The Mantra of The Chong

A few years ago, I started shooting 35mm film again and at the time—I was also working this awful job under a boss who made life unbearable. Even when I didn’t have to see them on the weekends, their presence loomed large. What should’ve been days off were now just 48 hours to languish and dread the upcoming week. One weekend during that time, though, the cycle of apprehension broke as my friend Andrea and I waltzed right past comically disingenuous signs that proclaimed “STORE CLOSING” and “EVERYTHING MUST GO.” We paid a visit to “The Chong.”

A few of the longstanding “store closing” signs. *Nov. 3, 2018.*

The Race St. storefront had become somewhat of a Queen City institution: a remnant of retail past that was always advertising a huge sale and always threatening to close, but never really shutting its doors or offering any real discounts. The gimmick was part of the charm, however, and inside you’d find a claustrophobic collection of unique fashion and vintage technology.

I loved it.

The Chong’s crowded aisles. *Nov. 3, 2018.*

Cordless phones, computer speakers, clock radios… The Chong had it all. *Nov. 3, 2018.*

This tape recorder was still priced at $39.99 and the “super speaker” phone was labeled as $25.99. Sun-faded merchandise was a hallmark of The Chong’s storefront. *Nov. 3, 2018.*

The first piece I wrote about the store in November 2018 ended up being popular and subsequent followups garnered a similar response. I’d felt some trepidation over those posts, though. I genuinely adored the store and wasn’t setting out to poke fun at or belittle a local business (and I got tired of the dorks who claimed the store was “a front”). Despite my best efforts, I never could get anyone there to talk on record about The Chong’s history or its seemingly never-ending “store closing” sale.

Sidewalk “store closing” sign. *Jan. 9, 2019.*

In early 2020, the day finally came when The Chong—truly and officially—was confirmed to be closing. The local paper said it was the coronavirus, but the building had been touted in redevelopment plans for some time. I knew I’d want something to remember the place by, a souvenir that went beyond just photographs and memories, so I went in one afternoon and picked a 35mm camera off the shelf.

The Odette X3000, the camera I’d eventually purchase, in one of The Chong’s window displays. *Nov. 3, 2018.*

The proprietor swore that he was giving me a good deal, a price discounted well below what he was comfortable with and what the camera was truly valued at. A quick Google glance revealed that it was only worth a few bucks, but I was happy to drop $15 or $20 while putting in one more immediately denied interview request. The camera was then tucked away for a rainy day (metaphorically speaking—the device was so basic that it would likely only really work on a bright, sunny day, if at all).

The Chong storefront with its mid-century brick facade on Cincinnati’s Race St. *Jan. 23, 2019.*

Eventually, The Chong was emptied of its fur coats and rows upon rows of outdated technology that had been priced like it was still 1987. As full redevelopment of the building neared, construction crews began removing the mid-century brick facade. Beneath it, the building’s original features from 1865 were still intact. I planned to go photograph this with my “Chong camera” in the summer of 2021, but as I went to place it in my bag one afternoon—it dropped. About three feet. Not much, but enough to break off a large chunk of the cheap plastic.

The camera was instantly ruined, there’d be no way to reliably repair it and a quick look at the now exposed insides made me question whether it would’ve even performed well in the first place. Still happy just to have a memento from one of my favorite Cincinnati spots, I set the damaged device back on the shelf and set out with the digital camera instead.

Remains of The Chong’s storefront. *July 3, 2021.*

The Chong building with its mid-century brick removed, revealing its original 1865 facade. *July 3, 2021.*

Sign still in the window even after The Chong truly closed in the summer of 2020. *July 3, 2021.*

I really did love The Chong. Maybe it was just personal sentiment, but now living a few blocks away from where it once was—I find myself missing the place in the same way I lament a lot of things about this city. Ostensibly innocuous landmarks often tend to weigh heavy in my memories as if they’re personal ghosts of a past that only I recognize, but don’t necessarily view nostalgically.

It was just there.

And now it’s truly gone after finally having made good on its seemingly decades-long threat to close.

When I first sat down to finally write a final chapter on The Chong and that camera I bought, a well-timed email from Andrea arrived. The entire correspondence was meaningful, but there’s one part in particular that stood out and still sticks with me to this day:

“…life is bearable with solid people and good moments. Remember The Chong.”

Thank you, Andrea. I chucked the camera, the only memento I still need is the advice above.

The Chong building and Andrea after we walked by one last time. *Dec. 8, 2021.*

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