The mom-and-pop pharmacy was forced to shut its doors due to low insurance reimbursement rates and increasing expenses.
“I’m burned out,” Cammarata, also the head pharmacist, said a few days before the closing. “Living and coming from Jersey takes a lot of money away—and with the cost of everything going up, the pendulum balance isn’t swinging correctly.”

He planned to transfer patrons’ prescriptions to the Duane Reade down the block, but residents visiting Goodrich were unhappy with this change.

“The insurance companies just care about money,” said Lisa Kohler, who lives a few doors down and has been coming to the pharmacy for all of her medications since 1976.

“I don’t care if I get less reimbursement here; if the service is better than in some cold chain pharmacy, it’s worth my money.”
Kohler feels she has become part of a family and does not plan on depending on the new drugstore for her medication.

“I decorate the store window every Christmas, I bring Frank coffee. I can’t do that at Duane Reade,” said Kohler. “Also, this place has character, it’s unique. Duane Reade would make me want to slit my wrists because it’s aesthetically ugly.”

The charm of the place may have come from the 1920s-themed deep walnut cabinets that spanned from the floor to the ceiling of the small space or the nickel-a-pop scale by the entrance.

Kohler also cited longer wait times for medication at chain pharmacies and an incident where a chain store pharmacy gave her elderly mother the wrong prescription.

“There’s never been a mistake in my prescription at Frank’s,” praised Kohler.

Judy Greenbaum, another long-time patron, is also concerned about the change.

“When your health is concerned, it shouldn’t always be about how much cheaper medication is,” said Greenbaum, who has known Cammarata for at least 25 years and trusts him and his experience. “Medication may be a little more expensive here, but the care and service aspect is better than at a chain store. This was such a good resource for the neighborhood.”

Customers seemed to feel comfortable around Cammarata—he often offered medical advice for simple colds with natural remedies, even ones you can find at home, rather than always resorting to medications.

Almost all of Cammarata’s customers have known him for a very long time, he said.

“What I’ll miss most are the customers whom I consider friends and family. I’ve seen most of them grow up from little kids knee-high to become lawyers and doctors. I’ll miss their lovely faces.”

The business has clearly been a big part of Cammarata’s life. One of Cammarata’s fondest memories of the store is meeting his wife, who was a customer. One of his former delivery boys grew up and became a certified technician in the pharmacy.

A deal to give the store to someone else fell through so Cammarata is clueless about what is next for the space. Many are speculating it will be some sort of chain or store run by a corporation.

Cammarata, 68, said he feels forced to retire and, if given the chance, he would have stayed around for about 3 more years.
For now, Cammarata plans to occupy his time continuing to help others—whether volunteering at a hospital or running a private, independent pharmacy from his home.

“After maybe three years, I would have forced myself to retire. I haven’t given it much thought; this sprung up on me. Now I really don’t know what the future holds.”

He smiled and added, “As I get older, I prefer a more natural state.”

You can’t get more natural than the classic wooden cabinetry and fixtures that distinguish Goodrich from its glass-and-glitz chain competitors. Indeed, its vintage appointments have been moved to each of the indie pharmacy’s various locations over the decades. Established in 1974, Goodrich had two prior locales in the nabe before settling into its current, modestly sized digs at 104 W. 70th St. in 1980.

Then, as now, Cammarata, a genial sort who’s happy to share his long-term perspective of the retail scene, is both pharmacist and proprietor. His shop is a fascinating, small but well-edited mix of modern wares and old-school goods and amenities. Hence, you can find Fructis shampoo, Rogaine hair-loss treatment and Crest 3-D White toothpaste alongside such less cutting-edge-contemporary (and sometimes hard-to-find) potions as Vitalis and Three Flowers Brilliantine hair dressings for men. (Though everything old is new again, of course: I just came across an article about how to get Mad Men hair that cites the latter grooming aid.)

Prices here are more reflective of the old-school merch than the more modern ones. Know where to get gum for 35 cents? Pick up your pack of Doublemint here for exactly that. Got two quarters on you? You can walk out with a pocket-sized pack of Kleenex. How about a nickel? Hop aboard the Loboy.

What’s a Loboy? Its full nomenclature will reveal it function: The Loboy Personal Weight scale. Yes, it’s one of those old-time, tall drugstore scales that you may have thought had disappeared—but here ’tis at Goodrich, where some folks actually come in just to weigh themselves, sometimes several times a day. Who would do that? I dunno, a supermodel who just ate a lentil for lunch and is too panicked to make it to her own bathroom scale? Just guessing…

Interestingly, the modest dimensions of the Loboy’s platform and general stature are historically educational in itself, reminding us that decades ago, people were indeed smaller.

Another amenity, this a much more recent addition: The water cooler stocked with Nestle Pure Life H₂O. Frank—sorry, it’s impossible to call him Cammarata—says he added the cooler as a convenience for those who fill prescriptions and want or need to down pills right away. But please, help yourself; no charge, of course. I asked Frank about the two spigots on the cooler—one for hot and one for cold, I guessed—but he joked about filling one with wine. Um, I think he was joking…

Moving along now. Representative of the unique mix of the modern and the time-honored are the Boiron homeopathic products, especially popular with European visitors (if people can come here from Europe, it shouldn’t be a hardship to cross nabes to visit, if need be—just sayin’.) While resurgently popular, the concept of homeopathic palliatives has deep historical and cultural roots.

Also going way back—these in the British tradition—are the handmade-in-England tortoiseshell Kent combs. Available in a wide variety of styles for all your hair-related grooming needs, these average a wee $8 per.

So come, sip, step on a scale, scope out some old favorites and savor the village-square warmth and personal attention. In short, get unchained!

—Laura Shanahan