Miriam and Frank Meyer
Frank Meyer, Sr., who passed away Friday at age 86, changed my life.
When he and his wife Miriam hired me to work at Videoville in 1994, they were rescuing me from life on the mussel rafts and giving me a chance to embrace the love of my life, movies.
Through two buildings — first in a small, converted house and then in a spiffy building which also housed the new-at-the-time Miriam’s Espresso and seemed imposingly large at first — it was my home away from home for 12+ years.
Miriam, who became like a second mom to me, was my daily companion in the early years, while Frank, who was wheeling and dealing in the world of real estate, swung by on a frequent basis.
The Meyer children — Frank, Jr., Jennifer, Michael, Kathryn, and Megan — all grew up in the store as well.
Over the years, they joined me and my sister, Sarah, and many others in renting movies, making drinks, and, in some cases, being pushed around the store while crammed in the rolling cart normally stationed under the video return slot.
From ages 23-35 I haunted Videoville, years which saw the birth of my first nephew and the passing of both my parents.
I often say that if video stores were still a thing, I would still be working at one, and you might not be reading these words, and it’s true.
It’s why, in recent days, I have begun a slightly cockeyed mission to recreate Videoville in a side room of my duplex.
Tuesday was the day new releases hit video stores. In tribute, we welcome 38 more DVD’s home today.
In a short period of time, I’ve gone from owning four or five DVDs to being up over 800, and I now spend my drive time scanning the sides of roads for anyone offering free bookcases.
I’ve begun to break my new wave of movies into sections, from traditional genres like sci-fi and suspense to things like Oscar Best Picture Winners, or more diverse sub-sections such as “Can’t Stop the Beat” or “No Hoes, Just Ho-Ho’s.”
In its own way, it’s a chance to recapture a bit of my hazy, lazy, Reese’s Pieces-eatin’ past, to use “Videoville 2.0” to keep alive the dream.
And it’s a past which was greatly shaped by Frank and Miriam, who not only hired me, and never fired me, but allowed me to have a surprising amount of say in the direction the store took over the years.
We outlasted many a video joint killed by Blockbuster, thanks to our diverse movie selection and small-town charm.
Plus, the power of a potently priced cup o’ coffee, as the rising tide of the espresso world helped keep the movie rental biz going in later years.
Through it all, through the heady days of renting 500+ VHS tapes on a Friday night in Cow Town, through the battle over the Big Rock, Frank was the calm, reassuring backbone of the Meyer empire.
Whether rolling big in the property biz, or sipping some freshly brewed java, one eyebrow slightly cocked, as he listened to my wild-eyed video store ideas, he was a genuinely rock-solid guy.
I am sad to hear of his passing, but will remember him for all he accomplished, and the many lives he touched.
Frank’s legacy lives on through his children, who have all gone on to make a positive impact, and his grandchildren, who are bright-eyed and brilliant.
And maybe it lives on a little each time I shepherd a DVD through the sliding glass door on my duplex, welcoming the disc to its new forever home.
Videoville is reemerging, in a fashion, in my spare room, and it’s partially because Frank and Miriam let me marinate in the movies.
For that, I will always be grateful.
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