Until 2012, Houston was home to Audio Video Plus, the Library of Alexandria of VHS. The empty shell of the store is still there at 1225 Waugh in Montrose, mocking any Gen Xer who passes by and dreams of carefree days renting “Robocop 2” to watch through the scanlines of cathode ray televisions.
However, AVP isn’t gone in the way Fitzgerald’s and Astroworld are gone. It still exists as an archive of 60,000 VHS tapes and a lifetime of video store historical artifacts thanks to Tayvis Dunnahoe, 52, who keeps the library in storage in North Houston. Salvaging the heart of AVP has become his life’s work. Some of it is still for sale through his online store, Video Sanctum (videosanctum.com). The online retail space is his way of continuing to curate the collection and make sure that tapes end up in the hands of people who will cherish them.
“I was blown away the first time I was allowed back into the warehouse,” he said in a phone interview. “It really was like that final scene in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ almost archeological. There were stacks and stacks not only of tapes still wrapped in their original plastic, but heaps of promotional materials going back decades.”
AVP was unique for two reasons. One was the sheer breadth of the inventory. Owners Lou Berg and Susan Gee bought everything as soon as it came out. There was no attempt to cut stock to meet specific markets. When the store first opened in 1979, VHS was a small side hustle to their main business of selling audio-video equipment to people renting it for conferences. Berg and Gee made a point to stock every tape that studios sold to them directly, a rarity in the industry. Right up until the doors closed, if it was on VHS, AVP stocked it.
The second was the longevity. Dunnahoe describes AVP as the “alpha and omega.” Its success predated the video rental boom of the 1980s, and Dunnahoe believes it was the first video store in Houston. It continued well into the Netflix era, outlasting even Cactus Music’s impressive stint as a video retailer. The entire concept of what a video store could be was completely embodied in AVP.
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When the blog Swamplot announced AVP’s closing, Dunnahoe was devastated. He slowly began buying as much of the inventory as he could. Gee would occasionally re-open for one-off sales events, but for the most part its impeccable library sat dark and unwatched as the world moved onto streaming. Dunnahoe kept in touch with Gee, and finally convinced her to let him buy and/or store the archive.
“It was just inventory at first, but it turned into collecting the deep, deep-rooted history of AVP and how it was connected to Houston’s history and the entire national video business,” said Dunnahoe. “It’s an important part of Houston’s history, especially in Montrose.”
Dunnahoe is currently working on a documentary about AVP, though he stresses that the project is very much on the back burner and will not see the light of day soon. In the meantime, He carefully maintains the archive of VHS, photographs, and promotional material for posterity. Occasionally, he sells at special events, but the soul of AVP is mostly preserved through Video Sanctum’s eBay store and Instagram.
My buddy Matt and I lived a few blocks away from AVP for over three years. We rented many movies there – really, once you discovered AVP, you didn’t need Blockbuster anymore. It kind of amazes me that the building is still there, but it’s also nice that there’s still a visual reminder of it. If you want more than that, take a look at Video Sanctum and see if there’s some piece of swag you need. I’m just glad to know that AVP lives on in some form. If that documentary ever becomes real, I’ll definitely watch it.
Thanks for sharing this. I have so many memories of AVP. It was an incredible place.
I’ve never seen anything like AV Plus, before or since. Glad to hear the archive has been largely preserved.
You looked through a card catalog of laminated VHS box fronts/backs, then brought your choice up to the counter, where the clerk would go get it for you. I remember the cavernous stacks, filled with shelf upon shelf upon shelf of sturdy black plastic cassette cases.
I recall they had relatively steep late fees and didn’t stock tons of copies of the latest blockbuster, so we would go there especially for things we couldn’t easily find anywhere else. In hindsight, I suspect many of the things there were available nowhere else in Houston, perhaps anywhere. Even today, many are probably not available to stream.
The staff was also incredibly knowledgeable, and able to make the most obscure recommendations. Some of my proudest moments as a movie fan were when we would ask for a film, and the person behind the counter knowingly responded that we’d made a good choice.
It was a store, take it for all in all, we shall not look upon its like again.