Carroll’s CD Shop On Broadway is Closing Forever
“No we’re not,” says local business owner
by Ian Dallas '00

First the Daily Caffé, now Carroll’s. It’s Thursday afternoon and I’m just there to browse, but as I enter, it’s obvious that Bill Carroll has something to tell me. It turns out to be: “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here, you slanderous sonofabitch.”

He’s clearly seen last week’s exposé about “Child Pornography Puts Music Store on Shaky Ground.” That article is posted on the store’s window, along with a lengthy explanation beside it and the word “lies” written above the headline.

I’m a little offended, both by his aggressive greeting and his infantile treatment of our exposé, but I decide to let it go. Instead of a venomous reply, I offer him a friendly smile as I continue back to look at the singles. Carroll doesn’t let it stop there. He continues to harass me, following me to the back of the store, going on and on about God knows what.

I can’t help but think, perhaps this sort of belligerence is part of the reason Carroll’s is going out of business. I mention this idea to Bill and his face, somehow, gets even redder.

I, for one, would like to see Carroll’s stay right where it is. The offbeat record store has been in New Haven for over 50 years, and still has much to offer the Yale community. With its extensive collection of used CDs and imports, and a wall of classic arcade games, Carroll’s has a lot going for it. The neighborhood music store may not inspire the same kind of reverence as more traditional Yale institutions, but there should be a place for both on campus. It’s a shame that the message these days seems to be that if you’re a hip, independent merchant on Broadway, the Yale Corporation will close down your business and sell your lease to a heartless franchise. A Sam Goody or Musicland might offer more variety and lower prices, but they could never replace Carroll’s.

“In a sense, you and I will both be broke when this place closes,” I tell him. “I’ll be broke in a more figurative sense, but it’s still going to hurt.”

Bill isn’t listening anymore; instead, he’s rummaging through a filing cabinet behind the counter. He produces a piece of paper, which he hands to me. It’s the lease for the building, which, according to the terms of the contract, is valid until January 1st 2002.

In some ways I feel sorry for him, a man so caught up in his popular music store that he is unable to hear the vague and unsubstantiated rumors on the street. Until they’re published, of course. He questions me about my sources, as if he were the reporter and I were the maligned businessman.

I tell him I don’t remember much, but it had struck me as one of those stories that are just too weird to have been made up. The Yale Corporation closing down a historic and successful business that still had 4 years left on its contract? Perhaps he’s right to be skeptical about such things, but sometimes, the story just needs to be told.

He sees things differently, and that’s understandable. “At least the Yale Record will survive, no thanks to you,” I tell him. “You know, Carroll’s used to advertise in the Record, back when you were more successful, and better liked by publications.”

Bill’s voice becomes very loud. “Is that what this is about!? You want me to advertise in your stupid newspaper?” I tell him it’s a magazine, and that his decision not to advertise has nothing to do with our article, and then I explain the benefits of being seen in Yale’s most professional publication. The speech calms Bill considerably. “How much is a third of a page in your magazine?” he asks. I smile and tell him that all we have left is the back cover, which is $5,000. There is a split second in which it looks as though he is going to hit me, but the moment passes. Bill is silent. I know what he wants to say though. Everybody on Broadway is saying it these days: “Get out.” Then he actually says it. It’s time for me to go. On the way out, I can’t resist turning around for one last look at the place that introduced me to the moog, Underworld, and Aphex Twin. God, I’m going to miss it.