the sidewalk about books and bookstores and teaching. The daughter was inside and looking at everything. I mentioned Octavia’s Bookshelf, recently opened on North Hill Avenue, the dream brain child of Nikki High who is now a close personal friend because we share the same enthusiasm of getting books to people who want to read them. Octavia’s Bookshelf, that’s Octavia Butler, is the first, let me see if I can get this right, the first black woman owned bookstore in maybe all of California, specializing in young adult books focusing on science fiction and fantasy. The woman got excited, said, “My Daughter will love it. She’ll want to go there tomorrow, but right now we have to move the car because I hear they’re strict about parking here.” I said, “I’m lucky, I have the handicapped placard, I’m still learning to walk after the operation,” and I hobbled to the car to get the last bags of books.

The girl was coming back out to her mother, looking longingly over her shoulder at the books she was leaving, and showed her mother a list Judith had made for her of other bookstores in the area, The Battery Books on Los Robles, and Book Alley on Colorado. Bookstore owners are like a fraternity and promote each other in a common cause, my own cause exactly.

I showed Judith the books I brought, one by one, to make sure she knew what she was getting, pointing out those autographed, like Ralph Nader’s Unsafe at Any Speed which he inscribed to Shirley and me when we were working for him as Oaks of community involvement.

Judith exclaimed with delight over the book teaching people to speak Korean. She said she and Steve were both learning. I pointed out the cassettes that accompanied the text, and she said, “We don’t have a cassette player anymore, but I can hear the language as I read it.”

I said, “I certainly don’t want to cause you problems or overwhelm you further, you’re already overwhelmed enough, but Shirley had a large dance library and I’d have to work too hard to catalog it to attract Special Collections at UCLA or UCR, and they might decline, and I’m sure Shirley would have been happy to see you take advantage of the offer, make some money, and get books to people who want to read them. I envision a special sale, I know you don’t have room now, but maybe you have a friend, you know so many people, someone with maybe a meeting room or a church basement, willing to host a special event, the Sterling Collection of Dance and Ballet…”

She’s thinking about it.

I don’t want to push too much too soon. I’m not in a great hurry. Meanwhile, I’m sorting out special dance books to bring in small batches. I hope Century Books expands its on-line listings. I want them to make a pile of money so they can stay in business forever.

I love Judith and Steve. I want to take them to dinner with Kristina and Chaz. We’ll all have a lovely time. Maybe we’ll go to Polka, the best and maybe only Polish restaurant this side of Santa Monica. Shirley and I discovered it years ago and have taken friends who still talk about it.

Or we may go to Papa Cristo’s, at Pico and Normandy, a favorite of ours even before we were married.

So many choices. But I’m glad to share Century Books with you, dear reader. I might see you there.