FOURTH FRIDAYS: DOG DAYS OF SUMMER
Retro Row
Long Beach
Aug. 23, 2024
For small-business patrons, Long Beach’s 4th Street Corridor (a.k.a. Retro Row) has become the stuff of nightmares, a mass grave of once-beloved enterprises. Before you can draft a review of your new fave spot, its page loads with the disclaimer “Yelpers report this location has closed.” My all-time top falafel, the HipPea, tragically served its final chickpea on my birthday last year. Bustling café Portfolio had already succumbed in 2022 and remains disemboweled today. Like a reaper scything down upstarts by the bootstraps, my neighborhood lost Shady Grove (eclectic BBQ), the Hangout (collective market-space showcasing diverse vendors), VBurger (punk-rock plant-based comfort food), Golden Burgers (classic SoCal American/Mexican/Greek/breakfast diner). Each loss displaced a whole subcommunity of consumers with it.
When pandemic restrictions eased in 2021, the 4th Street Business Association came back strong defending surviving storefronts with happening street-market-block-parties on the fourth Friday of each month, where coffee shops that normally close by afternoon reopen to attendees, bars welcome craft vendors to their backyards, and pop-ups momentarily resurrect Retro Row’s recent free-market casualties. Last Friday, I stopped by to take stock of the enterprising sellers setting up outside dusty skeletons of fallen shops.
My vegetarianism aside, I gained hope seeing Shady Grove’s massive grill packing the rear garden of Alder & Sage, a café I’d slept on for months. Sabrina Carpenter didn’t stand a chance against their espresso, and the cookie I ordered was transcendent. I’ve never tasted chocolate chips so rich outside of San Diego’s Nibble, whose cacao will practically hospitalize you.
Down the row, I crate-dug at Louie’s Closet (unblemished copy of Run‑D.M.C.’s Tougher Than Leather!), then entered Bel Canto Books’ new storefront — they previously operated within the Hangout, so I’d feared the worst upon its closure. Owner/poet Jhoanna Belfer’s multiroom space is sleek, minimalist. I couldn’t resist the enticing mattress-pad reading nook in the corner. Book selections appeared curated, with offerings ranging from grief guides to disability studies, as well as best-selling fiction like Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (2022). I grabbed Danez Smith’s freshly unboxed new collection Bluff, and Belfer and I shared our enthusiasm to dive into it. Bel Canto’s ability to persevere under the threat of bloodthirsty landlords and perilous inflation was invigorating; another nearby 4th Street bookstore, Page Against the Machine, was equally holding out against late capitalism with displays of activism manuals and well-stocked Karl Marx, Angela Davis, and Benedict Anderson sections, coolly soundtracked by Doctor KA’s lo-fi mixes on the sidewalk outside.
Still hauling the bulk of my life-altering cookie, I came upon Sugar Daddy’s modest table, a rainbow of home-baked desserts. Its soft-spoken beefcake helmsman (Sugar Daddy himself?) convinced me to try a triple chocolate, and I didn’t regret it. My Fourth Friday cookie-judging contest ended with a resounding draw. It perfectly complemented Long Beach Lumpia’s savory veggie pancit, a greasy flavor adventure I was still recovering from. Next door, outreach reps spread word of the LGBTQ Center’s monthly open mics, and the LB Public Library outlined their array of services, the recent challenges arising from uninformed book-banning campaigns, and the popular books patrons are currently reading — the answer was mostly Bocaccio’s 14th-century Decameron, ahead of its time.
Other caricatures punctuated the evening: eccentric flipper of Garbage Pail Kids cards; unshowered dude wielding dead reeds fashioned into a kitana and sai, grumbling to himself while darting into traffic; unamused mafia wife – type with her stocky partner, who overconfidently illustrated his projected arm circumference after getting swole (my mnemonic for him was Bicep Boyfriend). Intl Players Juice brought jokes to their cart with hip-hop puns like “A Tribe Called Fresh,” and the kawaii kids at chubby pals.co contributed immaculately crocheted axolotls. Clearly, everyone is welcome at Fourth Fridays.
The beautiful, century-old Art Theatre was overflowing with attendees; they spilled out onto the Saint Louis Avenue closure to browse plants, ceramics, and KLBP radio swag. Toddlers boogied to the beats of Krooked Fingerz Express’s multigenerational jazz fusion and DJ Phatrick’s turntables, while the event’s true stars paraded on leashes, in wagons (this month’s theme: Dog Days of Summer). Dachshunds donned honeybee costumes, golden retrievers licked every hand, and a grizzled, pale-eyed Australian shepherd looked like he’d pilot your single-engine flight to Utqiagvik in a blizzard. Dogspotting became the night’s party game: what looked like a roving Pollock painting became a German shorthaired pointer; meanwhile, a corgi dancing on hind legs turned out to be a fire hydrant.
Can Fourth Fridays alone save the corridor’s embattled businesses and combat the encroachment of urban doom loops? Maybe. This dog day was disarmingly wholesome, pulling everyone out of their disparate enclaves and shaping them into a vibrant supportive mass resembling a “community.” Which was enough to make Retro Row, at least for one night, come alive.
