“Things are not always what they seem.”
Never has that statement been more true in regards to The Old Florida Book Shop. Dead end last in a dilapidated strip mall 4 miles from the beaches in Fort Lauderdale, the little shop presents an unimpressive facade. No store name or custom logo can be found above its door; just a simple all-caps “BOOKS” in blue to indicate what one might find inside.
It wasn’t much to justify a two-and-half-hour drive from Vero Beach, let alone as a destination for a first-year anniversary. But their first year anniversary was exactly the occasion upon which Brett Laffien saw it fit to make the drive with his wife.
Jenny was careful not to show her reaction — a load of good that did, her doubt was clear as day on her face — as they walked across the scant parking lot to the front door of the store. Along the outside walls under an overhang were a half dozen book shelves laden with peeling paper backs, hap-hazardously stacked hard covers and decades old CDs collecting the grime of weathering. Everything was a $1. Jenny quickly glanced at the titles made. Fat Blaster books from the 80s, mega-church pastors, and obscure magazine volumes made her wary about what she would find inside.
Brett pulled the door, and Jenny ducked under his arm to enter. She saw the floor first, and there laid out in leisure, a cat. Jenny recoiled, and looked up at her husband to make her feelings crystal clear when she stopped. As her gaze rose, her eyes swept an unexpected site.
Floor to ceiling solid book cases that looked like they came from Oxford libraries covered every wall doing their best to organize books by subjects broad and niche. Towering curio cabinets filled with vintage collectors volumes lined the center of the shop. There were books everywhere, ordered and unordered, the perfect kind of chaos. The light was warm and classical music — strings — played through a speaker. Looking past the cat, she saw that the floor was lined with what looked like oriential and Turkish rugs, adding to the bibliophilic charm. Progressing further into the store — which was small, made smaller by the hundreds of books left in piles on an antique side board here and sticking out of drawers stuck half-open there and typewriters, vintage post cards, and a model pirate ship— the elderly and slightly disheveled owner, she presumed, sat at a desk. Strewn with papers and books and maps and pens and a low-tech computer screen, it was the most comforting kind of mess that only lovers of paper and pages and ink and words can appreciate. Even up to the ceiling, the book paraphernalia continued with mismatched lanterns and chandeliers and wood-carved antique signage from what Jenny could only assume came from some great library or bookstore of Old Florida, or from England perhaps.
Jenny turned to her husband. “Very well done, Mr. Laffien,” she said. It was the perfect gift. “How long do we have?”
“An hour and a half. We have dinner reservations at 6,” he said smiling, knowing full well he’d have to drag her out of there.
They spent the next 90 minutes barely making a dent in the row of books, finding rows behind rows behind rows in the deep bookshelves. And though they didn’t have the specific book she was looking for — an out of print copy of The Giant Killer by the aliased author A.L.O.E. — she did get to see the owner climb the library ladder up to the top shelf, and that in itself was a little thrill.
Jenny pushed their time to the last minute and in the end they walked out with two books. One, for Brett. And one for Jenny.
Suffice it to say, The Old Florida Book Shelf is well worth the visit, no matter the distance one might have to travel. Just be prepared to spend a couple of hours rummaging through the shelves and enjoy the old world bookish surroundings.
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