Everyone Came to Kate's by Andi Shechter

Andi Shechter is a two-time Left Coast Crime Chair ('97 and '07) and was honored ten years ago as Fan Guest of Honor at LCC in Anchorage.  
 

She served on the committee for the Silver Anniversary Bouchercon in 1994. Andi lives with the medical mystery of the century.  She can frequently be found, surrounded by her gorilla pals, watching figure skating, reading cookbooks and swooning over really good mystery fiction.

Andi lives in Seattle with Stu Shiffman and spends far too much time on her laptop playing games. She is also a blond, coke-addicted runway model with an attitude from New York. Go ahead, ask her. 

You can follow her blog here:  http://www.journalscape.com/Hedgehog/

Everyone Came to Kate's

by Andi Shechter

In recent weeks, I've been immensely flattered by people who have told me what a big deal I am in the mystery community.  Yeah, right. It might seem that I know everyone in mystery fandom but I really don't.   Yes, I know more than the average bear because I've worked on three mystery conventions in Seattle (Bouchercon in '94, Left Coast Crime in '97 and '07) and you can't help it when you do that.  You talk with and meet and hang out with and you email dozens, even hundreds of fans, readers, dealers, agents, publicists and writers. 

I've also lived in some mystery-friendly towns.  After grad school, I moved to Oakland and spent ten years in the East Bay in California. I then moved to the Boston area for five years and since 1990, I've lived in Seattle.   If you've been lucky enough to live in a mystery-friendly place, you might just have been lucky enough to have a mystery bookstore to shop at – not just an independent bookstore but one where the owner and the staff get it. Really get it.

Kate's Mystery Books was exactly that bookstore.  I miss it.  Mind you, I haven't lived in the Boston area since 1990 and I live in a city which once had two, count 'em two, mystery specialty stores and still has a successful mystery bookshop.  But I miss Kate's.  And I miss Kate.

Kate's Mystery Books was one of the centers of my world in mystery when I lived in Boston.  It was based in a classic old Victorian – as every mystery bookshop should be -  on a major thoroughfare in Cambridge, and therein lies a story which I'll get to down the line.

But just know this.  If you liked mysteries, and you lived in Boston for certain years, well, everyone came to Kate's.

Now, of course, we would not have gotten along – the store and I would have had issues - because I can't do stairs, because my weird disability has me using a power wheelchair. When I first was a customer at Kate's, I hurried up the stairs to the wonder of a bookstore designed by a helpful, opinionated and strong protagonis….er owner.  Kate Mattes had shelves of books alphabetized by author as any good bookmonger does.  She also had special shelves including a couple labeled "strong women protagonists", a part of the store that I made a beeline for from Day One.. Because I was still discovering mystery and while I knew and loved Sharon McCone, I wanted to find more like her.  Sure, you could find Sue Grafton, but did you know about Linda Barnes' Carlotta Carlyle?  Okay, you've read Paretsky, but what about ….and so it went.  The special sub-genres at Kate's appealed to me.  There were other special sections too, mind you. And as I recall, Kate said she designed it simply because so many people kept asking.
 
And by the way, if you looked just at the right spot, you could see a little plaque that explained that the shelves had been made by one Robert B Parker.  You maybe have heard of him?  Everyone came to Kate's.

So Kate ran her quirky shop the way she wanted – I think there was still an old-fashioned cash register. It was not a computerized operation – not back then. The "want lists" were kept, I think, on 3x5 cards. Not sure how well that worked.  And lots of black cats – I never knew where they came from but you know how it is. One black cat shows up and dozens follow.  I think Kate started that one herself. At any rate, it was The Place to Go. You know that one?  When authors were sent on tour, as many were back then, they all went to Kate's.  One of Sue Grafton's author photos was taken outside the store, I think in the parking lot next door.  Back when Sue Grafton toured; maybe she was on "F" or "G" back then.

Oh, yeah, that parking lot. Came the fateful day when the bookshop met the bus.  The city bus that somehow managed to cross two lanes of traffic, a median, two more lanes of traffic, went through the parking lot and er, well, parked in Kate's bathroom. Gulp. No one was using the bathroom at the time. 

Poor Kate. Poor US!  As I recall it went something like this.  "Well, the structural people won't come in until the gas company people have been here, and the gas and electric people don't want to go in until they're sure the electricity has been dealt with had the electrical folks want to be sure that the water people have been…".and there's Kate with the power of the city's legal department and bus system looming over her.  Kate was not a weenie, you might have guessed.  And Kate of course loomed back, wondering exactly how it was that the bus could have crossed the four lanes of traffic the island, the sidewalk and the parking lot…yeah….

So began the adventure of Kate's Mystery Bus Stop.  No, the city didn't like that and as I recall, Kate agreed to stop using that imagery, but not before it raced around the community.  And yes. We got the tee-shirts. 

