For over half a century, The Black has been a pillar of Ocean Beach — it outfitted the neighborhood’s hippie spirit and represented its counter-culture values.
Now, the landmark head shop is closing its doors.
The store announced the closure on social media Feb. 2, cementing it to the neighborhood with a banner out front reading, “After 57 years we are closing, Thank you Ocean Beach.”
The end of The Black represents the loss of a cultural touchstone that helped define its neighborhood’s identity, under the weight of local and national economic pressures.
But it also followed a divide between the businesses two owners over whether they had the stamina to keep The Black alive.
This is the Death
The Black’s social media post provided few details, except that Kurt Dornbusch, an owner since 1981, planned to retire.
That day, the store was inundated by a stream of customers grabbing whatever they could to remember it.
Each employee was occupied with customers who fired off questions and lamentations. The attention may have hastened the store’s closure.
“We were hoping to stay open for a few more months but at this pace we’ll probably be sold out before the end of the month,” one employee said last week.
Indeed, Dornbusch told Times of San Diego “the store will permanently close by March 31 or sooner.”
Had a rent increase or leasing issue driven the decision? “No comment,” Dornbusch said, with a chuckle.
His business partner had more to say.
The Black contains two stores in one space. The back half sells music and books and is operated by Mark Parnell. He was told about the closing on Jan. 16, only a few weeks before Ocean Beach found out.
Parnell has worked at The Black for 55 years, since 1971. He’s owned his books and music section since 1977.
“Kurt Dornbusch wants to retire and his reason is not just because he feels like he’s had a good run,” Parnell said. “He just can’t afford it anymore.”
Parnell said multiple economic pressures mounted in the past couple of years and took a toll. One is rising rents in Ocean Beach.
The Black’s monthly rent, Parnell said, amounts to over $15,000, plus another nearly $1,000 for SDG&E and other costs.
The closure of the OB Pier has paid a part too, Parnell said. He attributes a 20% decrease in business to the attraction shutting down.
President Trump’s tariffs, he said, have raised their costs. Parnell said he imports most of his products, curating his collection by attending conventions to find unique stock. He used to sell a brass tray from India for $4.50 before the tariffs hit last year. He now lists it for $9.95.
While all of these factors contributed to making The Black’s survival a more taxing endeavor, Parnell said he intended to keep it going and believes it would have.
“I’ve been through a lot of recessions, and you just have to wait,” he said. “You have to ride the wave, you know? And you’re constantly working on what ways to pique people’s interest. That’s retail.”
But, waiting out a business’ pain points isn’t without sacrifice. He said he understands why Dornbusch is moving on, and acknowledged that neither he nor Dornbusch are making much money anymore.
“You have your good days and your bad days, your good months and your bad months,” he said. “This last October and November, I didn’t pay myself.”
It’s still a blow to Parnell. He doesn’t plan to retire, but doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Working at The Black has been his only job for the last five decades.
“This town is pretty unhappy about this,” he said. “It’s sad because they’re attached, it’s part of, it’s like losing the pier. It’s an institution.”
Building The Black
When The Black first arrived it was a place where young, alternative-thinking kids came together. There were other places in town back then which aided that identity, like The In Between, where Parnell’s brother worked as a peer mentor for runaways and struggling youth.
Parnell said places like The In Between and The Black fostered a community anti-war movement to oppose the Vietnam War. He said they would come together to learn about different economic links between the war effort and their lives. One he remembers in particular was boycotting Hostess Cakes.
Paul Bolton, former owner of the Electric Chair hair salon, was a sophomore at Point Loma High School when The Black opened and quickly became established as “hippie heaven.”
“As a young hippie, it was a place where you felt like you belonged,” Bolton said. “I was in high school, printing ‘Impeach Nixon’ and ‘Pull out of Vietnam’ posters, so it was like the coolest place you could probably go to if you wanted to be around other people with that same vibe.”
Parnell said the curated collection of merchandise that nods to a particular era and alternative lifestyle has always been integral to The Black’s character.
“The Black is what defined a generation,” Parnell said. “And it’s not just drugs, it’s not just smoking, or getting stoned. It’s everything. It’s everything fashion, music, the arts, all that. Everything that affected me when I was younger.”
Although, drugs were a part of it.
The Black was infamously a spot to get bongs before they could legally be called that.
John Yamauchi played in a band with Parnell, and for a time, Parnell and Yamauchi lived in a small house that used to be behind the store. Yamauchi hung around Parnell enough that he ended up working at The Black for about 30 years, including time as a manager.
He said city police weren’t as gung ho as county sheriffs on enforcing “War on Drugs” policies but he made sure to stick by the book to keep The Black alive.
“The law told us that if a customer asked for a bong, it is ascribed as marijuana,” he said. “So it would have to be a water pipe, or pipe. If the customer asks for [a bong], they’re telling me that they’re intending it for an illegal purpose, and that’s not how we were going to stay in business.”
The Black survived that period, and then survived weed legalization. While there are other stores that now sell bongs, hemp bags and Jimi Hendrix posters, they don’t hold the history.
“I don’t think there will be anything like it again in OB,” Parnell said.
“It’s over now,” he said. “I mean, I listen to the words of music, you know? It’s like you hear that expression, ‘Oh, what a long, strange trip it’s been.’ But, for me I hear, ‘All things must pass.’”
Frank Sabatini Jr. contributed to this report
