Dear Editor: Let me tell you an imaginary story. I live in a small yet diverse community, with generations of my family. My grandma is a wonderful lady who has lived here her entire life, as have I. She is warm and welcoming to all, very kind and sincere, and she is loved by literally everyone in our county. Well, last week this stranger rode into town, and shot my grandma dead on the main street. He then insisted that her body lay there in the street to decompose, so we would all have to repeatedly witness such a horror by force. The sheriff and most everyone else in town are afraid of him. And now the stranger is opening a business here in town. While I guess only time will tell, I’m pretty sure that business won’t do too well.
Ouray’s bookstore is a beloved oasis in our county. I get the same warm, comfortable and protected feeling while browsing there that I would have in a deserted gothic cathedral in Europe, or strolling a botanical garden in bloom. It feels as if you have stepped into your best friend’s well worn and cushy living room for an unhurried visit. It’s like a tiny little Tattered Cover — one of the most loved and revered bookstores in the world. I do not personally know the owners at all, other than to exchange pleasantries as I have made my many purchases there. I was greatly saddened and sorely disappointed to learn the news of them being forced to close. As a further insult, it comes on the cusp of a pending sale of the business which now wiIl certainly not happen, as no bookstore can operate on a month-tomonth lease. I beg the new owners of the Beaumont to reconsider this very unpopular action.
In general, people around here treat each other, and their beloved places, like our little brother. We can, and do, pick on him pretty regularly, but should anybody else, local or not, decide to kick his ass, they’re gonna have something to contend with here from way more than just a couple of interested parties. This is not meant as a threat, but instead a promise. I will personally pledge that not even one penny from my wallet — or any other person I can convince — will ever end up in the coffers of the Beaumont should this tragedy transpire. And, by the way, I talk to an AWFUL lot of tourists around here.
Raymond Ferguson Ridgway