In order to accommodate the electrical workers, the structural guys, the gas folks and the ….it was determined that Kate's had to close for a while, and that the shop would be essentially put into storage. (insert image here of the warehouse at the end of the first "Indiana Jones" movie.)  So one weekend, the community, the readers and the writers, descended on the store to pack it up.  And in what seemed like a few hours, dozens of locals lined up at the shelves, listened carefully to our instructions, put the books into boxes and off they went.  Sniff, sniff. Wave hankie.

A while later, after I'd moved from the Boston area, I was standing in a room at Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention, to ask an author for an autograph (the Men of Mystery calendar, but that's for another day). When I got to the front of the line, I said to this one guy, "The first time I saw you, you were wearing cut-offs and a tank top".  The author looked at me, oh did he ever. So I said "Would it help if I told you I lived in Boston?" And after a few beats, he said, "The last time I dressed like that…" , and I said, "Yeah, you were working as straw boss, organizing all the book packers at Kate's.  I was there that day with my friends Jim and Ellen.  Pleased to meet you, Mr. Healy."  Jeremiah Healy, one of the best writers ever to write a private eye novel, was there that day.  And he was very good at organizing us all. I heard that Jane Langton was there too.  Jerry, by the way, is one of the best organized men I've ever met, and has the best legs in mystery.  But I digress.

The store came back from what we tend to refer to as "that bus incident" and it was larger, thanks, I believe, to Kate's savvy in settling out of court, and it was a better store and bigger and still had fine shelves and had a secret door and everything. And still had lots of cats.  It opened in 1983, the bus accident happened in 1987 and it lasted for years, introducing dozens of authors to hundreds and probably thousands of readers.  It hosted signings and events. The building however sold and KMB(s) was gone.

Talking about Kate's with my partner Stu (who worked for a time at Kate's Mystery Books (everyone, all together now, "Everyone comes to Kate's.) , I thought of the time I was last in the store. I was settled in Seattle, but was back east visiting friends and family.  One advantage of Kate's location was its proximity to good food nearby, and after hanging out in the store for a while, we closed up and went off to Redbones, a nearby barbecue restaurant.  Kate and I spent some time that night reminiscing about a friend who'd recently died, the amazing, talented, terrific Kate Ross.  Kate's been gone 13 years and I still miss her. That trip back east had been planned, in part, so I could see Kate Ross for the last time.  We were not the closest of friends, but we were friends, and she was dying of the leukemia that killed her a month before I got back to Boston.  We'd had dinner in Seattle on her last book tour, and as I talked to Kate (M) about her, about how she always looked perfectly turned out, perfectly dressed and coiffed, Kate remarked to me the obvious – that that perfect hair was most likely a wig.  Sure she was thin, but, oh, what a dope I was.  But that night in Seattle was burned in my memory as so very much fun.  And it was – there was no hint of illness or even tiredness in my friend, and I still cherish the memory.  And I still cry. She was delayed at her signing at least a half hour or more, and in pre-cell phone life, she'd actually called the restaurant to let me know.  I'm sure every waiter who looked at me thought "what a dope. She's been stood up and doesn't know it." But phew, in came Kate and we had a great time and she signed my books and we talked and laughed and had a great time.  She died of the ridiculous age of 41, waiting as I recall, for a new experimental treatment to attack her cancer. (I read "breast cancer" though my memory is that she had leukemia).

Kate Ross was a trial lawyer. She also wrote four of the most spectacular historical mysteries I've read in my life as a mystery reader. She was the creator of Julian Kestrel, dandy and precursor in time to the likes of Lord Peter, who spent time among the upper classes and yet understood how the other half lived.  I never got her to sign the fourth book.  She was someone that Kate Mattes could not have put on the strong female protagonist shelf but she was a favorite of both of ours, fans of VI that we were. The first time Stu and I met Kate Ross was at a Bouchercon, as we went into total fangirl/fanboy mode, babbling (ok I was babbling) telling her how much we liked CUT TO THE QUICK and how glad we were to meet her.  She smiled a bemused smile and said "you know, I was told I should come to this event and I really had no idea why. No one explained Bouchecon to me.  I think I just figured out why." And we were friends to the end. Not just because we loved her books, but because that's how it works.  You start with the books and you go on from there. 

I don't know everyone in the mystery community, not by a longshot.  But my life would be ever so empty without this bunch of people.  I'm a science fiction fan and a mystery fan whose communities are both geographical and virtual. I have friends in cities I haven't lived in ever, or lived in 25 years ago.  I remember the bus stop that took me to Kate's and that tapas restaurant. And how Jerry Healy looked In shorts.  I've still got the tee shirt.. And I miss Kate's.  

