Hardboiled writers and readers lost a friend this past
weekend when Paige Rose, 61, died of a massive heart attack
in Baltimore's Little Italy. Fittingly, Paige had eaten one
of Charm City's famous meals, and had just finished shooting
the shit with a former Oriole on the sidewalk outside
Sabatino's when she was struck.
Paige and Kathy Harig co-owned Mystery Loves Company, a small
independent crime fiction bookstore in Fells Point. In many
ways, the book store is the last of its kind in that city.
It's in a Formstone rowhouse, narrow and deep, on Fleet
Street. People go there to gossip, discuss local politics,
and talk books. There are cushiony chairs set up in the
display area where anyone can read or just take a load off
and relax. It has the comfort of a living room set amidst
thousands of books.
As a beneficiary of the famed St. Martin's Press publicity
machine when my first novel was published in 1992, I soon
realized that I was virtually on my own. Sensing a resounding
silence in the marketplace, I wrote letters to several area
bookstores, asking if I might do a signing. Paige was the
only one to reply, and gave this new writer a break. I did
the event and have done one there every year since. It has
become a ritual and the only event to which I bring my kids.
Paige showed genuine love to my family, and for that
kindness, and for much else, I'll be forever grateful.
But the truth was, it wasn't all business for me on Fleet
Street. I went for the show. There were always interesting
people in that shop, from beat cops to blue collar babes to
an actress who had played a bit role in a John Waters movie.
In that atmosphere, Paige was the queen bee, always on, funny
and bawdy and ready to go. Paige made friends easily and took
them in, the way she took in a menagerie of stray animals who
were forever slinking around or lying down in the shop. She
could steer me to the best chili dog in Fells Point (Previs,
in the market down the street) or the bar with the coldest
beer. She was Baltimore down in her marrow, and knew the city
more deeply than anyone I'd ever met.
Finally, Paige loved books. Hardboiled was her meat. She had
read it all and could recall paragraphs word for word. She
didn't like soft books or cozies and didn't mind who knew it,
even potential customers. She carried good stuff, the best,
books that I couldn't seem to find anywhere else and are on
my A-shelf today: Paul Cain's FAST ONE, W.L. Heath's VIOLENT
SATURDAY, Charles Willeford's THE WOMAN CHASER, and many
others.
The store will continue under the management of Kathy Harig,
and deserves our continued support. Nevertheless, a light
went out when they lowered Paige into the ground today.
"Sunshine fades and shadows fall, but sweet remembrance
outlasts all."
God bless you, Paige.
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