well stocked north side of the street

I took this shot in 1994.  It looks a lot better full.

one riverrun stands alone

Frank Scioscia signed the lease for riverrun bookstore in 1978.  He loved the wooden floors and tin roof and, most importantly, the long open space for books. Shelves went up.  Books poured in.

A few years later the store was filled beyond reasonable capacity.

A storefront across the street became available, and Scioscia grabbed it.  We all joked about naming it “overrun”.

When Scioscia’s son-in-law, Chris Stephens, took over in 1994 he loaded books from his own book operations into both buildings and set up his desk on the south side.

For more than 30 years these 2 stores together were riverrun.  Customers would run back and forth across Washington Ave, gathering armloads of good books.

Now, the original store, the one on the north side of the street, is empty.  riverrun on the south side of the street carries on, like a lone twin.

It was incredibly hard to give up the north side but in the spring of 2012 we had to.  The landlord’s insurance company would not renew unless the structure supporting the floor was reinforced.  To reinforce the floor, the store had to be empty.  All those shelves.  All those books.

Now one could roller skate through the ghost-sections of philosophy  and cinema and fiction.  If one knew how to roller skate.

For books though, for really wonderful books, come to riverrun on the south side of the street.  12 Washington Avenue.

Ralph Fasanella, Artist

Ralph Fasanella used to enjoy hanging around riverrun and chatting with Frank Scioscia. The men were both sons of Italian immigrants. Both were sympathetic to unions and mistrustful of management. Fasanella was as tickled as Scioscia that riverrun bookstore was in the old Anaconda union hall.

Fasanella died a few years after Scioscia did but, in a way, they're both still there. Even now there's a New York Times article about Fasanella pinned up on the bookshelf, just where Scioscia put it some years ago.

Chris Stephens found some Fasanella posters for sale shortly after he took over the bookstore. He liked them. He bought them all. Ralph was happy to sign each of the posters over relaxed, pleasant conversation with Chris.

Ralph was still coming into the store to talk art, talk books, talk politics, talk unions, talk memories.

Fasanella art images

NY Times article on Fasanella

Art work for sale on artnet

Ultramarine Disch

Tom Disch was an interesting conversationalist as well as an interesting writer. Chris Stephens especially enjoyed talking with Tom. "He was lively. He was ready to discuss any subject. He knew lots and you never knew what line he was going to take," said Chris.

Back when I was young, I was slightly intimidated by Disch's intellectual intensity. I was more comfortable with the gentler soul of Charles Naylor.

Disch and Naylor had what was essentially a long and happy marriage, just like Chris and I have. Unlike Chris and I though, their partnership was unrecognized legally and spousal benefits accrued to neither. For instance, during all those years that Naylor taught in the public school system, Disch was not covered under Naylor's medical benefits. Later, when Naylor died first, Disch had no legal rights to stay in the rent-controlled apartment he'd lived in for years with Charles. This is a societal injustice. It could be easily remedied.

Disch's book, M.D.: A Horror Story, is one of the Ultramarine Press limited editions signed by Thomas Disch. It came out in 1991, simultaneously with the Knopf first trade edition. Denis Gouey bound the limitation. There were 12 beautiful full leather copies and 38 half leather with marble boards.

In the early 1980s Ultramarine Press put Neighboring Lives, by Tom Disch and Charles Naylor, in print. Chris Stephens had purchased the entire remaining stock from Scribners.

Amazon customer reviews of The M.D. Horror Story

Bob McPhillips working at riverrun

1995

Bob McPhillips was one of riverrun's very appealing assets.

McPhillips knows and loves books, especially modern poetry and prose.

Frank Scioscia leaves riverrun

In the rose-filled June of 1993 Frank Scioscia enjoyed life. He argued politics, discussed new authors, played bocce with friends, and read Daniel Deronda aloud with his wife, Mary.
Scioscia was sparklingly engaged at riverrun. Anyone who saw him there could plainly see he would never leave riverrun as long as he had breath left to draw.
But that’s just it. He didn’t. On July 10, 1993 Frank Scioscia died.
Everyone found it hard to believe because he was so packed with vitality. When I told a customer acquaintance 2 weeks later, he argued with me.
“No,no. He couldn’t have. I just saw him Tuesday, I think it was Tuesday. He was playing bocce down by the railroad tracks.”
It was a lead, he thought. I was mistaken and could start my search at the railroad tracks. Don’t worry. He’d turn up.
Frank’s death pained many. One of the most moving reactions came to me from a stranger’s disembodied voice.
I’d gone down to riverrun and left a short note on the front door. I also put a message on the store answering machine. “riverrun bookstore is temporarily closed. The owner, Frank Scioscia, died on July 10 of a heart attack. The family will reopen and operate the store sometime soon.”
Later I listened to messages. One was a long silence followed by a shocked whisper not meant for me.

