John Evans, owner of Lemuria Book Store
- If there is one thing John Evans has figured out over the past fifty years, it is that small business requires an ongoing determination to keep figuring things out.
The unassuming and soft-spoken John Evans, proprietor of Jackson’s beloved Lemuria Book Store, credits his eleventh-grade English teacher at Murrah High School, Bea Donnelly, and American author Ernest Hemingway with sparking his passion for reading. Ultimately, their influence ignited his commitment to a business that has blessed three generations of Mississippians and is poised to bless a few more.
Lemuria’s story is one of serendipity, those happy coincidences that John intuitively managed to spin into gold. He uses the term “figure it out” often, and circumstances required him to do exactly that, especially when he was 24 years old, launching an idea, trying to be an adult, and having no solid formula for what it all looked like.
John, a Jackson native, grew up just a few blocks from Banner Hall, where his business has lived for the last 37 years. He attended Duling Elementary School, Bailey Junior High, graduated (he says “barely”) from Murrah in 1968, and headed to Ole Miss in a day when people like me met new college friends who answered “Murrah” when asked the great Southern conversation starter question, “Where are you from?” (Forgive the hanging preposition).
Vietnam was the news of the day and the fear of every young American male of college age. John managed to avoid Vietnam, although he confessed, “But I barely got out of Ole Miss.”
He majored in business, which probably helped him immeasurably when he launched Lemuria. Still, his heart and his interests were less about profit, loss, and accounting than in what he calls “the counterculture.”
John was interested in psychology and the occult, which he explains was not about Satanic rituals but the study of hidden things and the unconscious realm of human behavior. Lemuria was a mythical place near Madagascar where art, music, creativity, and the transmission of thoughts through symbols permeated the culture. When his lawyer asked him in their first consultation what he wanted his legal corporate name for his new business to be, he blurted “Lemuria” because he could not think of anything else off the top of his head.
John laughs that if he had anticipated the question better, he might have chosen another name simply because of the untold time he has spent over the years explaining to curious questioners what in the world Lemuria means.
Even today, at the ripe old age of 74, he says, “There are no formulas for an independent bookstore.” His original goal was to enlarge the cultural reading market in the Jackson community, but he quickly discovered, “It’s all about relationships and making friends.”
John has been intentional since the beginning. If there is anything close to a formula in his mind on how he managed to entice New York Times bestselling authors to come to Jackson, Mississippi, for book signings, it is this well-learned lesson.
“If you make friends with their books, you can make friends with [the authors],” he said.
John can also testify that friendships beget friendships. Authors tend to introduce John to their author friends. It is not rocket science, but I believe John’s authentic, winsome personality has buoyed his ability to attract the names that have come to Lemuria for signings and readings.
One of John’s first and longest friendships was with Eudora Welty. He and his wife had started the bookstore in 1975, truly on a wing and a prayer, upstairs at the Quarter in a converted apartment above the old Poets’ restaurant and bar, and next door to a store whose specialty was sexy clothing for women. The location was great in that John could run the fledgling store and also wait tables at Poets for a few hours each day. Those steady tips helped keep Lemuria’s doors open.
He was waiting tables when Eudora Welty, with a few friends in tow, came in for lunch one day. John gathered his courage, introduced himself, and invited her to visit his bookstore just above the restaurant. She was charming and gracious, although she did not pop in that day. However, when he relocated in 1977 to a space in the new and chic Highland Village, she became a supporter, promoter, and great friend of Lemuria for the rest of her life.
The relocation to Highland Village was a good decision, even though the store outgrew its space in short order. John describes a comical scene of stacks of books everywhere. They blocked aisles, creating an unusual obstacle course for customers who did not seem to mind at all.
In the mid-1980s, John began to “do work” on moving across I-55 to his present location. He knew that the big box stores like Barnes and Noble would be moving into the area, and he needed more space to have any hope of competing with them. He became one of three partners in the development of Banner Hall.
Although he knew the move was crucial to Lemuria’s survival, it became a terrifying choice when the partnership fell apart midway through construction. “I decided to go on and do it anyhow,” he says.
The gamble paid off, but there were some sleepless nights along the way.
The new Lemuria opened at Banner Hall in April 1988, to an enthusiastic clientele who appreciated a local bookstore with a world-class inventory. It felt comfortable, warm, and familiar from the beginning. It probably did not hurt one bit that the delicious scent of good coffee and fresh-baked goods from the downstairs Broad Street Bakery greeted you before you climbed the stairs to the bookstore. Lemuria smells like a bookstore in a novel ought to smell.
The extra space gained from opening the new store enabled local book aficionados to have a new experience, with frequent book signings featuring bestselling national authors. Such events have helped Lemuria rise to prominence across the country, but the effort was not without bumps in the road.
John recounts that one of his most “disastrous” experiences was Wilson Groome’s first visit. The author of Forrest Gump came to sign books not long after the new store opened. Thinking Groome would enjoy the local color and cuisine, John took him to lunch at the old Cherokee on North State. All was going well. However, when they returned to the store for the book signing, the only customer present was one of Groome’s old girlfriends. Not one other soul came that day. The Forrest Gump movie had not yet been released, and Jackson had not met Forrest Gump.
John had Groome sign 120 copies of the book and eventually sold every one. Groome eventually returned to sign a later book to a large reception.
By the time Books-A-Million opened their doors just down the road four years later, John felt secure in his space. He thought he had figured out the bookstore business, and Lemuria would survive the arrival of the giant retailer.
But to his chagrin, he realized there was one more big hurdle to confront – technology. He would not continue to thrive as an old-fashioned bookseller.
The computerized big box store’s clerk did not have to know the books at all. He could punch in at the store’s computer and be a better bookseller than John’s devoted employees, who were astute readers keeping up with the latest books with pen and paper. Another learning curve, and John met it head-on. Computers came to Lemuria.
And the challenges certainly did not end there. If there is one thing John has figured out over the past fifty years, it is that small business requires an ongoing determination to keep figuring things out. COVID was the most daunting business threat he has faced in five decades. Still, through the support of a loyal community, the development of an online virtual community, and the sheer know-how and talent of the Lemuria staff, John’s store weathered that storm, as it had weathered the storms that came before.
His heartfelt desire is that Lemuria will survive the next fifty years as an encouraging and welcoming place where readers find inspiration, knowledge, wonder, and a mutual curiosity that connects them to one another. John is confident that books will continue to have tremendous power to do just that.
Marilyn Tinnin
