Earlier today I read the NA Confidential blog by Roger Baylor, in which he questions my comments in a News and Tribune article by Daniel Suddeath on the current state of downtown New Albany. Roger felt I had betrayed an unspoken allegiance to a walkable New Albany by not seizing on the opportunity Suddeath offered to bring out the incantation of street conversion in my remarks.
First off, my belief in the efficacy of two-way streets is not unspoken.This blog is not often read, which is completely understandable, since it is not often written. When I do write something here, I do so because, however much below the radar it may be, it is a public airing of my thoughts, and as such is part of a public record to any who may care to read it. I mention this only to point out that on several occasions here, I have spoken about my belief that two-way streets are better than one- way streets. I believe they create a better commercial environment for our, or any other, downtown area. I believe a walkable city is a better place for people to live, and is ultimately a better place for businesses to thrive.
When Daniel interviewed me, he referred back to some conversations he'd had earlier in the day, or week, with Dave Duggins, and some others. Because I do feel that a walkable New Albany would be a better environment for small and independent businesses, I thought of mentioning the conversion of one-way to two-way streets, since, as I said, I believe such a conversion brings us closer to that goal. Somehow or another, Daniel and I got on to another aspect of his question about what government can do to help stem the loss of businesses downtown, or to create a more fertile field in which to grow new businesses downtown.
I had been tuned to CNBC for much of the day, as the hosts of the shows on that network waxed orgasmic about the infusion of energy into the juggernaut of the marketplace brought on by Black Friday. Against the backdrop of that drumbeat of corporate/retail giantism, Daniel's questions about what can be done to breathe life into small town America, specifically our town, went to a less hopeful part of my brain than I usually inhabit.
I'm not one who cares about getting a deal on things; I continuously pay higher prices to buy from local vendors. Sometimes when I do, I can make myself believe that if we all do that, we can build a vibrant local economy in which independent businesses are able to swim against the rip tide of Amazon.com, WalMart, and the other mega gleaners in our economy.
And then, I think about how the middle class in New Albany, or, in Anytown U.S.A., has been hollowed out, sold out to foreign, near-slave labor producers, and how many of those former middle classers are now forced to live a low-wage existence where the only places they can buy things for their families is at WalMart, or other such stores. As they step down the rungs, the once-strong, independent businesses are deprived of customers and a means to stay in business.
Since Roger mentioned two-way streets as a life saver for small town businesses, I thought of a local book store, Destinations Booksellers. I think Destinations is a store of which any town, small or large, can be proud. Its proprietors, Ann and Randy Smith have done everything that can be done to make the store a bustling, successful addition to New Albany's commercial scene. I don't know their personal finances, but I think it's safe to say they would be happy with more customers. Destinations is located on one-way Spring Street.
When Daniel asked me if there's more government can do to promote local businesses, I answered "yes". I didn't say, "make the streets two-way." While I firmly believe one-way streets are obsolete auto-enablers, which make central cities less attractive places to live, I don't think they are the most significant thing standing in the way of a small-town urban renaissance. I don't think Randy Smith's customers will suddenly have to take a number so they can be waited on in a timely fashion after Spring Street becomes two-way. On the heels of Black Friday, which belongs now to the big box stores, comes Cyber Monday, which allows consumers, those who live for deals and convenience, the chance to shop in their bathrobes, or their birthday suits, all while getting a six or seven percent subsidy from the ether gods who charge no sales tax and offer free delivery.
As Cassius said, "the fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves." That's what I was trying to say when Daniel asked me his questions.
