An Ode To Bailey/Coy

Over the past few months it has become somewhat of a ritual for my girlfriend and I to take a late afternoon stroll down Broadway; gazing upon the familiar, and the not-so-familiar faces that make the street one of the most lively in Seattle. The destination of our walks is always Bailey/Coy where we stop out front and my girlfriend records Bailey/Coy's quote of the day in her journal. When we learned here on CHS that Bailey/Coy would be no more, it was devastating.

As a way to honor Bailey/Coy's presence in our lives, my girlfriend decided to assemble 40 of her favorite quotes into a short story. Remember, every single sentence below is the beginning of a different book, and graced Bailey/Coy's sandwich board at some time in the last 6 months. So Bailey/Coy, this one is for you; you will truly be missed.

Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.  My legal name is Alexander Perchov.  When I was six I saw a magnificent picture in a book about the jungle, called true stories.  We tell ourselves stories in order to live.  Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.  Dr. Weiss, at the age of forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature.  There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

My name was salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie.  I was born with water on the brain. 

Air-conditioned, odorless, illuminated by buzzing florescent tubes, the American supermarket doesn’t present itself as having very much to do with nature.  Once there was a tree…and she loved a little boy.  All children, except one, grow up.  There was once a boy named Milo who didn’t know what to do with himself-not just sometimes, but always. 

Harriet was trying to explain to Sport how to play town.  In a city called Stonetown, near a port called Stonetown Harbor, a boy named Reynie Muldoon was preparing to take an important test.

1801-I have just returned from a visit to my landlord-the solitary neighbor that I shall be troubled with.  Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.  “Marx has completely changed the way I view the world,” declared the Pallieres boy this morning, although ordinarily he says nary a word to me.  Claire: it’s hard being left behind.  Horselover Fat’s nervous breakdown began the day he got a phone call from Gloria asking if he had any Nembutals.  Mr. Jones, of the manor farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes.  “It’s a pretty good 200,” said young Gerald McGrew, “and the fellow who runs it seems pretty proud of it, too.”  

A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.  When he was nearly 13, my brother Jim got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

In fairy tales, witches always wear silly black hats and black coats, and they ride on broomsticks, but this is not a fairy tale, this is about real witches.  True!-nervous-very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?  Don’t get me wrong: I love the restaurant business.  The human head is of the same approximate size and weight as a roasted chicken.  I’d been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.  The “red death” had long devastated the country.  In Paris we eat brains every night. 

Are you there God? It’s me; Margaret.  I wish Giovanni would kiss me. 

There were ninety-seven New York advertising men in the hotel, and, the way they were monopolizing the lines, the girl in 507 had to wait from noon till almost two-thirty to get her call through.  Two boys stood in the Prince Consort Gallery and looked down on a third.  124 was spiteful.  No one is staring at you.  It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.  Then there was the bad weather.  It was a pleasure to burn.