Rory Root, the owner and operator of the legendary Comic Relief in Berkeley, California, passed away this afternoon.

I don't think it's possible to overstate the man's contribution to modern comics, to the idea of what a direct market retailer could be, or to the care, concern, and support he gave nascent creators. His shop was and is proof-- along with a too-small handfull of others-- even when it served as the exception to the rule-- that The Android's Dungeon was never, ever good enough, and that greatness in comics retailing was in fact possible.

His store, called THE Comic Bookstore, was exactly as advertised-- across its two different locations that I've visited over the years, it's a bookstore full of absolute wonders, long-lost treasures, and most of all, comics, comics, and more comics. It's almost like the retail experience of a comfy chair-- the sort of place to lose yourself for hours.

(It occurs to me a better simile might be a comfy chair that, in spite of your every intention, managed to take at least a hundred bucks from you, every time you sat in it, but I digress.)

And Rory never, ever made kids like me-- or I'd bet Laurenn or Chip or the literally hundreds of others of us out there-- feel like anything less than superstars every time you'd walk in the door. The very first time I visited, with only a couple shorts and a graphic novel under my belt-- Rory always tended to me personally, introduced me to everyone there (sure seemed like it, anyway), and insisted I sign everything I'd written that he had on his shelves. Which-- y'know-- is just class, man. And it meant the world to me.

And at San Deigo, he'd always managed to have a little stack of stuff he'd accumulated for me or Kel over the year. I assume I wasn't the only one, either. He was that kind of guy-- in the back of his head, which I always imagined sorta looked like the OLD CR store, before the move-- you were there, somewhere, next to a Tintin album in Swahili and a stack of Hugo Pratt books nobody but Rory ever heard of, and, like, 19 signed hardcover copies of COMANCHE MOON.

The hole Rory leaves is unfillable and unfixable. His store, as excellent now as it ever was, is a tribute to how great a guy he was, and what a good idea he had. Kel and I both send our thoughts and prayers out to everyone working there now and keeping the place going.

Goodnight, Rory. You were a giant in a world of dwarves and we are far worse off for your passing. And because I don't think I ever told you when I had the chance, let me do it now:

Thank you.