 

 

Once you've met Asimov, it's all downhill from there by Andi Shechter

Andi Shechter is a two-time Left Coast Crime Chair ('97 and '07) and was honored ten years ago as Fan Guest of Honor at LCC in Anchorage.  
 

She served on the committee for the Silver Anniversary Bouchercon in 1994. Andi lives with the medical mystery of the century.  She can frequently be found, surrounded by her gorilla pals, watching figure skating, reading cookbooks and swooning over really good mystery fiction.

Andi lives in Seattle with Stu Shiffman and spends far too much time on her laptop playing games. She is also a blond, coke-addicted runway model with an attitude from New York. Go ahead, ask her. 

You can follow her blog here:  http://www.journalscape.com/Hedgehog/

Once you've met Asimov, it's all downhill from there 

by Andi Shechter

When I was  a high school student, I was a fan of "Star Trek" . As a college student, I discovered the "Star Trek convention" some years after the show was gone. At the same time, I developed the serious orthopedic problems that were to complicate my life. But funny thing, both things have had huge impacts on me.  The world of fandom and the world of disability and pain.

It all began about 45 plus years ago. In all that time, physically, things have gotten worse.  Fandom, however, my second (and third) families, hasn't changed that much.  We communicate by email now. And social networks and mailing lists and cell phones and faxes, but wow, in so many ways, we haven't changed that much.  However, I have. And I don't really like it.

That first convention that I attended in Manhattan, I think I rented a room at the YWCA.  Staying at the convention hotel was too costly and what the heck?  It's easy to get around New York. Oh, I had a blast.  I met a bunch of strangers, one of whom became a long-time friend.  A friend good enough that when we drove cross-country a few years later, we remained friends throughout and after the trip (not easy.)  I hooked up with some people and we roamed around together. It was easy.  We were young and had Star Trek in common. There were panels and writers and autographings, a dealer's room and an art show.  And it was that Trek con or the one following where I met My First Author.  And as folks who know this story have heard me say far too often, and with apologies to the hundreds of amazing writers I have met, when you start with Isaac Asimov, it's all downhill from there. And we became friends, we really did, but that's a story for another day.

After attending two Trek conventions, I thought, okay, that was fun, what now?  And "what now?" appeared right in front of me in the form of those people who seemed to know what was going on, what to do. And I joined them.

Since those very long-ago days in the 1970s when I joined the "Hole in the Deck Gang" as a convention "gofer" and learned my way around, I've attended and worked on so many that I lost count, but well over 50 genre conventions.  I've attended and worked on conventions in New York, Chicago, Racine, Madison, Minneapolis, New Orleans, Santa Rosa, Los Angeles, San Diego, El Paso, Austin, Atlanta and Portland.  Oregon, not Maine. And Vancouver, BC, Oakland, Eugene, Milwaukee, Denver, Scottsdale, Phoenix, Toronto, Boston, Providence, Tucson, and that's just sitting here right now without looking anything up.

Much of the time that I was employed, I used skills gained working those conventions . I spent most of my working life as a legal secretary and an administrative assistant. But my expertise came from working safety/security/ops/C&C.  I've worn a radio on my hip and a lapel pin that says I can go anywhere in the hotel.  I've done crowd control for major actors who were struck by cream pies (heh) and I've had political conversations with actors on television shows that were lucky to have them (right on, George). I've met authors I admired so much I had to wipe my sweaty hands off on my pants. Twice.  I've had dinner with authors whose books made me cry, made me laugh, made me think.  I have, in other words, been lucky.

In those earliest days, I went from the room at the YWCA to cramming nine women in a two-bed double (I think someone had the tub, but I could be wrong) to a triple on the concierge level (staff and gofers and guests were all somehow accommodated) but we could, I suppose guard against crazed Harlan Ellison fans to requiring a full-out "handicapped accessible" room has required major changes in how I go to a convention.  Carrying a second bag full of books to get autographed and of course several to read because ok, yeah, there's a dealer's room but I want to read this one (seriously? Who am I kidding? I almost never manage to get anything read while at a convention.) has ended. Because of the changes in my life, and the need to travel with a power wheelchair, my suitcases are now more likely to be full of all the damn medications I need, along with a battery charger and extra socks (one gets cold sitting when others walk.)

