Teacher Supplies: Goodbye to another Long Beach tradition

As part of our Long Beach renaissance since returning from our road trip, Mike and I have been spending time and money in parts of our city we'd like to see return to glory. Topping the list is Belmont Shore, that part of Second Street that used to be home to independent shops and eateries, became a dumping ground for expensive boutiques and chain stores, and is slowly getting its identity back. When I was a kid, my family used to go down to Belmont Shore most weekends, eating lunch at Hamburger Henry's (best burgers EVER), strolling down for dessert at Grandma's Sugarplums (chocolate-covered everything!) and spending untold hours at Dodd's Bookstore (the whole front room was Dover classics). There was a random restaurant that had fake snow on the roof, and my dad would always lift me up to touch it. All of these landmarks are gone now, of course, replaced many times over by cafés and clothing stores that appeal to the tiny dog owners (syntactic ambiguity!) the BSBA courts. I'm not bitter, I just miss it.

Regardless of the changes over the years, including the closing of Hamburger Henry's doors, which was apocalyptic for our family, all of our trips to Belmont Shore– every single trip– included a visit to the Teacher Supplies store. If you've spent time in this charmingly wood-shingled store, you know what I mean when I say it's magical. In one corner of the store is an extremely satisfying collection of toys, puppets, and board games. In another, an extensive library of children's books, ranging from the newest Caldecott winner to books that were old when my papa read them to me twenty years ago. The rest of the store is populated with all the oddly-shaped, fantastically-colored odds and ends that are endemic to classrooms, this store, and no where else. Blocks that teach addition, maps of California missions, cardboard designed to hang on peg-boards, and countless other tools of the profession designed to delight and encourage the student imagination.


All of the above hopes to serve as explanation for why, on November 1st, about two months into my teaching credential program, I was dismayed to see "Going Out of Business" signs in the windows that peek into this extraordinary store. Retirement Sale! Up to 75% off! These are not banners you want to see hanging on a treasure like this, one that has endured and endured since 1971 as the rest of the street has changed, morphing into something a little less magical.

Stephen and I went in last week to look around and say our goodbyes. As I meandered through the children's library, I noticed how many of the books were dog-eared and well-loved by children like me over the past thirty years. Next to the ones that, judging from their age, were very likely the same copies of the books I thumbed through as a kid, there were new books addressing today's children: books about Obama, books about gay parents, books that should be discovered and browsed through in just such a city as ours, in just such a place as this.

The signs outside had led me to believe that maybe, after almost forty years of operation, the owner had gotten tired of running a retail store and had decided to travel, or to otherwise enjoy a well-deserved retirement. I was sad to see Teacher Supplies go, but I understood that change comes, even to places we most want to remain the same. But, as I stood in the store I overheard a conversation between a woman buying an extravagant marionette and one of the store's familiar long-time employees.

Puppet Purchaser: You're going out of business, hm? Don't you do good business here?
Friendly Face: Well, the toys do very well, but the teachers just don't have any money. We can't afford to make the store all-toys, so we have to close down.

Ouch. "The teachers just don't have any money." No money for foil-adorned #2 pencils (in bulk), no money for bright cardboard strips to border bulletin boards, no money for the boxed set of Jataka Stories lesson plans I found hidden on a top shelf, and no money to keep a Long Beach treasure in business.

I went into the store to buy something symbolic to put in my own classroom someday, as a relic of this place that meant so much to me as a child who loved to learn. I saw that the stock of the entire children's book section was on sale, along with the fixtures, for about a thousand bucks, and I almost gave Mike a call.