Gotta Love New Yorkers

I grew up in a house full of books. In fact, you might say it was lousy with books -- there were shelves in every room (except the bathroom), floor to ceiling, full to the brim. We didn't really have walls, just bookshelves. My parents collected roughly 3000 books, including some that were over 500 years old.

You might say, they literally lived and breathed books.

So that's why I loved reading this obituary about a guy who literally turned a whole apartment into a bookstore. He used to own real bookstores in Brooklyn and Manhattan but, once he lost his leases and got sick of selling at book fairs and such, he literally set up shop in a rent controlled apartment. His domestic bookstore became popular for "those in the know", a "secret haunt" for the beautiful people as you might say. People would make appointments to go buy books, groups would congregate in this place to drink and talk about literature. It was a real-life salon, a throwback to another time.

The place went under in 2015 from eviction and the owner just died. But he was another kind of NYC hustler, the kind of person this blog loves and celebrates. Rest in peace.