A Bookshop in Atlanta

 

You may not remember the incident of Bill Kovach, editor of the “Atlanta Journal-Constitution” in the late 1980s. During his short tenure from 1986 through 1988 he raised the visibility, coverage, and stature of the newspaper. One of its new staff took home a Pulitzer, the first in 20 years for the newspaper. And then he resigned over irreconcilable differences with management. Kovach was emulating the ‘New York Times’, management wanted a redesign like ‘USA Today’, and old heads grumbled that his vision was leaving Atlanta behind. Worse, aggressive journalists were reporting negative stories on hallowed local corporate institutions. But the rest of the business community at least loved it.

At the news of his resignation, on November 5, 1988, about 300 people, among them luminaries, staged a New Orleans-style wake down Marietta Street in protest, complete with band. Central to the protesters were the highly successful author Pat Conroy and Michael Lomax, an English professor at Morehouse, and Emory, and a candidate for mayor of Atlanta.

I felt a kinship to both these men. They, like me and so many others, were wheel spokes in the hub of Cliff Graubart’s bookshop on Juniper Street. I met Michael there on a couple of occasions, although I would not consider myself an acquaintance, only an admirer. Conroy I never met, but he was a constant there, and besides, he enrolled at The Citadel the year after me. Given my own stature, I can identify with men under 5’10” who played basketball in college. Through Cliff I have two signed first editions of his books.

To Conroy his dislike of the good-ole-boy AJC was personified by the late Lewis Grizzard, redneck funny man and sportswriter, who revered the Old South at a time when Atlanta was emerging as the shining example of the New South. The erudite Lomax ran for mayor twice, but was defeated both times. Although he had the whole-hearted support of the Atlanta white community, Black people considered him an Oreo – black on the outside, white on the inside. Otherwise, his string of personal and academic achievements is exemplary, and today he has been president of the United Negro College Fund for over 20 years. Both men along with Lillian Lewis, wife of Congressman John Lewis, and others, both speakers and marchers, wanted the luster to be restored to the newspaper of Henry Grady and Ralph McGill.

The Old New York Book Shop is still in existence, although it has morphed from the creaky house on Juniper Street to a rare and antiquarian atmosphere in Sandy Springs. The original was packed with all manner of books lining the walls of so many rooms and perfuming the air with a musty fragrance that booklovers cherish as farmers love the smell of manure in a pasture.

During my years in Atlanta used bookshops came and went, and Cliff was also a victim. When he sold the property on Juniper he told me he made a hell of a lot more money on the house than he ever did selling books. The used trade and the rare book business was crushed by the emergence of the Internet as dealers could finally compare notes on value, and collectors could shop with a smartphone.  But even today the industry survives, because any used bookshop is a physical magnet for readers that cannot be matched by digital technology.