In the summer of 1979, my mother, who lived out of state, came to visit my father and me. At some point she noticed my stereo and collection of records. She was planning to visit Lennox Mall during her stay and said, “I should take you to the place where I bought my records when I was your age.”
Jim Salle’s Record Shop
Once inside, my mother discreetly let me know that the man behind the counter was Mr. Salle, the same gentleman who had sold her the hit records that she had listened to as a swinging teen.