Down the steps and past the high-end clothing store: that's where to find the doors to a
hidden room of treasures.
Once inside, the smell of aged records permeates the air. Behind the counter sits a man whose view is blocked by the towers of CDs stacked around him. A sticker is taped to the front of his desk -- "Drum Machines Have No Soul" -- and there's just the right amount of disarray a record store needs to feel lived in.
The faded shag carpet hung in patches on the wall is a testament to the 25 years of service City Lights Records, 316 E. College Ave., has given to State College.
And even on Saturday -- the store's final day of operations after closing due to a trying
economy -- owner Greg Gabbard still answers every call like he's talking to an old friend: "City Lights, hey! How are you?"
People from all over filed in and out of the store throughout the day, snapping pictures of the old shop with their cell phone cameras, rummaging through the ruins of the store's inventory like small children digging for the prize in the bottom of a cereal box.
The conversation upon checkout and the chatting around the room prove City Lights' appeal wasn't the products -- it was the place. Gabbard doesn't take his customers' money and send them on their way.
"If it was that, I'd work at a grocery store," he said.
Every person who came in to bid farewell was somehow affected by Gabbard and City Lights.
"I don't think I have ever gotten a better musical education from anyone other than Mr. Gabbard himself," said Matthew Steck (senior-telecommunications), a long-time customer.
Penn State Vice Provost of Information Technology Kevin Morooney also stopped in for the store's last stand. Ninety percent of the CDs he's purchased in the last 15 years have come from City Lights -- and for him, the store's closure is terrible.
"I hate shopping, except for CDs here," Morooney said. "If the day was going bad, I could come down from Old Main and buy a record to make myself feel better."
About seven or eight years ago, bar owner Terry Rickards' roommate had a head shop next door to the record store, and Rickards had the opportunity to get to know Gabbard.
Rickards said Gabbard introduced him to Bob Dylan's "Nashville Skyline," Ryan Adams' "Heartbreaker" and Hank Williams Sr.
"Those three purchases and discoveries shaped my musical taste and in part, my life," Rickards said.
Those purchases jumpstarted Rickards' music appreciation and inspired him to open a bar in Boalsburg in April 2009, titled simply "The Bar." He said it's an artist's venue, and its success has far surpassed his expectations.
Customers agreed that something is lost when a record store closes. Two were overheard excitedly discussing an album -- they thought they'd only be able to find it in Germany.
"An entire way of buying and interacting with other people who like music disappears," Steck said.
A group of Penn State alumni came up for the weekend from New York and Philadelphia to support the store on its final day.
"This was just the place we all had in common," Adam Fabian, Class of 2004, said. "On the way down, we were talking about how we went to school during the emergence of the Pitchfork, iTunes, Napster era. You come here to hear about music you can't hear about on Napster or iTunes."
Throughout the day, Gabbard was cheerful, chatting with a wide range of customers and old friends to distract him from the reality of the day. Gabbard said he's looking to be an online business for his remaining stock. He wants to keep a local presence, but he's not sure what the future holds.
"I just hope this place doesn't turn into a storage space, like the one next door," he said.
Gabbard has had an iPod for three years but has yet to unwrap it. He said he's worried about expanding technology and this generation's consumption of music.
As the day wore on, people came running down the steps, hoping to make it in time to say their farewells: It was clear Gabbard made many friends during his relationship with City Lights. With each call, Gabbard agreed to stay open just a little longer -- a half-hour here, an hour there -- giving friends one last chance to say goodbye.
"There's nothing else like it," Fabian said. "And there's fewer places like it every day."
