In my early 30s and living in New York City, I needed an escape — a break from teaching and research and from the general chaos that is living in Manhattan. I figured a few comic books would provide that escape.
So, I stepped through the doors of JHU Comics, a short walk from my apartment, and I found much more than the escapism provided by a good comic book. I found a community.
From the moment I entered the store, I couldn’t help but smile. From the smell of the freshly printed books lining the walls from the floor to the ceiling to the bizarre play mix playing from the ceiling to a truly incongruous mix of people. In one corner was a lively discussion over one author’s take on a Batman story. This was a very unusual place.
I chose a handful of books, made some small talk with the clerk about why I chose those books, and left to enjoy my purchases.
I found myself back there the next week to get another comic fix. The clerk remembered me and asked my take on last week’s book. Conversation ensued, and soon, my visits to the store became weekly events.
I soon knew all about the clerk and his band, but my experience in the shop was more than that. I began to see people regularly, and we developed very real relationships. These friends came from across the entire spectrum of New Yorkers, ranging from a city sanitation worker to an IP lawyer in a Brioni suit.
We would talk about comics, and they lead to discussions about family, politics, issues facing New York and the nation. While we didn’t socialize outside the weekly meetings in the store, I certainly got to know them, and they got to know me. The relationships were genuine and were far more diverse than my usual crowd. And if I missed a week, people would text me! In fact, the outpouring of support over the birth of my son was not something I’ll soon forget, and I am pleased to write that my experience was not unique whatsoever — people frequented JHU for the comics and the very real community that it fostered.
In fact, about two years ago, the neighborhood around the store was gentrifying, and the store had to move just to survive. The store launched a fundraising drive to help it move, and I, along with hundreds of other customers, donated money to make that happen. The outpouring of support was palpable, and one customer wrote after making a donation that “I have friends made through here that have lasted me 30 years. Friends I’ve had since childhood have been brought into that fold, and now I am lucky enough to have my children be a part of that experience as well.” Unquestionably, the store has created the conditions for friendships, and I, along with many others, have greater awareness of the community along with deeper connections to it.
I wanted to share this story because seldom does a day go by without reports of Americans are searching for community in a world where civility seems to be in short supply. People feel isolated from one another and are alienated from traditional institutions of government and religion. Places like JHU Comics are thus critical to maintaining and building neighborhood bonds of trust and social capital.
In fact, a recent report from the American Enterprise Institute on community and civic health makes it powerfully clear that these third places (places outside of home and work like libraries, local stores, and coffee shops and parks) are absolutely essential in promoting and maintaining strong and vibrant local communities. Thus, we not only need to preserve those place which already exists, but also make more investments in local neighborhood third places because they are absolutely vital as community and connections do not emerge by fiat, they develop when conditions are present for meeting.
Stores like JHU attract diverse groups of people, and those who frequent them — like libraries, bowling alleys, and parks — become more social with those around them, they are more likely to work together to fix community problems, and their levels of optimism increase. “Third places” increase levels of trust and the number of friendships people have with others. They expose people to life outside their political and socioeconomic bubbles, and they increase levels of diversity and empathy too.
Sadly, not all of these third places survive. Just the other day, after 36 years in the East Village of New York, St. Marks Comics has closed. There was a huge outpouring of support with many stories similar to my own, and the community lost a critical gathering and community generating place.
Now, at least I understand why these shops are so sacred to so many, why so many mourn their disappearance, and why they need to survive and thrive. As a social scientist who studies community, I can say that I have empirical proof that these small shops are truly places that help me and many others develop a real network of friends and foster wonderful communities for thousands.
So, while the stories told in the comics themselves about Batman, Black Panther, Iron Man, and a host of others are often fantasy, the connections and social capital generated at these special places is absolutely a reality. I and New Yorkers are better off for it.
Samuel J. Abrams is professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a visiting scholar at the American Enterprise Institute.
