Nothing is more satisfying than doing the impossible, achieving something nobody believed you could achieve and that even you didn’t think could be done yourself.

Connie Brooks is in that rare group of people who have done the impossible, and so many others are better for it.

The bookstore in our town has been around for a long time, but Connie Brooks is a gambler at heart; she bought it about 14 years ago. She moved, changed, expanded, and devoted much of her life to it.

I am an author and have lived in 14 different places, most of them cities, and this is one of the most beautiful, thoughtful, topical, and well-stocked bookstores I have ever seen.

Almost every time I want a book, it is there when I walk into the store. If it isn’t, it will come quickly. People in town often tell me they never feel foolish or stupid when looking for a book.

They are always treated with respect.

Battenkill Books is an independent bookstore; we were all promised years ago by the pundits that they would all be gone by now. They are not, at least not here.

The bright booksellers realized what booksellers resisted for years – they had to change radically and immediately to survive.

 

Connie did change. And is still changing.

She is careful about what she orders, is quick to send it back if not sold,  keeps track of her books, and offers the kind of community service and connections that many bookstores once thought was beneath them.

I love her bookstore, like many other people from my town and far away.

Connie has even received funding from a rich author for a first-rate children’s book section that draws parents from around the region.

Connie has had a time of it. She’s gone through every bookstore crisis and has weathered them all, including the worst threat, Covid-19.

When the pandemic struck, she decided to keep the store open. She can’t to this day say why.

She had to lay off her devoted and efficient staff (they are all back at work now) and was alone in the store for four months. She had to go it alone.

 

 

( I call them Murderer’s Row for no reason other than their unwavering competence. Connie, Kate, Heather. Eve wasn’t working today, at least not this morning.)

Connie decided she would tough it out through the pandemic, even though it was killing bookstores and small businesses all over the country.

She devised a complicated Rube Goldbert system that should never have worked but worked wonderfully, even in a town believed to be too small for an independent bookstore.

She took orders online and by phone (making suggestions) and set up a heavy metal cabinet outside the door. Once the books were ordered and paid for, she would gather them in envelopes and set them outside in the morning, labeled and packaged. People could come and pick them up.

 

It seemed as if the pandemic had created almost overnight the idea for a regional bookstore. People were desperate to read and rediscovered the joy of it, a surprise to the publishing industry (most things are.)

Connie did all this herself, ordering, stocking, re-stocking, and returning hundreds, sometimes thousands, of books weekly. She is married and always found time to pay attention to her son. She would call her husband, Chris, to say she was too exhausted to take out the recycling.

I never once saw her doing that time, but we talked on the phone often. I had no idea she was struggling so much. She isn’t into complaining.

I don’t know how she did it, and she says even today, she is not sure if she would do it again. I think she would.

Connie is up to her neck in Christmas now, working just as hard. Yesterday as a brutal storm was predicted for the region, and the streets got very quiet, Connie sent out an e-mail to her customers:

“Just a quick note: we know snow is on the way, but we will be open our regular hours tonight (through 8 p.m.).Several of us are within walking dist so that, so we will make it here. We know there are only a few more shopping days left…”

Every other business in town was closed.

 

Connie has a lot of sweat and blood in that bookstore, and it’s hard for me to imagine her giving it up without a fierce struggle.

Her staff is impressive,  friendly, loyal, and always helpful. I couldn’t count the number of times I called up seeking help buying or finding a book for me or a friend or relative.

Heather, Eve and Kate all feel like family to me and many others.

I have never felt unwelcome at Battenkill Books or neglected. Connie is happy to have them all back. But running a bookstore is never easy and never will be.

Connie looks happy, proud, and somewhat puzzled that she is still standing.

“I cried every morning for four months,” she said. “It was the only way I could survive.”

It was pretty standard, she said, for people to drive to the bookstore in the winter (they were bored and trapped in their homes.), and she would leave books outside for them to browse.

Many would sit there for hours, leafing through the books, drinking coffee, and hanging out.

I had five or six book signings at Connie’s store; they were among the best memories of my publishing career.

Readers would call up on the phone and talk to me, and I would sign their books the way they wanted.

Connie ensured I did an excellent job of signing and then would mail out my book, always in time for Christmas.

She brought me muffins and tea, and Maria and I would spend hours in there signing books; Red was always with us.

One book, “Second Chance Dog,” about my meeting Maria and her Mad Dog Frieda and our getting together, sold 1,100 copies in her bookstore. We were signing until my fingers went numb.

When I lived in New York City, I prowled the fabulous and famous bookstores there. Some were bigger, but I can’t say they were better. Many were snooty, wrinkling their noses at a book I wanted to buy.

They were not into customer service, and they paid the price. None of them are still in business.

Our little town has mixed success at drawing new and thriving small businesses. Connie could teach a class on how it should be done.

The community is intensely loyal to her. Book readers are very grateful.

From my not-so-distant perspective, I saw that Connie realized right away that the old model of the small bookstore wouldn’t fly anymore.

(Children’s Book Section, Battenkill Books)

Connie realized she had to be a businesswoman and a book lover. She couldn’t read every book, but she could have every good one in stock or get it quickly.

And she got the right staff. They have her back.

Connie understood what Jeff Bezos understood, but most bookstores didn’t – customer service was critical. It was all about what the readers wanted,  not just what the bookstores wanted.

Bookstores could no longer turn their noses at efficiently tight monitoring of inventory, digital technology for selling and record-keeping, or make people feel uncomfortable,  ignorant, or demeaned when they came in looking for books.

I love writing about people who make the world brighter and better and follow their bliss. It’s a new thing for me. I only recently understood how important it is.

I admire people who find happiness and meaning in accomplishment and following their calling. I believe people who love their work are blessed and often do the impossible.

Connie knows the essential purpose bookstores can play in our dysfunctional and disconnected world. It’s about a lot more than books.

This year, amid much turmoil,  a war, ugly divisions, and inflation, Connie is having one of the best years ever.

Good job, Connie.

She says she doesn’t cry anymore in the morning. But then, we would never know.