I long for a day when local prosperity stands a chance against the market giants we've elevated to Midashood. I'm all for changing New Albany's streets to two-ways if it helps our businesses, or even if it just makes the city a little better place to live. But, I'm afraid we have much, much, harder work to do. That hard work involves re-creating an economy, and a society, which existed once, but has been displaced now by what corporations see as a standard business model, advertisers see as fish in a barrel, and what most Americans see as a way of life, almost a birthright.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
I'm Thankful I Wasn't in Ferguson, Missouri
The year was 2002. It was the last day of the year. I had a stray day of vacation left to burn, to either use or lose. My plan was to sleep in a bit late, get ready and head over to our building in Louisville to putter about unhurriedly before treating myself to a leisurely lunch. No particular project was in need of completion. We had plans for the evening, so what time I spent at the building promised to be relatively brief. The last thing my wife said as I left was to make certain I made the deposit at the bank, so it would be caught in the final accounting for the year.
I arrived at the building around 10:00 AM, checked a few things and headed down to the basement. Today, the basement is mostly populated by artists and tradesmen. At that time, it was occupied by some guys making concrete countertops. They were dirty, undependable, careless, and prone to accidents. The perfect tenant, you might say. But, I was sure, their chronic irritation would be less so on this day since they had recently given notice of moving in a couple months, and since I had the leisurely day planned out already. I wasn't going to let it bother me anyhow. While chatting with the concrete company's owner, one of yutziest of his yutzes dislodged a sprinkler head. Glad that I was there for that near catastrophe, I calmly walked over to the main shutoff valve for the sprinkler system to avoid the inevitable watery chaos.
Apparently, as I moved the huge valve to shut off the water, I must have also disengaged a key component of my logic or cognitive system. Had I not just discussed with the maintenance man where I worked how to drain the system and reset it? A piece of cake, and a minor delay, nothing else. I was still intent on having a couple brews with my long-anticipated lunchtime leisure, but I also didn't want to pay an exorbitant bill to the sprinkler company if I didn't have to. So I set about on a series of Rube Goldberg innovations designed to avoid calling the sprinkler company. Each segment of the plan was daft, and doomed in its own way. Each failure placed my leisurely lunch a bit farther out of reach. As the water continued to flow out the drain I accepted that I was having to reschedule, now for a late-leisurely lunch. (I think I might even have had a special cigar in reserve to enhance the relaxing mood I knew was just around the corner)
Inevitably, I called the sprinkler company to shut the water off and reset the system. Hours ticked away. A check was written. A leisurely lunch eluded me. A woman's voice gently chided me to do just one thing before I headed home--MAKE THAT BANK DEPOSIT BEFORE THE YEAR MELTS AWAY. That gentle reminder seeped into my brain at about twelve minutes before the bank was to close, and the bank was about ten minutes away.
I ran out the door, jumped in the car and was making great time until some annoying red and blue flashing lights invaded my rear view mirror. I stopped the car, threw the door open and stormed back to the guy in the offensively illuminated car. He scolded me, and told me to go get back in my car and await his return, as he checked my license plate to verify the car's rightful owner. (I always travel with a blood pressure gauge and as I awaited his return to my car door I amused myself by seeing how high I could get the numbers to climb.)
When the cop returned to my car door, he said, "let's start this over." It turned out he didn't like the sight of a man in a black coat, with anger in his eyes, charging toward his car. He said he felt threatened and wondered if he was going to see his little three year old girl that night. I know I'm a gentle soul. I don't own a gun. I meant the cop no harm. But I was truly and fully pissed off, and he was not helping matters by going on about running stop signs and not wearing seat belts. I allowed as how I might have been a bit overwrought, and the tension somewhat abated. He chuckled and said, "You know, you almost got a taste of my Mag Light." I contemplated how the loss of my front teeth in such an incident might further jaundice my perception of the police.
As this article highlights, the Louisville police force around that very time was not doing its utmost to promote good community relations.
And now these dozen years later, incident piles on incident of police shooting, beating, singling out black men. The ones who make the news, maybe didn't get a chance, or at least not the same chance I got, to chill, and "start this over." I still have my teeth, but many of the black men who run up against the law taste the Mag Light, or feel the sting of a billy club. Some police forces are like mini-armies. Local police forces have armed up with surplus gear shed by our foreign military adventures.
