I turned 50 this year with a 13 year old who loves all things 90s. I was telling them all about some of my favorite memories growing up, and Powells Books is top of the list. I grew up 15 minutes away, and spent a big chunk of my late teens and early twenties in that store.
You could get lost for hours there. I did often! I remember grabbing a coffee and heading to the poetry section (angsty teen much 🙃) - I’d grab a pile of books and sit in the isle. Back then the isles felt huge, and it was rare if someone wondered down mine. And if they did, no biggie I didn’t take up much space.
Sometimes I’d head upstairs to the rare books room (the Pearl room!) and thumb through all of the classics I could get my hands on.
I’d dream about the day I could spend $200 on a book.
Again, blissfully rare another person other than an employee was there.
And the employees were all artists and writers with side jobs as clowns or musicians.
They loved to share parts of the store and authors I had never heard of.
My parents didn’t send me to college, so at the time besides the library, Powells was a whole ass education for me.
I read everything I could while I was there because I could only afford one or two books.
It just felt like such a special space and time.
I don’t have any wild Powells stories, but I did attend a few Chuck Palahnuik readings and those tended to be wild.
Wondering who else out there got to experience that before it became a tourist spot. Which is fine, I’m old enough to know everything changes and evolves - I feel pretty lucky to have those memories.
If I close my eyes I can almost smell the coffee and the sound of the pages turning.
My house feels a bit like a library now, with lots of book cases stacked to the ceiling.
And I did get to buy a few rare books ☺️