A Killer Competitor? Yeah, She’s Got That

She was waiting tables in her father’s Italian restaurant when the young guy from two stores down walked in. His family ran the stationery store in the same little strip mall on North Tustin Avenue in Orange. Soon he and the young waitress named Dori struck up a conversation.

That was 20 years ago and suffice it to say the details in the intervening years shaped the content of her life. For our purposes here, though, let’s cut to the chase and say that Dori Rice, now 43, came to own Apollo Stationers as her marriage wore down before ending in divorce three years ago.

“I never thought it would come to me running the place,” she said last week in what amounts to a backward glance at the last 20 years.

But even that remark is almost obsolete, because in a story that’s been told about other shops in other towns, the Apollo is going out of business after 30 years of operation.

The 800-pound gorilla has invaded the neighborhood.

In Rice’s case, it’s a Staples store. It’s bad enough having such a huge competitor in the general vicinity, but when it’s 500 yards away on the same side of the street and with a big sign, well, you better think of something fast.

Last week, Rice hoisted the businesswoman’s white flag: “Going Out of Business. Everything 50% Off.” The process actually began a few weeks ago. She expects to be shuttered by month’s end.

Then, the Apollo becomes the latest evidence of Orange County’s (and America’s) schizophrenia. We say we cherish the mom-and-pop operations of a bygone era--whether a bookstore, hardware store or stationery shop. But when a Barnes & Noble, Wal-Mart or Staples

shows up, our sentimentality goes out the window.

The Staples “office superstore” that drove Rice out opened late in 1999. For a while, she thought she could compete. Business had been great in 1998. She thought the Apollo had enough personality to survive.

“I didn’t really start feeling frightened till the last year,” she says. “It got hard to make payroll, pay rent, pay bills. Business started to slip away. People started to come in saying they could get cheaper stuff down there [at Staples].”

She doesn’t remember a specific moment when she knew it was the endgame. Like other of life’s signal bad moments, it was more like a gradual sinking feeling that something has gone dreadfully wrong.

“When I looked at the yearly figures for ‘98, ’99 and 2000, I really got frightened,” she says, “because I realized it was down 30%.”

Moving On to a New Stationery Position

Rice knows that society won’t mourn a stationer’s lot in life. And the truth is, she also has made peace. Although she had always figured to stay for the long haul--if only because, she says, she’s the sole support for sons now 16 and 8--she’s ready for the next chapter.

And there is one. Another stationery shop owner, in Santa Ana, offered her a job as an outside saleswoman, meaning she’ll work her customer base and try to drum up new business. Yes, she notes wryly, she’ll be working for another family-owned business.

“This last year has just about killed me,” she says. “It’s been so stressful. It’s really nice when money is coming in, but when it stops and you can’t pay bills and you’re worried about payroll . . . I couldn’t sleep at night.”

She starts her new job on April 2. For the first time in years, she won’t be working weekends.

The cursing and crying at the fates have gone away. “I’m not mad at the customers,” she says. “I can’t really blame them for going somewhere else to get things cheaper. I guess I’m just mad at the way the industry is going. Service is going out the window, and you can’t just sit around and chat with customers.”

She’s not even mad at Staples, although in its early days, it perhaps unintentionally added insult to injury. A Staples representative came to the strip where the Apollo is. Going door to door, he handed out $25 coupons to lure new customers. When he came into Rice’s shop, she asked if he knew where he was, then banished him.

“I thought it wasn’t very nice,” Rice says. Watching her as she tells the story, you can almost see her smiling about it.

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821; by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626; or by e-mail at dana.parsons@latimes.com.