The suave photomurals and green fluorescentlit interior of Phillips' Book Store's new establishment which opened this week would make strange contrast with the store John Phillips started in 1914. He began with one shelf of second-hand books-in someone else's jewelry store.

Phillips was a graduate student from Nebraska. He had come to study philosophy under Harvard's "greats"-Santayana, Josiah Royee, William James-and he started the book shelf merely to help cover his expenses. It was a success, and in two years was bringing him $1000 beyond his living expenses. Phillips neglected his graduate studies-he didn't receive his Master's degree until 1928-and moved to a store of his own.

As a book shop Phillips' was unique-he ran it as a combination debating and browsers' rendezvous. There was no obligation to buy anything; in fact, when the boss got started on one of his frequent philosophical arguments, commercial activity virtually ceased. The store soon became a favorite gathering place for a number of eminent faculty men: Kittredge, Hocking, Irving Babbitt, and W. Y. Elliott among others. They used to drop in to talk with Phillips about books, philosophy, in fact about almost anything. The book merchant especially enjoyed popping one of a set of philosophical problems on his visitors and drawing them into lengthy debate. One of his memorable topics was: "Is it better for a man to wear a dirty shirt on his back or to wear no shirt at all?"

One day in 1927, Ralph Bunche, then a graduate student at Harvard, walked in and asked for a job. Phillips hired him; the future diplomat's first assignment consisted of scrubbing the floor. "Mind you," Phillips asserts, "he did as good a job scrubbing that floor as he did as mediator in Palestine." Bunche only worked in the store for a year, but his ability impressed his employer greatly.

Working under Phillips was something of an experience. According to Ellsworth Young, the present owner, "the store ran more on inspiration than system." For instance, Phillips had a fabulous memory for where he had put his books, and consequently felt no need for keeping them in any particular order on the shelves. The resulting jumble caused his assistants no end of trouble. Phillips also was as much concerned with having people interested in his books as he was with making sales. He would go to any length to turn up a particular edition of Dostoevski or an out-of-print book by some obscure French humorist for someone who wanted it. And if a student needed a book that he couldn't afford, Phillips often slyly lowered the price. Once in a while, the philosopher merchant would quote a ridiculously low price on a book he was interested in just to entice a customer to read it.

In 1939, his store grown large and prosperous, John Phillips retired and moved to California. The shelf of books in the jeweler's shop had begun as a sideline and turned into a career.