Crossing Borders

I have avoided visiting my local Borders bookstore since it was reported that the chain was packing in its books and music (and magnets and journals and small candies) and closing up its remaining stores. Knowing that those who swoop in on ailing enterprises tend to be kind of vulture-like in their pursuit of bargains, I did not want to either see this or be this.

Also, I was feeling some guilt. I don't purchase many books. There are a few reasons for this. First, while we in my family are voracious readers, we have never been book buyers. Second, we live in a small condo that suits our needs well but has little extra room for books. As it is, I have a few piles around that I have not yet figured out what to do with. Third, I am a seasoned reader and aspiring published novelist, and I am really, really picky about what I read. A book has to change my life for me to actually buy it.

In addition to my miser-like ways with my cash, I am fortunate to live in an area blessed with access to information. My local library is stellar, and through the wonders of interlibrary loan, I can get my hands on almost anything. Literally across the parking lot from my library is Anderson's Bookshop, the quintessential independent bookstore. Most of the books I buy, I buy there, because the taxes I pay go back into my hometown.

But when Borders opened in the suburb of Oak Brook just north of me twenty years ago, it filled yet another role in our area. The store quickly had to relocate to bigger quarters in a newly built mini mall across Route 83. Just to prove that our area could support many bookstores, a Barnes and Noble opened about two blocks to the south of Borders. I mostly shunned it, though, for one really silly but extremely practical reason -- their parking lot was too small.

As I mentioned, I do feel some responsibility for Borders' demise. At the time Borders opened, I was in college, and, as an English major, I was looking for as many sources of books as I could find. Many times, I would stretch my student budget by reading a novel at Borders. Recently, I used the store mostly as a high-end magazine library, paging through the thickest and glossiest of British Elle and Vogue Italia, and only rarely purchasing one. I would always buy something to drink, because I wanted to alleviate my guilt at least a bit. Often, I could not even do that, as every seat in the store's lounge was frequently occupied.

The Borders story is one riddled with the kinds of miscalculations and lack of risk-taking that characterizes American business right now. If upper management had been smart, they would have made room in their large stores for every new technology that came along. For example, Borders could have gotten rid of the overlarge compact disc area and installed a download bar. Teach people how to download MP3s and movies and recorded and eBooks, and sell them what they download, along with the technology to go with it. Any borders executive who visited a busy library could see that librarians are scrambling to help people do these things, and could have envisioned a plan to monetize this.

Also, while at the libraries, Borders higher-ups could have seen how people are begging for help with computers, resumes, crafts, cooking, etc. Libraries give away this information for free with community programs. Borders could have charged a nominal fee for how-to and do-it-yourself programs and directed patrons to resources in the store. Again, make better use of all that space to give customers what they need now.

And if I were in charge of a company, I would be hanging out at Borders, bugging their highly educated and customer-service oriented employees to come work for me. There is so much potential in our economy right now, but it is trapped by fear and small-mindedness. Let's hope we have taken advantage of the bookstores in our community to read up on our history, our economics and our literature and learn how to function again.