Remembering a Kindly Curmudgeon.
I lived above Bob Koester’s Lincoln Avenue Record shop for 3 years in the 1990s. He kept a small and messy inventory in a nondescript little shop, directly beneath my apartment, on an unassuming North Chicago street.
I had walked past the shop many times, before finally venturing in one pleasant spring morning. I was greeted by the sight of hundreds of milk crates randomly filled with LPs, an atmosphere redolent of a hoarder’s haven, and — in the back of the store — a mumbling elderly man who had no intention of paying me the slightest bit of attention, let alone trying to sell me anything. I browsed around for a bit, but left without making a purchase.
I returned a few months later, though I can’t quite recall why. I was in more of a mood to browse, though, and ended up discovering some wonderful albums, which the as yet unknown old codger suggested I price (!). I made what I considered a very low offer, but quite in keeping with my status as an underemployed theatre professional, and the proprietor accepted my offer. I walked out with 3 albums that I since learned are worth more than 20 times what I paid.
For reasons that are still unclear, I found myself drawn back to that dusty vinyl den repeatedly, occasionally making another purchase, but mostly to just flip through the milk crates, and absorb the diversity of LP art. I eventually…
