‘As a kid it was magical to go into a newsstand.’

As a member of a theater group in Eugene, Ore., Randy Bowser played his first role in the seventh grade. He directed a play a year later and wrote a musical the next year. Bowser still hopes to act, but his regular role is on the early shift at Bernie’s Newsstand in Studio City. Bowser and his wife, Melody, live in North Hollywood.

A lot of actors move to Los Angeles without very much background or training, and they have very naive hopes. But I felt had some chance. The University of Oregon gave me their best-acting award two years in a row. Following college I was constantly doing theater in Eugene. It got to the point where I wasn’t auditioning anymore. People were asking me to be in their shows. That’s a very cozy feeling, but I felt it was time to move on.

I never had a goal to make lots of money acting. I just didn’t want to have to do other things to make a living. I am best used in artistic endeavors. I write music, I paint, I act and I write. I think my regular job at the newsstand becomes more exhausting than it really should be because it’s impossible not to fight this thing that you are having to do.

While I’m there, I do try to make the best of it. I think that customers find me pleasant. I have a lot of favorite customers and a lot of regulars.

Part of the ritual of buying the morning paper is that everybody likes to do something funny with the quarter. With the guys it’s usually slapping it down on the counter. There is one guy who always does a little sleight-of-hand trick. He flips the quarter, slaps it down, and suddenly it’s in his other hand and it’s not on the counter. There’s another guy who was very friendly looking, but he didn’t say any words for several months. He only whistled. He would make a whistle as he pushed the quarter over to me. I called him Harpo. We still greet each other with a whistle, but he actually speaks now.

Some people are really into the lottery. They’ll come in and say, “Here’s 10 dollars for the lotto, five for the instant scratch-off, and, oh, give me a Racing Form.” I ask them if they are interested in the crap game going on in the back room. I feel like a bookie. I should get a green eyeshade.

The majority of my comic book customers are adults. Parents will come in and buy Archie, stuff that the kids really don’t want. Most of the collectors are about my age. There are a bunch of nuts out there who are into this stuff. One of my goals in life is to own the complete line of Detective comics starring Batman and Batman comics. I have a good start. My closet is full of 3,000 comics.

I didn’t know how to count change until I had this job. It took a few minutes. But nobody counts change the proper way anymore. You go into most places, and the machine tells them what the change is. The old fashioned way is that you count it out. One day an old guy stopped in and said, “That’s the first time anyone’s counted change for me in years.” So that pleased somebody.

My cap became part of my role. I wore it one day because I was cold. If your head’s warm, you tend to keep warm. Now I usually wear it.

I always have something a little offbeat on the radio. In the morning there is music from all around the world, experimental music, something African, Bach, Chuck Berry. It’s eclectic. I think it’s interesting, and it keeps the international flavor of the newsstand. Sometimes he’ll play something so strange that I’ll almost want to change the station. Sometimes I turn it down when I see the Lady’s Home Journal crowd glancing at me. Most people have fun with it. They joke about the top 10 from Mars.

People enjoy the ritual of going by a newsstand. It’s something real old-fashioned. It’s like an old mom-and-pop grocery store. I’ve always liked newsstands. I have to admit that as a kid it was magical to go into a newsstand. I sometimes wonder if I liked them so much that this is why I’m doing this job. Like I gravitated toward it without even knowing it.