For the past 36 years, Acme Music store (in the Laurel) owner Jay Rose has been offering a special gift to his customers and neighbors—he's been helping them keep time.'
Time is important to him as a businessman and as a musician. "It's crucial that the public knows it can rely on you like clockwork," he says. On the rare occasion he can't open his MacArthur Ave. store at 10 a.m., he leaves a note on the door. What's particularly amazing about his steadiness is that at a time when most people his age would be enjoying the well-deserved rest of their golden years, Rose is making it his priority to keep his store doors open.
"If you can't tell it's 10 o'clock then you can't tell time, and if you can't tell time you can't be a drummer," says Rose, who sports a leather cap, dark sunglasses, and an African beaded bracelet. Only his full beard and the walking cane he carries hint at his 82 years of age.
Rose recalls when he used to dress up in a black tuxedo and bow tie and play in a jazz band at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. When he first started the shop back in 1977, he worked three nights a week in the City playing the drums and six days a week at the store. Back then, the store was doing well. He had 70 students, and people would come to his store to buy instruments, sheet music, and lesson books.
Now, Rose faces some of the same challenges that have put larger and more established music businesses like Berkeley's Tupper & Reed and San Francisco's Byron Hoyt out of business. The Internet and megastores are posing serious competition to his store (and other local retailers). Customers want to walk out the door with their instrument the same day, says Rose. He adds that he, too, can get any instrument, but he may have to order it. Rose encourages the community to come shop in his store for sheet music and instruction books before going online.'
Despite the downturn in business, Rose insists he is managing to stay afloat. Much thanks, he says, goes to the heart of his business—the 35 students who study piano, guitar, bass, drums and saxophone with one of his five music teachers. Rose also credits a sympathetic landlord and his regular customers for supporting his store.'
When one of these regulars comes into the shop to buy some guitar strings, Rose turns the crank of an old fashioned memo pad to give him a receipt. On the cluttered countertop is a metal cupcake tin in which another customer rummages for Fender guitar picks.'
"You remember when I bought that see-through bass?" says a customer, a slight man with shoulder-length dark hair.'
Back then, Acme Music was twice the size it is now, with pianos and records and instruments. That was before the fire. "I can't believe I survived that. It was a heartbreak," says Rose, who lost 12 pianos during the fire.
"On the map of Oakland, Acme music should be at the center," enthuses the customer, who relates how he got his first job in the computer industry from someone he met at the store.'
A few minutes later another customer comes in to buy guitar strings. He's wearing a suit and tie and a panama hat. He is excitedly telling Rose about his chance to play one of his music scores to a famous band. Rose listens appreciatively.
Clearly Rose and his shop remain important to his regulars, both for the merchandise and for the memories of times gone by and for memories still to be made.'
"It's been a good gig," says Rose, summing up his experiences at the shop. "I've been good to people. I still love people. In my mind that makes me a success."
Acme Music, 3715 MacArthur Blvd., Oakland, CA 94619, 530-7234. Open Monday to Friday, 10 a.m. to 6:30 p.m.
To read more about the 1994 fire, search for Acme Music in the Metro online archives, www.macarthurmetro.org.
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