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Gotham Book Mart Tribute Page
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<h1 class="text-center box blue-box-header">Gotham Book Mart & Gallery (1920-2007)</h1>
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<img width=610px src="http://bit.ly/29kXwdI" alt="An older white woman looks up at a young white man in thick-rimmed glasses with side-swept hair. They are standing in a bookstore.">
<p>Frances Steloff, left, and Andreas Brown at Gotham Book Mart in 1975. (Larry C. Morris/The New York Times.)</p>
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<h2>Gotham Book Mart Memory #1</h2>
<p><em>[Some memories I’m afraid to trot out to perform in my writing... I’m afraid even to handle them overly much—they’re that precious. My Gotham Book Mart memories are like this, with a few exceptions.]</em></p>
<p> I always begin with my job application to Gotham as a clueless 18-year-old who had just one part-time high school job on what passed for her resume. How did I ever get it to fill a whole page? I knew I liked books and reading, so I looked up bookstores on Google (which still had that new-car smell) the summer after my freshman year at college in NYC. Gotham was one of my last stops at 47th Street. The bookstore was a complete 180 after filling out an application at the crisp, corporate, beige Barnes & Noble around the corner: at first sight Gotham was dingy, dusty, and cluttered. Around the corner from the cash register a typewriter was on a tiny desk next to a stack of books that reached waist height and was longer than I was tall. The shelves were all painted a uniform deep royal blue which peeked out between the titles. The top shelf (the ninth) was stopped by the low ceiling of the store. There was a young face at the cash register and an older face behind the desk across from the typewriter (on one side were five bookshelves, stadium-style; the other was a stage dresser’s dream of a cluttered, note-filled nest, though it was well lit with incandescent bulbs perched on opposite corners). Finally there was the oldest face beneath a carefully kept and neat side-swept head of gray hair, in the back of the store. Andy (Mr. Andreas Brown, to you) completed the three stages of man that made up the bookstore, though he was often only heard, rather than seen. Little did I know, his face would become ingrained in my memory and I would snap to attention even when he appeared in my dreams, years after I’d stopped working at Gotham.</p>
<p> Indeed, the day I asked for a job application from the kind, young face at the cash register (was it Mina? Marc? The Unfortunate Rob? Surely not Frank.) I knew nothing, and I can prove it almost mathematically. The job application I was handed was ancient in origin. The copy of a copy’s copy from the store’s original, and Gotham opened in 1920. So, naturally, beside wanting to know my name and address and previous experience, there were two boxes for height and weight. I remember this causing me merely a moment’s pause, as I have never been a skinny girl but I do have an all-American girl’s ego (plus half of an Asian one), before I filled out the height box and wrote my best guess in the weight box. I turned in the form with an assurance from behind the cash register that they weren’t really hiring, especially not part-time for the summer, and I walked away from the store convinced I’d never see it again, because when was I in Midtown?</p>
<p> Three jobless weeks later my mother encouraged me to check my voicemail in case anyone had gotten back to me. I finally relented and was surprised to hear that Gotham had called me that week, a position had opened up after all (thanks, Unfortunate Rob, for being bad at your simple job), and just for the summer was ok. Was it just timing, was my resume on the top of the pile and the closest at hand? Maybe. My mom is convinced my clueless honesty in filling out the height and weight box was what got them to call me, and not one of the graduate students that regularly would hand me flawless, highly-qualified resumes once I took my seat behind the cash register and surely had done so before my appearance. If mom is right, I certainly lived up to my resume during the in-person interview, where I remember confidently asserting that, no, I had never worked a cash register, and yes, I did have a favorite book, it was <em>A Tree Grows in Brooklyn</em> by Betty Smith. Apparently, I was hired. Apparently, I started this Saturday.</p>
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<h2 class="light-blue-text">Links for further study:</h2>
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<p class="light-blue-text"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gotham_Book_Mart">Gotham Book Mart on Wikipedia.</a></p> <p class="light-blue-text">Read <a href="http://www.newyorkboundbooks.com/2013/08/19/wise-men-fish-here/"><em>New York Bound Books'</em> history of Gotham Book Mart & Frances Steloff.</a></p> <p class="light-blue-text">A student's <a href="http://unpackingthebookstore.org/a-look-back-at-gotham-book-mart-place-and-people/">history and timeline of Gotham Book Mart at <em>Unpacking the Bookstore.</em></a></p><p class="light-blue-text">Read about <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2002/05/13/bookstore-cat">Pynchon, Andy's bookstore cat, at <em>the New Yorker.</em></a></p>
<footer>Designed by Mgtei for <a href="https://www.freecodecamp.com/">FreeCodeCamp.</a></footer>
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