McHuston Booksellers

Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

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Opened up the morning news, and…

December 3, 2014 /

Boom! There was a frightening thing looking back at me…

I know Thanksgiving is past, but my appreciation is heartfelt for the article in this morning’s Tulsa World Weekend supplement. Mr. Scott Cherry has kindly included a mention of the bistro in his restaurant column today.

The photograph surprised me.

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When Mr. Cherry visited for a review two years ago, photographer James Gibbard took a number of shots, including one while standing atop a barstool. I remember wondering whether he was trying to keep the overhead lights from reflecting off my bald head. A couple of pictures accompanied the article back then, but I never saw the one included in this morning’s paper.

It’s more apparent to me now, that perhaps Mr. Gibbard was angling his lens for a canyon-of-books effect, which is what caught my eye right away. (Being a bookseller, it’s what you’d expect.) Seeing the image this morning reminded me of the day the restaurant critic and his photographer dropped by, two St. Patrick’s Days ago.

We’ve come a ways since then.

The point of the article, which may be too small to read in the image I’ve posted (you can click on it and try, if you like!), is that my son Dustin and his wife Rachel are now providing the service that I used to race around trying to manage. It was a challenge to do it all myself, and I enjoy a good test, but one person with two hands can only do so much. I want each guest to have a great experience, and found myself increasingly sending larger groups to the neighboring restaurants, knowing I would have had trouble delivering their meals in a timely fashion.

That’s in the past.

So, a big Thanks! to Mr. Cherry for the article, and for digging into the archives for a photograph to accompany the text. I was more than a little surprised by it, but enjoyed the chance to recall his visit that day – and the way I was racing around in the kitchen preparing a meal for the newspaper’s food critic.

I can smile about it now!

A great day for lunch in the Irish Bistro, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

That was then.

December 1, 2014 /

He was the old man at the piano. Musicians gathered around him on the stage at S. Arch Thompson Auditorium. Playing the classical pop stuff. I was in tenth grade. But I liked music.

Every kind, pretty much.

It had to have been one of the first legitimate concerts I had ever attended. I mean, he was an out-of-town guy. Had to have been, with a name like Peter Nero. Like I said – he was the old guy at the piano. I had seen my cousin Bill and his band at the high school prom, and he was older. But not old, older.

And what a difference a little perspective makes.

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A song just played in the shop, and it was credited as being a Christmas-medley by Peter Nero. Hey! I thought, “I remember that guy.” And I wondered how long ago he had died. Googled him.

Turns out, he hasn’t.

Another thing. I guess he really wasn’t as old as I thought, way back then. I figure he was about the same age as my boss Marshall, who ran a corner grocery in McAlester – probably in his early-thirties. Back then, I figured Marshall for an old man too.

All these years later, I discover that I was surrounded by a bunch of young whippersnappers, and I just didn’t know it. Peter Nero (and Nero is his real name, just spelled a little different than his birth certificate. It’s the first name that he changed…), well – he is eighty years old as of last May and probably still pounding away at the piano keys.

Mr. Nero attended the Juilliard School of Music and later won a Grammy and has all kinds of credits to his name. I have a hard time imagining him playing our little school auditorium, and I could be confused about the pianist, but I distinctly remember Craig’s mother asking us what we thought of it as she drove us home. (We were still pedestrian age high-schoolers.)

Craig was non-committal, but I just blurted out that I liked it. It was out of my mouth before I could be non-committal cool, too. Heck. I did like it.

The shop was empty when the medley began, so I was able to belt out, in various accents, the various holiday tunes all mashed into one. Loud and proud.

It’s helpful, I think. Remembering people in a new light. Humbling too – in a way.

Gives me a better idea of what my younger reader-customers must think when they plop their books on the checkout counter in front of that ancient old man.

Geezer-up!

We’re still raising the roof in song, Peter and I, and there are music books on the shelf ready for a lyrical journey, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Baby, I’m not foolin’

November 30, 2014 /

Fortunately, I haven’t lost my touch for electrical repairs. That’s because I never had the ‘touch’ to lose. But – nothing ventured, and all that – I decided to give it a go. The project?

My Fender guitar rebuild.

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Some of you will recall my earlier antics, trying to put a music-store-reject guitar back in playing condition. It met with some degree of success. I really enjoy playing it. But it looks a bit of a Frankenstein on closer examination.

It is an acoustic – a Fender Sonoran model that I picked up on the cheap in an eBay auction. It arrived with the guitar body and the neck, complete with the headstock and the tuning keys. I had to find and install all the other parts, including the electronics.

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Got it assembled and love playing it.

Occasionally, I’ll plug in the cord and run the sound through the store’s music PA system, harkening back to my days playing with Led Zeppelin. (What? You don’t remember that? I was in high school, they were on the record player and I was in the bedroom playing along. Badly.)

I plugged the cord in the other afternoon and there was a crink and a snap, followed by nothing. The jack would not go in completely.

It was, as they say…Broken.

In for a penny, in for a pound, so I ordered a five dollar replacement, Genuine Fender Parts. Put the soldering iron on standby and at the ready. Opened the package on arrival, and low and behold – wrong part. As you can see in the image, it is considerably shorter than the broken one I removed. Too short to reach through the body of the guitar, in fact.

As I had already passed my patience-threshold, I decided to connect it up anyway. Figure I can get the right piece later.

There was no mistaking where the first of the three wires connected, so I soldered it into place. There were only two ways for the remaining wires, the right way and the wrong way.

Naturally, after unhooking the first try, I made the connection the only other way and plugged it into the amp. Bingo. Da-da, da-da, dum, da-dum, da-dum, Whole Lotta Love…

So. It has to be considered a partial victory, anyway. It has a lovely tone, which would sound even better in my brother-in-law Dennis’s hands. But there’s that wire hanging out with a soldered-on connector. Not so princely.

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Since the guitar and I won’t likely be making any stage appearances soon, the dangling cord connector really doesn’t matter much. And when Led and the boys call, I can get the little Fender all gussied-up to go.

We had a busy Small Business Saturday! Thanks to all who came out and supported us ‘little guys!’ We’ll be cooking again on Monday, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

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