When Doug Dutton closes the doors of his bookstore on April 30, the city will lose an absolute treasure. This doesn't have that much to do with court stuff, I know, but I wanted to offer thoughts from my little pulpit while I had the chance while I'm on my lunch break.

Dutton's was the first bookstore I visited where I felt like a real adult. I went there in college with a very cultured older friend and immediately fell in love with the place. Its weird layout, its cafe, its boundlessly knowledgeable staff. There was seemingly nothing they couldn't find or didn't know. On that first trip, I bought my first book by a man who'd become one of my heroes, Richard Halliburton. When I got "The Royal Road to Romance" home, I knew I'd be back to Dutton's again and again.

And indeed, I did. Whether I needed Raymond Chandler or Michael Chabon, Dutton's never let me down. After his brother, Dave, shuttered his North Hollywood shop of the same name a few years back, I became an even more frequent patron. I didn't care if Barnes and Noble or Borders had cheaper rates, I kept going back for the pleasure of walking through the aisles. Plenty of times, I ran in five minutes before closing, not only to find the one book I wanted, but several others I didn't even know I couldn't live without. In my geekier moments, I dreamed what it would be like to do a book signing there.

Dammit, I even went there for my reporters' notebooks.

Last summer, Dutton's gave me one of my fondest literary memories when the latest Harry Potter book came out. My wife and I reserved a copy and showed up for the midnight release party, arriving fifteen minutes after they started handing out the highly-coveted books. And, man, what a scene.

Kids were walking down the street with their parents, dressed in costume. Adults were wandering back to their cars, so hungry for the first chapter that they read as they walked. Teenagers wore witch garb, twenty-somethings toted Gryffindor scarves and a man in a wizard hat sat, absolutely wrapped up in his book, out front, completely unaware of anything except for the text.

We got our copy and drove a few miles to Cafe 50's, where we found several other tables full of similarly dorky groups, all chewing through the pages. Over milkshakes and fries, Rebecca and I sat side-by-side and took in the first chapter. It was one of those moments that just made you feel good to be alive.

Dutton's wasn't the only one to have such an event-- there were gazillions of 'em across the world. But there, you always felt at home, whether you were reading Harry Potter or James Bond. I never felt embarrassed to ask for anything, because they'd know what I wanted and, often times, had read the book themselves. Stores like that are getting rarer by the week and each time one of them closes up, they're gone forever.

So thank you, Mr. Dutton, and to all the people who made that place what it was. You will be sorely, sorely missed and the literary world, the city and poor little me (in descending order of importance) will be far poorer as a result.

(Thanks to Kevin at LA Observed for sharing the sad news and ruining my day)