We were raised in a family that treasures the art of storytelling; we love great books, films, and music, and most of all appreciate how such stories and creativity can bring people—our family, our community, different cultures— together. Our grandfather kept a poem on his desk called “The Bridge Builder” by Will Allen Dromgoole, and we cannot help but think of that poem today (see below). In addition to appreciating the sheer pleasure of entertainment, we firmly believe that art in all its forms, especially the written word, is the best way for us all to learn from each other… to encourage questioning, debate and reconciliation… and to help our children find the way forward. Books are a bridge. They are relevant and always will be.
It was an immediate “Yes” for us when Clark French approached us about assuming a majority ownership interest in, and business operations of, the Northshire Bookstores. We have beautiful memories of the Manchester location from our respective childhoods, and believe that both the Saratoga and Manchester stores are iconic community assets, full of stories yet to be told, and bridges yet to be built. We love the store and all that it has taught us, and want to wrap our arms around it - and all the incredible staff - through this transition. The Morrows founded and built this beautiful institution, and Clark and Lu did such an amazing job when they took the helm; it is an honor to pick up their baton. Our intention is to protect and preserve this most valuable space and all it holds, and to ensure that it prospers for future generations.
Thank you for the warm welcome.
Cathleen, Nicole and Ashley
The Bridge Builder
by Will Allen Dromgoole
An old man going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and deep and wide.
Through which was flowing a sullen tide
The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build this bridge at evening tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followed after me to-day
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been as naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him!”