I don't have any answers on how to reduce police over-reaction. Being a cop is a job I know I couldn't and wouldn't do. But, I have a pretty good idea that the day I had planned on having a leisurely year-end lunch might have worked out much differently if I were black.
I arrived at the building around 10:00 AM, checked a few things and headed down to the basement. Today, the basement is mostly populated by artists and tradesmen. At that time, it was occupied by some guys making concrete countertops. They were dirty, undependable, careless, and prone to accidents. The perfect tenant, you might say. But, I was sure, their chronic irritation would be less so on this day since they had recently given notice of moving in a couple months, and since I had the leisurely day planned out already. I wasn't going to let it bother me anyhow. While chatting with the concrete company's owner, one of yutziest of his yutzes dislodged a sprinkler head. Glad that I was there for that near catastrophe, I calmly walked over to the main shutoff valve for the sprinkler system to avoid the inevitable watery chaos.
Apparently, as I moved the huge valve to shut off the water, I must have also disengaged a key component of my logic or cognitive system. Had I not just discussed with the maintenance man where I worked how to drain the system and reset it? A piece of cake, and a minor delay, nothing else. I was still intent on having a couple brews with my long-anticipated lunchtime leisure, but I also didn't want to pay an exorbitant bill to the sprinkler company if I didn't have to. So I set about on a series of Rube Goldberg innovations designed to avoid calling the sprinkler company. Each segment of the plan was daft, and doomed in its own way. Each failure placed my leisurely lunch a bit farther out of reach. As the water continued to flow out the drain I accepted that I was having to reschedule, now for a late-leisurely lunch. (I think I might even have had a special cigar in reserve to enhance the relaxing mood I knew was just around the corner)
Inevitably, I called the sprinkler company to shut the water off and reset the system. Hours ticked away. A check was written. A leisurely lunch eluded me. A woman's voice gently chided me to do just one thing before I headed home--MAKE THAT BANK DEPOSIT BEFORE THE YEAR MELTS AWAY. That gentle reminder seeped into my brain at about twelve minutes before the bank was to close, and the bank was about ten minutes away.
I ran out the door, jumped in the car and was making great time until some annoying red and blue flashing lights invaded my rear view mirror. I stopped the car, threw the door open and stormed back to the guy in the offensively illuminated car. He scolded me, and told me to go get back in my car and await his return, as he checked my license plate to verify the car's rightful owner. (I always travel with a blood pressure gauge and as I awaited his return to my car door I amused myself by seeing how high I could get the numbers to climb.)
When the cop returned to my car door, he said, "let's start this over." It turned out he didn't like the sight of a man in a black coat, with anger in his eyes, charging toward his car. He said he felt threatened and wondered if he was going to see his little three year old girl that night. I know I'm a gentle soul. I don't own a gun. I meant the cop no harm. But I was truly and fully pissed off, and he was not helping matters by going on about running stop signs and not wearing seat belts. I allowed as how I might have been a bit overwrought, and the tension somewhat abated. He chuckled and said, "You know, you almost got a taste of my Mag Light." I contemplated how the loss of my front teeth in such an incident might further jaundice my perception of the police.
As this article highlights, the Louisville police force around that very time was not doing its utmost to promote good community relations.
And now these dozen years later, incident piles on incident of police shooting, beating, singling out black men. The ones who make the news, maybe didn't get a chance, or at least not the same chance I got, to chill, and "start this over." I still have my teeth, but many of the black men who run up against the law taste the Mag Light, or feel the sting of a billy club. Some police forces are like mini-armies. Local police forces have armed up with surplus gear shed by our foreign military adventures.
I don't have any answers on how to reduce police over-reaction. Being a cop is a job I know I couldn't and wouldn't do. But, I have a pretty good idea that the day I had planned on having a leisurely year-end lunch might have worked out much differently if I were black.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
