Americans - We Love Our Excess

I concluded last night that we truly are an excessive people, we Americans. I don't say that critically, although it is also one of our worst faults. Last night I loved us for it.

KB took me to Albany, New York, last night to witness the annual fourth of July fireworks. I've seen them before - one year from the fire escape outside my downtown apartment, once from the off-ramp near the epicenter at the Empire State Plaza, once from a distant hillside with my then-baby son.

I've never seen them from right on the Plaza.

In recent years, we've restricted ourselves to the local fireworks, which I think are pretty impressive. But this year KB's son and his young family were visiting and it seemed a perfect place to meet.

We arrived around six. The place wasn't too crowded and we wandered, bought something to eat and waited while we watched the crowds grow. It was a gathering of babies and young children and the arrival of KB's two young grandchildren instantly inserted us into that set - grownups with kids. As the sun set, we found a spot in the center of it all and little K2 was hoisted on his dad's shoulders. They live in a small town down south and neither mom nor K2 had ever seen a big city fireworks display. The baby just doesn't care - nor did she change her mind as the show began.

The whole display, sponsored by the local supermarket chain, takes place across the street from the capitol, where our senators have been refusing to work for almost a month. I looked to see if any of them were there with their noses pressed against the window. The governor hasn't been able to do much, but he has demanded they keep coming to chambers.

So it began - a carefully choreographed show combining music, ground lights and massive, sky-splitting displays. It really was amazing. I found myself grinning and looked over to see K2 doing the same. They even timed it so when The Who sang, "Love...rain on me..." a heart appeared in the sky followed by a shower of silver sparkles. Pretty impressive.

It went on forever and got progressively louder...and then we heard the opening notes of "The Stars and Stripes Forever."

"This," I yelled into KB's ear, "is going to be manic."

It was. I think it is not only possible but likely that they used as many fireworks during that finale as they did in the entire rest of the very generously lighted display. A series of fireworks were all exploded at once, creating a massive cloud of smoke, light and noise that seemed to swell out toward the crowd and cover us all. I covered my ears and yelled. KB was grinning like a kid. K2's eyes were blue saucers. The baby sucked on her bottle. Then they did it all over again.

When it was over, there was a collective exhale from the crowd and loud applause. And I had to love Americans in that moment.

Where else in the world do crowds of people all over the nation gather once a year to watch pretty lights and hear loud noises? We are kind of silly that way but it may be the thing I like best about us. I'm sure all nations have their own brand of foolishness.

I think if we could all meet on that ground, that place where we're all just big, goofy kids, we'd find our common humanity is a lot bigger than our cultural differences.

Why Is Bigger Still Better?

Haven't we learned one single thing? Is it really true that Steven Rattner, the journalist turned investor turned car czar, favors auto megastores as the future of America's car sales industry? Is it true, as I was told by a Buick dealer who's been told that despite 21 years of showing a profit, his franchise won't be renewed, and by the head of the NYS Automobile Dealers Association, that the future road map calls for the end of the Mom and Pop car dealerships?

Where I live, there are a number of little car dealerships snuggled into small towns. I'm sure they don't do a ton of volume, but they've got great reputations and their customers come back time and time again.

I've driven through areas with mega auto dealerships. It's like the Sam's Club of cars...rows upon rows upon rows of shiny vehicles, bought and paid for by the dealer, who has thrown on all kinds of options to help pay for the crushing overhead of having a mile wide parking lot.

Mom and Pop businesses are what's missing in America 2009. Mega grocery chains, box stores, cavernous hardware chains have driven out many small business owners. There is no personal connection, there is no sense of community. Sure, you'll recognize a couple of the people who work there. They'll try to be helpful. You'll appreciate it. But will you think, "Wow, that Big Box Store sure is a great place. I'd gladly pay a couple of dollars more to keep them here!" Nope. They've got no loyalty to you and vice versa.

Contrast that with how you feel toward the truly local businesses near you. We've got Kevin, the guy at the meat store. I'm a vegetarian but I still think he's great. He's always involved in our community, always cooking up a new plan to create activities for the kids or raise money for a good cause. Our local grocery store isn't as cheap as the mega store a couple of miles down the road. But it feels comfortable; it feels like they care whether we shop there or not. They offer sales when they can.

I measure it all against a place I thought was paradise when I was a kid.

Let me tell you about Cherry Valley, New York. I never lived there, but I spent most every summer there and we got to know people pretty well. It's a little town - a little village off a quiet highway in Central New York. When I was a kid, there was an ancient A&P grocery store, Rury's market, a pharmacist, and a general store.

Mr. Mackey was the druggist. He was a nice old guy who'd spent his whole life in this Andy of Mayberry town and knew everyone there. When I got stung by a mystery insect and swelled up like a turnip, he calmly handed my mother an antihistamine. When I turned my ankle, he sympathetically offered OTC painkillers and a pair of crutches. When he retired, the drug store closed. There hasn't been a pharmacist there in years.

The A&P was nothing the company would later be willing to claim. It was in an old wooden building with a massive front porch and you had to roll the tiny carts around poles and hang on lest the warped floors carry them off into a row of dusty canned peaches. But the lady at the old metal register knew where everything could be found and she always had a piece of stale candy handy for a grubby little kid who'd managed not to careen into a display of crackers.

Rury's Market was just a few doors away. A small red building with a wooden screen door that had a very satisfactory slam, it was great fun to stop in for a loaf of bread or a jar of grape jelly. There was always the chance to someone would ask Mr. Rury for something on top of a stack of fifty foot high shelves (remember, I was a kid at the time) and I'd get to see him climb the little wooden ladder and extend the long pole with the metal grabbers on the end. Ha! Another successful catch!

The Friendly Corner Store was the place for candy. Lots of candy. I remember the lady behind the counter always wanted to know how long we were up for, what we'd been doing, how old I was...she was very friendly indeed.

All of these businesses were within the space of one block. A stroll of another block would take you to Robert Lafler's plumbing supply store or Joe Shipway's lumber yard.

Joe Shipway, even when he was a million years old himself, used to climb into his ancient Chevrolet and drive food out to the town's shut-ins.

Nothing is left except Rury's. It's all been replaced by larger stores about a twenty minute drive away. There's a convenience store in town. There are a couple of businesses - but the bedrock stores of small villages are gone, replaced by monster chain stores in bigger towns.

Didn't AIG teach us anything? Is anyone noticing that it's the small town banks that aren't in trouble?

We keep talking about preserving small town values while destroying what helped create the communities we love.

Bigger isn't always better.