Rolling into Astoria, Oregon just before 9 pm, I found myself at the edge of U.S. Route 101. Fatigue clung to me like a heavy cloak, but my eyes remained alert, scanning the town for a place to rest my weary bones.
Then, like a beacon in the night, a burst of neon light caught my attention from the corner of my eye. “Video Horizons” it proclaimed, and suddenly, weariness took a back seat to curiosity. I steered my van towards the source of that beckoning glow, the doors of the shop invitingly ajar and the ambiance of nostalgia washing over me.
As I step over the threshold, nostalgia courses through my veins. Nothing stirs inside the store. Suddenly, a clerk rushes out.
“You guys still open?” I asked.
“Yeah, but just for a handful of minutes,” the man said.
Movie posters adorned the window, relics of a bygone era when VHS tape rentals were the norm. Chris, the store clerk, who seemed almost as much a relic of the past as the shop itself, greets me amused by my intrigue. His shirt sleeves are rolled into cuffs and his shirttail protrudes over his jeans. His voice has a gravely quality. I imagine him doing a weekly radio gig about the Golden Age of Video. He would later prove to have those kinds of smarts.
I survey the interior with the curiosity of Charlie Bucket entering Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
“Who even owns a VHS tape player anymore?” I asked.
Chris grins, though his attention is given to last-minute store closing details.
“We’ve got members who come in here every day, browse the collection, and take tapes home with them.”
Chris seems to find my fascination with one of the last video stores in America amusing and offers me a tour. Wooden bookcases, six shelves high, stretch over worn carpeting. Against the walls, shelves climb eight feet high. Each shelf is curated like books in a library: action, anime, comedy, sci-fi, musical, Western, new releases. I see DVDs everywhere, a striking departure from the store’s opening-day inventory in 1984 when it showcased six hundred VHS tapes.
During its heyday, Video Horizons cultivated a fanbase by stocking an inventory of eighty to a hundred copies of a hit title, a feat setting it apart from competitors that created waiting lists for popular movies. A loyal following ensued. They still have multiple copies of The Goonies, a perennial favorite about a group of youngsters who stumble on a treasure map. Much of the filming for the cult classic took place around Astoria.
“Do you know where I can park my van for a night’s sleep?” I said.
Chris scratches his scraggly beard.
“Go ahead and pull up front. We don’t open till 10. Nobody will bug you there.”
With those reassuring words, I settle in between the bar and the pizza joint. Beneath the bright neon infiltrating the van, a sense of unease suddenly overcomes me. Can I truly feel safe at a place where video killed the radio star and digital wiped-out video?