I was a freshman living on the north side of campus. The shop was on the west side.
It was a rough year in the dorm. I escaped by hiding in bookstores and read the entire Sandman series in his shop.
Comic Relief had a simple rule. Read what you want but don’t sit down.
Beyond that, they were really totally chill. I went through the Blade of the Immortal series in that shop as well.
I was a poor student, so I read a lot but only bought the occasional comic, but they were cool about it.
Hopefully I repaid their hospitality with many purchases after I graduated and got a job.
The other night, I thought about Rory, a big guy with long stringy blond hair and a big black wrist stiffener. A jovial presence in his kingdom. I remember hanging out with him a few times as he smoked a couple cigarettes outside on University Avenue. I still think about his warnings about acid free tape (there adhesive was acid free, but the tape membrane wasn’t).
He was a gracious host. After all my free loading during the college years, I willingly bought much of what he recommended to me. There are plenty of obscure graphic novels on my shelves from his store.
I also fondly remember the time when I picked up Frank Miller’s Yellow Bastard from his Sin City series. A couple days later I returned it. I was a bit embarrassed, but that book was just too dark. A great novel, but I couldn’t have it in my house.
No judgment. No big deal.
He moved his shop to a bigger place right before I moved out to Texas. A few years later he passed away. The shop is now gone.
But the memory of Comic Relief still lives fresh in my mind’s eye. It was an institution, for a moment. Thankfully I was there for it.
These small institutions that enrich our lives are always but fleeting. This haunting reality is a bit of a downer, so I just try to be grateful in the moment. And when they’re gone, I remind myself that it was a boon to be at the right place at the right time.