“Oh my god.” Click.

CPS in riverrun

1995

Chris Stephens early in his tenure as riverrun proprietor.

Chris was already a well established book dealer. He'd had several stores and assembled many scholarly collections of books for university libraries.

Chris took over riverrun early in 1994. He wasn't sure it would be his cup of tea, but by the time this picture was taken - long before actually - he'd realized that he and the store were perfect for each other.

Alma has lunch with Chris

     Alma Singer gave this picture of her husband to Chris Stephens.  In 1993, Alma wanted to sell the books out of her apartment on 86th Street where she and Isaac Bashevis Singer had lived for so long.  Someone recommended riverrun.

     Alma was a character.  She could be a bit cranky.  She could be abrupt.  Just like Chris Stephens.

     The two hit it off.  They talked and argued and were cranky and abrupt with one another.  They enjoyed themselves immensely.

     At noon Chris needed a food break, but not a conversation break.  "I'd like to take you to lunch," he told Alma.

     "Yes.  That would be nice."

     "Where should we go?  Can you recommend a good place?"

     Alma suggested a nearby deli.  "The food's not so good," she told Chris,  "But the price is right."

     Chris preferred good food.  He wasn't stinting on his pay for her books.  He didn't want to stint on lunch either.  "No. no," he said.  "Let's go someplace where the food is very good.  What's the best restaurant around?"

     Alma didn't think Chris should waste his money.  They argued.  Both were stubborn, but it looked as if they were going to have to eat where the price was right, and the food wasn't.

     Then Chris made the convincing argument.

     "You know, Alma, I'm buying books from you.  This lunch is a business expense.  It's tax deductible."

      Alma was delighted.  "You mean we'll go to lunch on the government's money?"  She directed Chris to a mighty fine restaurant and settled into her seat with satisfaction.  She spread out her menu in anticipation of additional satisfactions.  "My husband was a vegetarian," she told Chris, with relish.  "But I'm not.  I'm ordering beef."

     After a long and very good lunch, Chris and Alma returned to her apartment.  Chris packed up more boxes of books.   Later, it was such a pleasure to unpack those books at riverrun.  It felt good to handle books from their apartment - books that I. B. Singer had written and had read. Books they'd both read.  We integrated them into our stock.

      The picture didn't stay at riverrun.  Chris took it home.  He hadn't purchased that photo.  It was a gift from Alma.  Although Chris picked up the bill, that lunch was a gift from Alma too.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer

One afternoon, almost 20 years ago, Chris Stephens was in the William Morrow publishing offices. He was talking with an editor friend. The editor was planning a trip to southeast Asia. Conversation came around to Indonesian author, Pramoedya Ananta Toer.
"He's in Jakarta under house arrest," said the editor. "Carefully guarded. In a comfortable situation now, I understand, but still confined."
Pramoedya's earlier imprisonments had been far from comfortable.
The Indonesian government was allowing the editor to visit Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Stephens had an idea.
"Wouldn't it be great to get some signed copies of his books? They'd be the only ones. "
"You don't understand, Chris. His books are outlawed there. He's imprisoned because of his writing. You don't just stroll through those streets with his books in your arms."
"What about blank sheets? You could bring him blank sheets. He could sign them and then we could tip them into books when you brought them back here."
"That might work," said the editor.
That did work. Chris brought the editor a packet of blank book-sized pages. The editor brought them to Indonesia.
Pramoedya was reluctant to sign blank sheets. He worried that someone might frame a contract or a confession above the signature and he'd be in further trouble. The editor reassured the author. He got the signatures.
Back in the United States, the signed pages were tipped into existing books. Those signed books came with a good story.
A couple of years later, Pramoedya Ananta Toer was finally released from house arrest. He traveled. He went on a North American book-signing tour.

some of Pramoedya Ananta Toer's books that have been translated into English: The Fugitive (CPS's favorite), Corruption, The King The Witch and the Priest, The Earth of Mankind, Child of All Nations, Footsteps, House of Glass, House of Glass, The Girl From the Coast, A Mute's Soliloquy

Ivy

left April 1988 - riverrun

right January 2009 - riverrun

Isabel left today. We hated to see her return to Boston but she did leave the riverrun order table caught up. She pulled orders and wrapped packages all week.

