I worked for Hastings for a few years, in college, managing the book department and working at the front counter. In one way or another, Hastings has always been there for me. The retailer is as much a part of my childhood as Palo Duro Canyon or Cadillac Ranch--more so, probably, given how often I shopped there.
I remember purchasing some of my first CDs in the two-story building on Wolflin in Amarillo, that hulking brown box with its odd atrium and upstairs book department. I bought some of my first mystery books there, too, which set me on the path to writing crime novels as an adult. I still miss that building, which is now just a memory, razed and replaced by a Tex-Mex restaurant.
Even still, as a night owl, I frequently wander the shelves of the Georgia store on a Friday at eleven PM, drinking hot chocolate from the cafe and perusing the art books. There have been weeks when I found a reason to go into Hastings every single day, whether to browse the classic films for random noir bargains, or to search the cheap jazz CDs, or to read short stories in the book section. Sometimes I just pop in to buy a candy bar.
I know you can’t build a profitable empire on nostalgia and the late-night whims of lonesome bookworms. But there are so many like me, across the country, people from small towns who found a pop-culture sanctuary in the aisles of their local Hastings.
In a detailed retelling of the history of the company, The Amarillo Globe News this week reminded readersof how important the retailer has been to folks like me. The company was set to go to auction today, but a last-minute reprieve has added a week to the deadline. If no buyers come forward, the company will close its doors next week and lay off all 3,850 employees, including 411 in Amarillo.
I hope, for the sake of small-town dreamers everywhere, that a buyer appears. If not, the loss of Hastings won’t just be the end of a retail chain. It will be the drying up of an oasis.
