Brunswick—Brunswick, Maine.
Approximate pop.: 23,000.
If you're walking down Maine Street toward the Androscoggin, turn left on Lincoln Street, pass the Church of Scientology, and find yourself standing in a pebble-packed courtyard.
This is the antechamber of The Book Barn: a cluttered den of "trash" antiques, yellowed paper-backs, chipped enamels, tin gimcracks, a "Manhattan-Billiards Table," and, most fascinating of all, the owner himself —Richard Fisco. He's a townie you should meet.
Rich is a New York transplant. He's dark, with recalcitrant hair, a wise-guy face, little metal glasses and a blue workman's smock. He opened this shop over a decade ago in hopes of recovering a rare USSR army pistol he took off a Chinese officer in 'Nam and smuggled into the States.
Rich's father was the Fire Marshall in Manhattan at the time, and pressured his son to get rid of the pistol in respect of local gun laws. Rich complied, sold it outside city limits, and years later set up shop with the romantic expectation that his precious gun might still be circulating the world of antique counters, making its way home.
From behind the counter, Rich will size you up. He is an amateur sociologist and occasionally passes out questionnaires on campus.
What's his project, you ask? Richard has a pastor's interest in people for-their-own-sake; less innocently, he's the head of the local Scientology Church. Fisco's insights, on the town council, the student body, or the life of the mind, bare a wistful, sardonic edge that cuts through pretentions like an outlaw mechanic.
Whether wrong or right, he's a delightful example of what happens when ideas become the concern of non-academics—that is, when ideas are not just a way of making a living but a way of staying alive. To be reminded of this dimension of the material we work with in college is invaluable. And to be reminded, Rich is the man.
Rich also plays the blues. Every Friday night you'll find him in the courtyard outside The Book Barn. At this hour—usually 8 p.m. or 9 p.m.—the yard is crisscrossed with string lights and holds a speaker system, a few lounge chairs, and an open invitation for passersby to stop, listen or play at the open mic.
Before the naval base closed, Texan sailors would have a drink or two at Joshua's Tavern and swarm The Book Barn by the dozens to jangle strings and bawl Townes Van Zandt, Grateful Dead and Stevie Ray Vaughan.
The yard has quieted down since and Rich, a life-long connoisseur of Mississippi and Louisiana Blues, carries the show with throaty, humming renditions of Delta favorites with the occasional Tom Waits song thrown in. Admission is free.
New talent is welcome. It's a good venue for young guitar heroes to reveal their hidden talents and impress their dates. It's also a good place to steal away for a while by yourself, empty the mind, and enjoy a balmy evening.
So look for Richard Fisco at The Book Barn, or zipping around town on his motorized scooter or passing out pamphlets in the Smith Union when he manages to sneak in. Richard Fisco: one of 23,000; and this week, our townie.