NYC Liquidators, RIP

it wasn't the cleanest place in town, or the best organized. They didn't have the most knowledgeable staff or a selection that rivaled Kim's or TLA. But there was something about NYC Liquidators that compelled me to stop there at least once a week, sometimes more, and never leave empty-handed.

It would've been easy to walk past the place without noticing. Sometimes even when I was looking for it I had trouble finding it. It was almost invisible, nestled in with a dozen other uninviting industrial storefronts on that block of W. 27th between 6th & 7th. They didn't go to a lot of effort to advertise, figuring the people who needed them would find them.

Once you got inside, things were no more inviting. Everything was gray and dim. The aisles weren't wide enough for two people. The pricing system was a mystery. Half-empty cardboard boxes littered the floor, and the "employees" were a shady-looking lot who mostly just hung around.

But combing through the racks of DVDs and videotapes, I always found something that made the visit worthwhile. Something rare or long out of print-or so basic I'd never bothered to pick it up.

NYC Liquidators was mostly known for their porn selection, but they had much more than that. A big kung-fu and blaxploitation section. Dozens of cheap Mexican horror films and American public-domain titles. They carried new releases from Roger Corman and Anchor Bay. They also had CDs, posters, detritus of all kinds stuffed into the shadowed corners. But I stuck with the movies, which, rare or not, were incredibly cheap.

The short, stooped and craggy old man in charge was a remarkable New York character by the name of Norman Brill. He had sad eyes, jowls like a bulldog, a great shock of white hair, and spent most of his time on a stool behind the old cash register.

He intimidated me at first, as all I heard him do was yell. Yell into the phone, yell at employees, yell at deliverymen. Me he mostly ignored, except to tell me how much I owed. Over time, though, I saw beneath the gruff exterior, and noticed that nobody else seemed to take his yelling seriously.

The very last time I was in there-I didn't know then that it would be the last time-I was poring through the tapes when I saw that shock of white hair moving down the next aisle. When he turned the corner and saw me, he stopped.

"Haven't seen you in here in a while," he said.

"Yeah," I told him, "It's been pretty busy at work."

"Well it's good to see you." Then he smiled warmly and continued on his way. I had no idea he'd even noticed me before.

A few days later, I learned that he'd died. And despite his son's promises to the contrary, the store shut down a few weeks after that. And to this day, not a week passes that I don't wish I could still swing by there on my way home again, just to see what they had.