A Day In The Life Of Ranch Records

Regular readers know that I enjoy articles about the small, independent record stores, to me; they are the backbone of the vinyl revival. This story reflects a day in a local record store and in it, gives the reasons that so many people love these intimate retail establishments.

Vinyl
A day in the life of Ranch Records

By K. Williams Brown • Statesman Journal

November 15, 2008

There is a fierce, burning, endearing dedication to the record at Ranch Records. Not to the album per se, although that too, kind of, but to the vinyl disc most often seen nowadays at the Salvation Army or in your parents’ boxes of memorabilia.

Records are something to be collected, arranged, re-arranged, hoarded if there’s something unique or good about them (i.e., if they’re printed on patterned or colored vinyl) and, of course, listened to.

In Ranch Records, the records themselves are surrounded by CDs (an economic necessity), cassettes (there’s still demand), relics that complement the records, like $400 Beatles purses and original The Who posters for Berlin concerts, and then the people.

There’s customers and employees, although the divisions blur when employees come in on their off days or regulars are hired. I spent a few hours at the store in late October, trying to record the essence of Ranch.

10:58 a.m.

David Ballantyne, a clerk at Ranch Records, instructs intern Kyle Castronovo, a McNary student, to turn on the "OPEN" sign.

"You wanna turn on the open sign? Just pull the string, nice long pull," he says, and Castronovo interrupts his extensive Windex-ing duties to comply. Bo Diddley is put on the stereo.

11:06 a.m.

Owners Kit and Lori Close arrive, flowers from the Wednesday Market in-hand. Kit has been at the helm of the store since its 1982 opening and through five location changes to its present spot at 237 High St. NE. Lori normally oversees the McMinnville store, one of three they own together.

"I was a record nut, a record collector, the nerdy kid who all my money went to records, and (the records) started to overtake my life, so I started a small shop," Kit explains when asked why he opened a store.

11:25 a.m.

Ballantyne is involved in lots of CD movings: into sleeves, out of sleeves, on the shelf where all the sleeved CDs are kept. This reflects the fact that each day, Ranch Records buys all sorts of CDs and records on consignment, each of which is sleeved and catalogued. This is part of the draw for the many regulars who come weekly or even more frequently.

"There could be 5,000 records out there, but if there's 10 by the counter, they want to see those," Kit said.

11:45 a.m.

Perry Manns is one of those regulars.

"I've been coming here — geez, last week I came in here five times," he said. "They have what I want. They have a lot of selections I like — blues, jazz."

Today, he has James Brown, Etta James and Charlie Parker CDs.

12:15 p.m.

Mark Wade is another regular, one singled out by Kit as an especially good customer, who comes in two or three times per week on his lunch break from Willamette University.

There are, he said, a lot of reasons for his loyalty.

"The people working here, they're knowledgeable, they share the same interests," he said. "If you're passionate about music — which I am, I have been since I was 12, 13 years old — they're the same. So I consider them friends. It's one of the few places left that's like an old record store, like the kind I grew up with."

12:20 p.m.

Sam Schick has come in, even though it's his day off. He's been on the job about two years.

"I think Kit just took pity on me since I spent so much time here."

The story behind his hiring is telling.

"I saw a vinyl picture disc — a Paris Hilton picture disc — and I didn't like that," he said. "So I bought it and then I broke it over the counter, and I told (Ballantyne) not to stock that anymore."

Ballantyne, who had been responsible for the purchase of Hilton's album, was pleased.

"That was the candle on the cake," he said. "That was a major story that we passed around. Like, 'Kit, you won't believe what this kid did.' It was a year and a half, two years before we hired him."

12:35 p.m.

Castronovo admires Ballantyne's tiger shirt.

"That shirt is brutal," he says. "I just got a flower on mine."

"That's cool. That's manly," Ballantyne replies.

I ask about record collections.

"Last count was 1,300 good albums, 800 odds and ends and about 300 CDs," Ballantyne said.

"A couple hundred," Kit deadpans, then laughs. "I've got three stores full. It's not about counting, but my records are better than anyone else's."

There is agreement.

1:12 p.m.

Mickey Bare, of The Falcons and Hundred Dollar Jayhawks fame, stops in. Kit offers him a beer, "for lunch," and he takes one. So does Schick.

Ballantyne re-enters and sees the beers. "What is this?"

Bare: "Lunch."

Schick: "My day off."

There is a fierce, burning, endearing dedication to the record at Ranch Records. Not to the album per se, although that too, kind of, but to the vinyl disc most often seen nowadays at the Salvation Army or in your parents' boxes of memorabilia.

Records are something to be collected, arranged, re-arranged, hoarded if there's something unique or good about them (i.e., if they're printed on patterned or colored vinyl) and, of course, listened to.

In Ranch Records, the records themselves are surrounded by CDs (an economic necessity), cassettes (there's still demand), relics that complement the records, like $400 Beatles purses and original The Who posters for Berlin concerts, and then the people.

There's customers and employees, although the divisions blur when employees come in on their off days or regulars are hired. I spent a few hours at the store in late October, trying to record the essence of Ranch.

SOURCE: http://www.statesmanjournal.com