What changed?  I went from a woman in her 20s with that back surgery behind her, that woman who could (almost) sleep on the floor, who could share a hotel room with a friend for a few hours then get up, hang out, work a 4 hour shift making sure things went smoothly, eat, hang out, buy stuff, hang out, work another shift, crash, lather rinse.  I attended and worked on conventions that turned into near riots (Trek con, Chicago) to conventions where things were so quiet and organized and easy that I threatened my radio rovers with a reading of the world's worst piece of fantasy fiction. I've faced down angry convention-goers standing there, all 5 foot 4 of me with my cane (and three darling men behind me who would never hurt anyone but glared well) and told people to behave. I've partied until 3 in the morning, singing "Teenage Death Songs" with a big-deal editor and I've sung four-part girl group harmony with someone who used to make her living as a singer. I drink rarely but drink at conventions because a massive amount of the best conversations can be found in the bar at any time. I've been in bars in hundreds of hotels, drinking Perrier and margaritas. Drinking Bloody Marys with a friend who loved them – we decided she should write a guide to good Bloody Marys. I was introduced to Chambord at a convention.  I've watched as one of the most amazing people I've ever known bought out a bar for the entire convention. I've watched bars run out of Perrier because they didn't 
believe us when we said "stock up" (the never believe us and there was this time when oh, Perrier ruled.)

I've attended parties that were so funny that we had to write things down.  I've hung out with the finest people in my world.  People who put words on paper in ways I cannot comprehend. I've had breakfast, lunch dinner and drinks with authors. AUTHORS. WRITERS. Rock stars, man.  I mean, I was reading at four years old, had an "adult" library card years before they normally were allowed. My mother worked the Hartford Public Library (or "Liberry" as the phone answering lady insisted on saying. No, really.) and my sister worked there.  My first job was in the West Hartford Public Library and I worked in my college library as a scholarship student. Writers, man.  Books line my house.  I get a library card before I even register to vote. Books have helped me manage my entire life.  Books were there when I hurt. And I've hurt pretty much all my life. I read everywhere.

My friends in fandom would talk about signs of the compulsive reader. We would laugh at the "symptoms".  They included knowing the MDA of riboflavin required in the adult diet from reading the cereal box as a kid.  Being able to read upside down because your parents read the newspaper at the kitchen table at breakfast.  Walking cross-legged to the bathroom because you simply had to have a book in your hand before you headed in there.  We would laugh and nod ruefully.  We had all the symptoms.

When I met Isaac Asimov that fine day, I was amazed.  Meeting someone whose books you've read. Are you KIDDING? At the end of that convention, I was down to my last few dollars and, because I'd sat in a room, rapt with attention at Harlan Ellison reading a story,  I spent those last few dollars on an anthology he'd talked about called DANGEROUS VISIONS which introduced me to "real" science fiction.  By the time I made that cross-country trip and settled in the East Bay, I was primed and oh, the places I went. I met authors and fans in my early days there, interesting, cool, intellectual people who loved books. Who read books, recommended books, sold books and wrote books. And I moved to the Boston area, where I knew dozens of people because we'd met at conventions – in the bar, in the hot tub, working Ops, at a party. Then to Seattle where I'd attended a convention for years, where I knew people from Ops and people who created the best science fiction fanzines ever. People who I knew and saw all the time at conventions. People who, I might add, also loved mystery fiction. And a few years after we moved here, we helped run Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention.  Three years later, I finally realized that I probably knew enough after all this time and I chaired my first convention. Ten years later I chaired my last convention.

But conventions are expensive and travel hurts.  That's been the reality of my life for some time.  I went from "party until 3" to crutches, cane, scooter, to wheelchair. I use a power/electric wheelchair from morning to night. I'm on disability, an income that's about 1/3 of what I earned when I worked (I never made a lot!) and hotels and books and luxuries like that are things you usually should not try. But oh, it's home. Attending conventions where I see people I haven't seen in months, or years, or ever and we pick up where we left off.  Meeting a friend from DorothyL, telling an author "I loved your book", catching up with a friend you've known for years.  Spending time with the best people you know.  Talking about food, politics, movies, life, travel, love, friendship and books.

I used to schlep books and books and books. Checking the list of attending authors, trying to limit it to 8 or 10 or 12.  Books that wowed me, books by my favorite authors, books I'm "in" (I appear as a character in two mystery novels) books by friends.  It's not something I can do any longer. Travel is harder for all of us.  Travel is complicated and time-consuming and you have to decide about carry-on and checking and shoes and laptops and sealing wax and cabbages….

So what's to be done? Some months ago, I bought an ebook reader.  A friend was getting the newer fancier version and this was but a week or so before Bouchercon and I would be on an airplane for a few hours.  In honor of the location – San Francisco – I had found some Dashiell Hammett short stories that were in public domain and read one to get into the mood. But mostly I played word games on it because. Because it's not a book.

I had to stop a while back and think about why I get books signed and I didn't really know. Mostly it was to connect with someone, to have the chance to say something about that book, take time to connect.  I spent countless hours in the past few months trying to plan a convention trip. Hours of decisions over transportation and hassles and wheelchair issues and worrying that what that authority said might not be so true. And I cancelled. I cancelled my home convention, my family reunion.  So I still have time to figure out if there's a way to go up to someone and ask them to sign my Kindle. I just don't think it's such a great idea.