It Was More than Music…So Much More

What do you say when a genuine legend passes? Tower Records founder Russ Solomon died at home Sunday night, sipping whiskey and watching the Academy Awards, an original to the end. He was 92. His passing triggered the expected nods, from NPR to Rolling Stone, and my Facebook feed is full of posts from my Tower tribe tonight, expressing sorrow and condolences to Russ's family.

But the recurring theme that stands out above all is one of gratitude. Truly the stuff of legends, Russ built a billion dollar international company from a card table in his father's drugstore, and we got to be a part of it. At one time or another, every single one of us thought, "This is my job—I get paid to do this." We got to come to work in jeans and t-shirts, listen to music, be surrounded by books, magazines, movies, and music, and most importantly, we met each other. We formed our tribe. We were proud of being a band of misfits, joked about being unemployable anywhere else, and collectively knew more about music, books, movies, and pop culture than anyone on the planet.

It all came to an end 11 years ago, which on any given day can feel like a lifetime or a week. But the passing years only strengthen our bond. I've given up trying to explain what it is that holds us together to people who've never experienced a job that was anything more than just a job.

Russ had his quirks, and didn’t worry about speaking his mind. He told me on more than one occasion that a book ad I'd helped design was "absolute shit." Then he followed up with, "But what do I know, kiddo? I'm just an old man," said with a sparkle in his eye. At one time, my office in the advertising suite shared a common wall with his office. And I always heard music playing. The man dearly loved all kinds of music.

The last time I saw Russ was in October of 2015, during our giant three-day reunion that coincided with the release of the Colin Hanks movie, All Things Must Pass. He was pleased with the movie and touched by the crowd of former employees who came to Sacramento to relive our glory days, still insisting that it was us, "the kids in the stores," who made Tower the success that it was. I thanked him for an amazing 22 years, and he said, "Twenty-two? Were you twelve when you started?!" That charm and humor plus a passion for making his stores more than just places to buy CDs and books built an empire. Tower was more than music...it was an experience, a lifestyle, and it was a family. Thank you for everything. Rest in peace, Russ.

Once, Therefore Always...

Bookseller (book-sel-er) n. 1. A person whose occupation or business is selling books. 2. A person who previously sold books, whose heart and soul still belong to the printed word, regardless of their career path.

Sometimes you just have to reconnect with your roots. As I'll tell anyone willing to listen, bookseller isn't just an occupation—it isn't just something we do, it's something we are. While it's true that I haven't made my living in the book biz in eleven years, I'm no less emotionally connected to the industry and my bookselling identity. I still buy physical books, prefer to buy them from real, independent bookstores, and feel compelled to support those stores whenever possible. 

Case in point: Last Tuesday, I jumped into the car after work and drove to one of my favorite indie stores, to go to my favorite author's book signing. Win-win. Robert Crais hadn't been to Northern California on tour in nine years, so I was thrilled to see that Book Passage was hosting a reading and signing of his latest novel, The Wanted. I had no intention of missing the event, late night be damned.

Why would I undertake a nearly 200-mile round trip in the middle of the week to get a signed book?

1. See "bookseller" above.
2. I'll always go out of my way to support indies that host author events.
3. I fell in love with Bob's recurring characters, Elvis Cole and Joe Pike in the late 80s.
4. As illustrated elsewhere in this space, I can be a bit of a fangirl at times.

There's nothing quite like hearing someone whose work you admire talk about the writing process and the amount of research and hard work that go into creating his bestsellers. Bob talked about how attached he's become to Elvis and Joe over the past 30 years, answered audience questions, and made wise cracks Elvis would be proud of.

I chatted with a woman sitting nearby before the event began. She'd only read one book, and wanted to know what it is that keeps me interested in the series. I told her I've long wished Joe and Elvis were real people, because I would want to know them. They're good, honorable men trying to stay true to themselves and navigate life's challenges with grace. Joe Pike's signature shades hide the pain in his ice-blue eyes, and his red arrow tattoos remind him there is no going backward. Elvis Cole looks for bits of magic where he can find them, not giving a damn that the Pinocchio clock and Jiminy Cricket figurines in his office are a disconnect from what most people expect to see when they hire a PI. The strength of their bond is a beautiful definition of friendship.

Elvis Cole and Joe Pike have been real to me for more than 25 years, the sign of a truly gifted author. Did I pay for the late night the next day? Yep. But I'll do it again without a moment's hesitation.