The Last Day at Cutler’s

The End of an Era

I

I was standing in the gutted remains of Cutler’s Record Store—or Cutler’s Compact Discs if you believed the name on the sign—for what would be the last time. I was in front of all that was left, around 800 new and used Records—LPs, 45s, in other words Vinyl. I was sad.

Not enough money to make one last purchase, I did all that I could do: talk to Bob who was packing up the new CDs for return. Apparently you can get some money back if they were never opened.

Bob worked at Cutlers for a long time, and from what I’ve heard it was his first and only job. Now he’s middle aged and the place was shutting down around him. I could tell he didn’t exactly want to be packing CDs.

Bob is a nice guy, too. The kind you could rely on to work at your local record store, always top in service, always knowledgeable, and most importantly a fan. We got to talking music stories, and he really knew how to one-up mine.

“I remember buying my first record at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, it was Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

“Mine was Magical Mystery Tour, I stood in line, here, the day it came out.”

“I remember coming by here all the time, the second record I ever bought was the Ramones first album, here, right on the racks below the counter.”

“Oh yeah! I remember seeing them on their first tour, at… at. [couldn’t remember the name of the place] For their first set, I remember they played the first album in 15 minutes. Then they took a break for 30 minutes, then they came back, and they played the same songs, only faster.”

If he wasn’t so goddamn nice, I’d really hate him for that one.

A younger girl came into the store. You could tell she was in that phase in High School or the early College years where you know all the lyrics to all the Beatles songs, and no idea what was on top 40 radio. You’d know that X is a band. You can gladly report that, no, Bob Dylan is not dead. If she was a guy, she’d wear nothing but black band t-shirts.

The three of us got to talking about the demise of record stores. That vinyl is the only way to listen. The usual stuff you talk about in a record store, only with more sadness. We tried to list all the record stores in Connecticut and were sad when we could count them on one hand. We continued trading stories.

I was still shuffling through the records a little, just to linger. I asked if I could have some of the dividers, for my own personal collection (Wilco and Bob Dylan, still have them). A customer came up looking for CDs. [Ugh.] Another customer came looking for Barry Manilow or something I can’t even remember. It sucked, whatever it was.

I had to get to work, and Bob, like always, even with 75% of the store gone, was running around trying to help this customer.

I still lingered for a moment, hoping to catch Bob, just to say bye. When I did, I was halfway out the door, and I was suddenly struck for words.

“Hey, so long.”

This is approximately when I felt my stomach drop. I was no longer just saying goodbye to Bob, I was saying goodbye to Cutler’s.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll see you on the block,” he replied, he was going to be working for a clothing store owned by the same family, and I worked just a few stores down from there. Of course I’ll see Bob again. But never in the same context. Not in our beloved record store.

II

The missing anecdote from this story is the story of the first Elvis record. I was a regular at Cutler’s, and Bob [and Kyle, who was also that record store guy] got into the habit of giving me a heads up when new records came in. He knew what I liked, and I’m pretty sure that he marked some records lower, just so that I could have them.

During the last three weeks of the store, they moved to get the entire back stock out, labeled and priced. There was a 25% off sale for all of the merch, and you could tell that the prices were set low so that everything would sell.

“Hey, you should go look at the Presley we just got in. It’s in great condition. It’s a mono of his first record. First printing, I believe. In mint condition it would be something like 500 dollars.”

I was upset to find out it was still 100 dollars—and therefore 75 with the discount. I told him that I’d think about it.

Then the sale went to 40% off on Pay Day. I scrambled the money together—borrowed some from Mom—and waited outside until 9:30 when they opened, not even sure it was still there.

It was, and it’s amazing, and it sounds beautiful.

I was upset that Bob or Kyle wasn’t there when I bought it. Part of me wanted to let him know that I got it. I kept missing him the entire last week—he wasn’t working that day, or he had just left—and it wasn’t until this last day I got to tell him.

“Hey I bought that Elvis album, it sounds great. I just wanted to let you know it’s in good hands. I didn’t want it to be just a collectors item, you know? I’m going to listen to it.”

“Yeah, I once found an unopened copy of the Beach Boys “All Summer Long.” The guy asked me, are you going to save that?”

“No!” he replied, “I’m going to listen to it.”