It Takes a Village - A Look Back...

I prefer to do business with small, privately owned establishments rather than patronize the big box centers that have pushed smaller stores to the margins or off the grid.  Of course, I do spend money at the large centers for the same reasons that all of us do.  But, I miss the personal attention and interest that a single proprietor and the staff can provide.  South Orange, the small town, or actually village, where I was raised was full of these stores where we bought hardware items, sandwiches, clothing, medicine, shoes and ice cream cones.  I would periodically stop into the bank, with my passbook, to deposit my accumulated cash from my paltry weekly allowance. (As a third grader, I received 10 cents per week.)  When I would pop into to one of these places, the owners knew me and my family, not quite the experience in some retail stores today where one guard has to admit me into the store and another must scan my receipt before I can exit. 

Village Hall in South Orange, NJ

I had an out-of-body, or an out-of-wallet, experience a few weeks before writing this in a frame shop in downtown Willoughby, Ohio, not far from my office.  I brought in two large newspaper photographs that memorialized two amazing scenes after the Cleveland Cavaliers captured the NBA championships.  These were to be gifts for two of my kids who have been devoted fans of our basketball team.  I handed over the items to the owner who gave my project close and careful scrutiny.  He conferred with his wife to verify that his framing plan of action was the best option.  I asked how much of a deposit he would need, and he declined my offer.  I told him I had never in my life left an item for framing elsewhere without being asked for a deposit.  What if his frame shop did the work and the customer never returned or might balk against the agreed upon price?   Apparently, this couple trusted me or simply trusts all of their customers.  When I came to pick up the items, the credit card gizmo wasn’t working.  No worries, I was told. Just take the items and give a call in a week or so with my credit card information.

Who does business like this?  While I acknowledge that these folks are deviating from sound business practices, there was a warmth and humanity from this transaction that affected me.  I will surely return there.  

My mom and I regularly reminisce about these halcyon days of yore.  It was a wholesome life suffused with simplicity.  Customer service actually existed.  Proprietors knew us personally.  Utilizing technology meant using a rotary phone.  And, when we wanted to thank a friend, we did so in longhand using ink and paper. 

I wouldn't trade any of this for Alexa, but my voice on these issues has become increasingly lonely.

How 'bout dropping someone a note today?