Shopping with the Pros
Cost: $25 million

By Ron Ehmke
Bass Pro
The Auburn store
On a recent trip to Auburn, N.Y.—a quick two hours west of here—I paid a visit to a certain retail establishment we have all been hearing about for most of the twenty-first century. Everyone in town

knew where the Bass Pro Shop was, of course, although they all smiled when I told them I wanted to see the store that was going to save my own city from bankruptcy.

I was expecting a mile-long line of tourists waiting to get in, possibly a host of angels hovering over the roof of the building. In fact, the store was located at one spur of a drearily generic shopping mall whose heyday was probably back when MTV showed music videos. I imagine that the Bass Pro was originally pitched as a way to bring this place back to life—although two Auburn residents I spoke to who had jobs in other parts of the mall told me that few BP shoppers ever venture very far past the food court it empties into.

Bass Pro
The fish tank.
From the outside, the store faintly resembles a theme restaurant that might be attached to an amusement park: lots of pointy storybook gables and faux brick chimneys. It’s the sort of place the Keebler Elves might go for a hot toddy after a long day on the slopes.

Step inside and—brace yourself—it’s a sporting goods store. If you‘ve ever been to Gander Mountain or Dick’s, you’ve got the basic idea: lots of rods and reels, some flannel, camo, and khaki clothing, and large quantities of beef jerky. If anything, its focus is much narrower than Dick’s—nothing but hunting and fishing. I was only able to find two departments I haven’t seen at similar stores—an “art gallery” of framed prints and a fresh-catch-themed kitchen supply section. Neither of these appeared to be drawing crowds from other zip codes. I can’t think of another store where the signs at the front entrance ask you to check your bows and guns before you walk in, but then I don’t get out much.

Perhaps you have heard about the oversized fish tank stocked with native species, a concept that zoos and aquariums have been exploring for several decades. The big difference is, here you can purchase the lines and hooks you would need in order to catch, kill, and eat the fish, which is generally not the goal at those other institutions.

I confess I forgot to check the prices on the merchandise, but then again I didn’t really find anything I wanted to purchase. I’m told that BP’s prices are a little high by comparison to similar chains, and besides—as one of my sources wondered—“Why shop there when you can find the same stuff online for $50 less?”

Bass Pro
There were lots of employees standing around, so I suppose that means they have jobs, and that’s a good thing. The parking lot nearest the store was full, although it’s not really that big a lot, and there were acres of unused spaces surrounding the rest of the mall. (To be fair, I was there on a Friday afternoon before 5.)

Auburn itself is one of those quaint little towns I used to dream of driving through on an epic road trip I will never actually take. Its downtown lost most of its retail anchors long ago, but it still looks inviting, and there are a surprising number of cultural institutions for a city of its size. For a while, there was a shuttle from the mall (which is technically outside the city limits) into the heart of town, but it was discontinued after nobody used it.

Once the initial thrill of the new wore off, I am told, the main thing the store brought to the area was not throngs of out-of-town sportsmen but a bunch of other chain stores and restaurants—Quiznos, Lowe’s—that had previously overlooked the town. For one contingent of locals, this means Auburn has at last arrived. For another, it’s a sign that their community is starting to look more and more like Everywhere Else, USA.


Ron Ehmke is the associate editor of Buffalo Spree. More of his writing is archived at www.everythingron.com.


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