A Fire in the Belly

#192, July 5, 2006

I’m back, from what my editor called a “hiatus.” As hiatuses go, it’s been pretty good. I lost my day job. I learned how to row whitewater on the Green River, and on 6/6/06 saw firsthand what 120 mph winds can do to 60 foot cottonwood trees. I watched all three X-Men films. I planted a garden in the desert. I rebuilt my website. I found a new day job. And I saw a fire in the belly of Petaluma.

I was a Rex Hardware regular, and shed a tear on Sunday while pondering the loss that lay under that awful mess of twisted char. I was warmed a few days later when I read that Rex, like the X-Men’s good Dr. Xavier, will rise again. Jeff Thomasini is committed to building a new store, as much like the old one as possible. Customers are rallying behind him, and I believe he will succeed. It is sad that that we lost this one-of-a-kind building, and we need defend our remaining historic buildings against fire, vandalism, earthquakes and bulldozers alike. What will survive of Rex Hardware -- or any other beloved local institution – is what lives in the character of its people, their commitment to customers and community.

What about the national chains? Cotati is stirred up by Starbucks’ plans to locate in their funky little town. I occasionally patronize Starbucks. There coffee is decent and they are doing some good things (e.g. benefits for part time employees, cheerfully bagged grounds for my compost pile.) Starbucks buildings? They are pretty…boring. But what is the real value of infrastructural funkiness, charm, and uniqueness of place? Does it improve our quality of life? I think so. During my Green River trip, my Moab-local companions reveled in the eccentricities of “old Moab”, and reviled the upscale developments that were consuming the rural landscape. And it was more than aesthetics. The trailer parks, affordable on a river guide’s salary, were being bulldozed to make way for expensive vacation condos for the urban industrial tourists.

But it’s not always black and white – it’s more like mocha. Last year, I asked a hardware store to donate about $300 of materials for a fruit espalier fence for the McNear Park Community Garden. The owner failed to return my several calls over three weeks, and when I finally reached him, he was rude and dismissive. I went to another business, where the manager bent some rules to get me out of the store with my free goods. The first store was Yardbirds, before it was bought by the second store, Home Depot. Aside from any other reason to prefer Birds over Depot, being locally owned didn’t *guarantee* good treatment.

True, but the CEOs of distant-based corporations aren’t subject to the same accountability as the local small business owner, who has to face his or her customers in the market or on the soccer field sidelines. My former employer, who had acquired locally-owned AFC in 2005, is steadily whittling down the Petaluma operations. Many years back I saw a woman at the South McDowell AFC factory who I had earlier seen at the COTS shelter. Will she be back in the shelter after the factory closes down later this year? Will the CEO in Chicago much care that he shipped her livlihood to Mexico?

Yet corporations can be responsive to the right kind of pressure, says global justice advocate Nina Utne. She cites the success of Rainforest Action Network in getting Burger King and Home Depot to support rainforest preservation. She concludes: “the speed of capitalism, which has contributed so mightily to bringing us to this precipice, may also help provide the momentum to make the shift” to a sustainable economy.

There is no single business plan that will save what we love on this earth. But in a way, it’s really simple. We the people can’t just sit around and weep, or sleep. We need to take on these problems with passion – with, if you will, a fire in the belly.