Isabel has been a bookstore kid ever since she was born. For the first 8 years of her life, she lived in a bookstore. In a sense. Her father, Chris Stephens, ran his book operation from our home.

I worked outside. During Isabel's first year, I ran a new bookstore at Masters School in Dobbs Ferry. The school wanted to spruce up it's textbook distribution and I enjoyed widening the inventory to include trade books, posters, stationary and gifts. I went to my first wholesale show - the Stationary Show at Jacob Javits Center - in May 1986. Isabel was less then 2 weeks old. She came along. We had fun together.

When the new Masters bookstore opened in the autumn, Isabel was there. Each day I carried her to work in a basket lined with pink & white gingham. The students came to see her as much as to buy books.

The next year I left Masters and worked in heaven. riverrun bookstore. Frank Scioscia, Isabel's grandfather, was delighted to have her in the store with me. She toddled over the long red carpet and browsed the shelves.

Later still Isabel had her own little office in the back of riverrun behind some shelves. She bustled about in her private space, or came and helped in the main part of the store.

When Isabel was old enough, she went to school. The school bus picked her up in the mornings near our house. In the afternoons, the bus left her off on the corner of Warburton and Washington so she could walk down the hill to riverrun.

Isabel worked in riverrun in her high school years and during college vacations. She graduated last year from a Great Books college, St. John's in Santa Fe. Appropriate for a book store kid. Now though, she's taking pre-med courses in Boston.

Some say that being a doctor is a good job, a good life. But really. Can it compare to the satisfaction of working in a bookstore?

Mary Stephens Hayes at riverrun

photo by Christopher P. Stephens

June 1994 - Metropolitan Book Fair

Mary Stephens, now Mary Hayes, worked at riverrun. She and Chris Stephens made a good team. Mary's grandmother, Mary Scioscia, came down to riverrun on Tuesdays. She sat at the desk across the street, at the original riverrun, and entertained friends and fans. On Tuesdays the two Marys ate lunch together in that bookstore. They laughed and chatted and talked books.

After lunch Mary Stephens returned to 12 Washington. She filled orders, wrapped packages, and went book buying with Chris. Mary was interested in the business and she had good ideas. She became especially interested in bindings. riverrun had plenty of handsome old bindings. They whet Mary's fascination with the craft. She wentto the Memphis College of Art because it had a masters program in book binding. She left riverrun and went south. Mary's plan was to become the riverrun book binder. In the end, she followed other talents, but she did come back to New York and worked in the bookstore again. She liked working with the books and the customers. Books and customers liked her too.

Mary didn't stay at riverrun. She tried different jobs at different companies.

Now Mary is in England. She works for Phaidon Publishers. Still books.

Dom & Literary Magazines

Little magazines have quite an appeal. Unconstrained by rules necessary in big enterprises, an editor can follow an idiosyncratic vision. Chris Stephens has always picked up literary magazines – little magazines – in his book buying travels. He sorts though them and admires them and then packs them in boxes for storage somewhere.
In the 1990s, riverrun had a fabulous storage area. It was the north half of the fourth floor in an old brewery down by the Hudson River. There’s a duck pond in front of the building and trees all around. There were a lot of books and little magazines in that storage warehouse.
One day, back in the retail store, a new walk-in customer asked about little magazines. The customer asked one of the employees.
Chris Stephens, an erudite bookman long on knowledge but short on bedside manner, wisely leaves dealing with customers to the friendlier employees. This particular friendly employee didn't know little magazines. “Nooo,” said the employee somewhat vaguely. “No. I don't think we carry anything like that here. Sorry.”
Chris came up out of the back and introduced himself to the customer, Dominique Boer. Dom and Chris hit it off instantly. They talked Paris Review, Hudson Review, Poetry magazine, Partisan Review, Tri-Quarterly. They discussed older little magazine like Yale Review and Philadelphia Literary, and European little magazines. They went to the warehouse and opened boxes and talked books. It was a very happy time. A very happy friendship developed out of that first meeting over little magazines.