Bookselling lost one of its best last week--well, to be fair, he retired from the game years ago, but Larry Todd's influence was still felt, and will continue to be, for years to come. I've held off writing about him because his influence on me is also profound, and I wanted to sort it out in my head before committing it to the internets.
Larry was the general manager of the Hunter's Books chain of bookstores in southern California and Arizona. Part of the Books Inc. chain headquartered in the SF Bay Area, Books Inc. and Hunter's were among the finest independent bookstores in the country. The Hunter's stores are long gone now, but Books Inc. continues to pave a path through the challenges of superstores and online retailers and books being sold in giant discount outlets. Sometimes it seems that everyone who is significant today in California bookselling worked for Books Inc., Hunter's, or both.
In its day, though, there were no better independents in the West than Hunter's, and especially Larry's flagship store on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
Sitting at the corner of Rodeo and little Santa Monica, Hunter's was one of the first things a tourist would see when visiting the famous Rodeo Drive. Entering the store was like walking into a palace devoted to the written word. It was spacious and luxurious. The staff was attentive, and knew its stock inside and out. Larry in particular was one of the great book men, and his enthusiasm for a title could push it to bestseller status in Los Angeles, which could then translate to bestseller status nationwide. Harriet Doerr's Stones for Ibarra, a brilliant little first novel published when the author was 74 years old, is just one example of a book Larry decided to get behind, then sold and sold and sold.
The Beverly Hills crowd is an interesting one to sell books to. They have plenty of money, and sometimes they'd rather part with a lot than a little. In a display case inside the store, Larry had a big, beautiful book of Andrew Wyeth paintings that almost no one ever took out to look at. Where many people might try lowering the price (this was not an inexpensive book), Larry knew his audience. He raised the price, and people started asking to see the book. Still no buyers. He raised the price again, to (I think) $400. The next day, someone bought it.
Moneyed Los Angelenos aren't easily impressed by standard issue auctorial fame. An autograph party by a bestselling author in Tampa or St. Louis or Oklahoma City might draw a crowd, but in a town where Tom Hanks might live next door and your kids go to school with various Fondas, you need bigger stars to generate excitement. Larry was a master at bringing in the biggest stars to co-host autograph parties for slightly lesser names. If there was a celebrity autobiography published in those days, the launch party was held at his store, and usually there was a co-host whose luminescence guaranteed a turnout. So I met Dolly Parton, who hosted the party for Fannie Flagg's excellent Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, and Barbara Eden, who came to hang out with Dolly. And Jimmy Stewart, who hosted the party for Joseph Cotten's autobiography. One who needed no co-host was Liberace, who signed his autobiography at a spectacular event at the store. My main duty that day was going along to pick up the fabulously expensive candelabra we borrowed from Harry Winston. When Liberace died, not long after, one of the photos seen almost everyone, including the cover of the National Enquirer, was of him sitting in a red velvet throne--the chair we put him in for the signing. Before he could even begin to sign, he had to sit and smile for dozens of press photographers for what seemed like an eternity.
In addition to the stars of stage and screen, literary stars hung out at the store, whether they were signing or not. At Larry's store I met Ken Follett, Robin Cook, Sidney Sheldon (who gave us a bunch of so-so novels he may or may not have written himself, but also--and I thanked him for this contribution--the TV series I Dream of Jeannie, starring the aforementioned lovely, sexy, wonderful Barbara Eden), and many, many others.
When the store's lease ran out and Beverly Hills real estate had hit ridiculous heights, there was no way the landlord would renew to a bookstore when instead they could put in a shop that sold jeans for $500 a pair. So Hunter's relocated to Beverly Drive, just a block over but in a different world, a world where locals shopped but the tourists, big spenders and celebrities rarely ventured. The move was celebrated by one of the grandest parties ever seen in the southern California book community--a parade, led by a marching band, featuring dozens of the best-known authors in the business, traversed the distance between the old store and the new one. My memories of that party are a little hazy, but I spent a lot of time hanging out with Harlan Ellison and great crime writer T. Jefferson Parker, who I met for the first time that night (but I had read his debut, Laguna Heat, and was mightily impressed, and Jeff seemed pleased by that). I don't remember seeing her but I know Abigail Van Buren, syndicated columnist "Dear Abby," was there, because I was standing with Harlan when a staff member from one of the other stores came over to us and said, "Hey, Abby's here." And Harlan said, "Hoffman came? Where is he?" To which she had to explain that she meant Dear Abby, not Yippie Abbie, and Harlan's interest level dropped dramatically.
Booksellers are traditionally not very well paid in comparison to people in other fields at similar levels of responsibility. It takes a lot of $7 and $15 and $29 sales to amount to a lot of money, especially at 50-60% profit margins (before rent, payroll, and operating expenses--that's just cost of goods sold). But Larry was a man of gigantic integrity, who was willing to turn down offered bribes by representatives of a cult founded by a pulp writer, who wanted him to put their founder's new books on his front table. That table was the most prestigious piece of bookselling real estate in southern Californa, and launched many a bestseller, but a book had to earn its way onto it. I learned much about bookselling from working with him, and much about life and honor and decency.
Larry was a gay man, in one of the warmest, most loving and committed relationships I have ever seen, far stronger than many marriages. When I hear people claim that gay marriage will destroy our social fabric, I think of Larry and Ken and wonder what they could possibly mean. Wouldn't the world be better if more couples could create such a loving, respectful environment?
Larry was a man who loved good food and good company. Going out to dinner was an event in itself, at which an hour could pass before a menu was opened. Every restaurateur and wait staff seemed to know and love him, and if they didn't before the meal started, they did hours later when it ended.
Larry was a bookman to his core. When his Hunter's closed, he and Ken moved to Palm Desert and opened their own store, the Bookstore of Palm Desert. When he finally retired from that enterprise, he became a volunteer at the Palm Desert Public Library and wrote a column for the local newspaper. He left us on April 9. I remain greatly indebted to him, for all that he did and gave and meant.
