On June 8, 2024, I had no idea I was going to meet somebody famous. In retrospect, at that record store, I should have known better.
It had been a spur of the moment decision. We had an hour to kill before dinner, and sitting around the house was getting old.
So we made the quick drive north to Lake Ontario, hanging a left a couple miles before actually reaching the water.
Greeting us was Irondequoit, New York, a suburb of Rochester. As far as middle America goes, Irondequoit is about as middle as it gets.
The day was overcast—misty, in fact. Summer was supposedly around the corner, though supporting evidence was lacking. I had taken my inhaler before leaving—our destination wasn’t known for its air circulation, and I anticipated a whiff of must.
Two miles of humble dwellings later, we spotted the mecca on our left. If not for GPS, missing it would have been easy. The place ran deep, but you’d never guess it from the height and width street side.
It had all started in 1964 out of the basement of the owners’ house—well, their mother’s house. The oldest of the three brothers—Armand Schaubroeck—had recently been released from prison after serving time for burglary. Looking to capitalize on the Beatles-driven rock and roll craze, he envisioned a place where kids could admire, test drive, and buy guitars.
House of Guitars. Literally.
Mom didn’t love the idea as much, and she eventually gave the boys the boot.
A few moves later, in 1972, they landed at the spot where we had just parked. It began with one building, but over the years, adjacent structures that weren’t meant to enter the mix entered the mix. The result was a maze-like, multilevel space full of…everything.
Guitars.
Vintage guitars.
Amps.
Drums.
Books.
Keyboards. (On that day, the keyboard room had bee-like visitors.)
But down a narrow hallway and a few rickety stairs was where the true chaos began. There, the walls and ceilings were lined with posters, pictures, and signatures of some of the most famous musicians on Earth. A sign threatened to prosecute the less famous who attempted to add to the wall art.
And beyond the sign was a massive sea of vinyl, cassettes, CDs, and ugly T-shirts.
Shelf space was ample but far from sufficient.
That meant boxes—everywhere.
Stuffed to the max.
Alphabetical order? Maybe.
One box caught my eye, but I had trouble getting the record I wanted out. Then I had trouble getting it back in. I left it partially removed—no one would care.
As I roamed around the makeshift museum, I realized why this slice of Americana had attracted a who’s who of the music industry.
When an unknown Metallica was recording its first album—Kill ‘Em All—in Rochester, they used the laundromat across the street. The store naturally caught their attention.
Many other legends had also stopped in to experience the vibe—and shop.
Steven Tyler from Aerosmith.
Ozzy Osbourne.
Peter Gabriel.
Mötley Crüe.
Geddy Lee from Rush.
REO Speedwagon.
“Weird Al” Yankovic.
Marilyn Manson.
Sheryl Crow.
Jon Bon Jovi.
Lou Gramm from Foreigner. (Gramm is from Rochester.)
And, of course, the Ramones. They were even in one of those House of Guitars commercials—amateur, blurry, and endearing as hell.
In other words, we were spending the hour strolling through music history.
And there were smiles all around—my wife, daughter, and son had managed to extricate their records of choice from the vice-like cardboard.
As I kept browsing for my own souvenir, I noticed a box that had ripped at the edges. A collection of vinyl hung precariously at a forty-five degree angle, and I had to turn to one side to pass through the already narrow aisle.
I looked up and saw a friendly face.
The hair was disheveled, but the skin was surprisingly smooth.
“That box looks like it’s about to break apart,” I said helpfully.
“Yeah, it probably will. We tape them, but they fall apart anyway. Then we get new ones.”
I laughed.
After all, when it came to running a record store, who was I to question Armand Schaubroeck?
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Reference: Greenwood, Marcia. “Music stars go out of their way to gawk at stuff inside this New York store.” Democrat & Chronicle [Rochester], 2 November 2021.
