The Highway Always Wins
Column by Jessica Bennett -
Jun 3, 2005
25 ratings from readers
The nostalgia of Main Street evokes images of quaint shops, many of which now have darkened windows. Some may see this as a negative development, but the justice of capitalism always prevails over charm.
There is a little bookshop just down the street from my university. Shelves and shelves of used books fill the store, and the air smells old and enchanted. The books have no covers, but are single colors like red or blue with the title scrawled across the spine.
I visited the bookshop many times, pulled down the books, wondered at the yellow pages, and never bought a thing. They were too expensive, and the owner did not accept credit cards. I bought from Amazon.com instead.
My town is divided like many other small towns in the Midwest. Two streets run parallel through it, fighting for identity. The first is the old Main Street, paved in cobbled roads and cropped by mom and pop shops with little bells above the door and hand-priced merchandise.
The other street is a highway, which spears our town as it stretches across the state. This street is stamped with the modern giants of retail: Wal-Mart, McDonald’s, J.C. Penney, Pizza Hut, Sonic, Subway, Sears, etc.
The highway side keeps growing and growing, and back on our little Main Street, the small shops are dashing their lights and closing their doors. The torrents of capitalism are sweeping, as they say, and social Darwinism is perched right in my little town, licking its chops.
There is a natural fear that comes with the expansion of capitalism. Where big chains build, smaller stores die. These large and successful businesses are known for smashing homegrown companies under low-low-priced thumbs. People watch the stores they grew up with vanish with only cold neon signs glowing twenty-four hours, seven days a week, in their wake — and they get angry.
These lost little stores posses charm and identity, if not practicality and large advertising budgets, and are embedded in a small community. People see their community melting away when the big corporations come, and it is understandable that they are scared and angry, and holler for things to go back to the way they were. They are a vocal group, but ultimately, their struggle cannot change the tides of globalization, convergence, and, of course, capitalism.
Wal-Mart, and many other successful global chains, will keep on growing because they have the lowest prices in town. They are the best at what they do: sell things and make money. In any logical argument, the best competitor should win. Isn’t that the American ideal after all?
Still, there is something truly tragic in seeing a block full of empty buildings. I begin to recognize the imprint of sterile retail shaping our town. Driving to the larger cities that have become fully developed, I recognize the same stores that are now creeping into my town. As I drive on, I realize that each town is a twin to its predecessor. It is as two mirrors looking back at each other, and reflecting the same image a thousand times until the eye loses sight of its meaning. A McDonald’s stands guard at each entrance, and ten miles down the road, another McDonald’s announces the gateway to another identical dwelling.
Having heard and experienced both sides of this argument, I don’t think there is a right answer. Small towns should not be left to gray away like old photographs as the rest of the country moves forward. At the same time, there is nothing stoic about the death of small business, about the rampant consumerism and the chilling, cardboard cut-out towns.
The truth is, globalization is a fact, not a trend, and its consequences are also positive as well as rational. Global corporations save people money, connect the world, and help multiple economies. Most importantly, it is the next step of capitalism. Successful companies grow and expand; weaker companies don’t. This is the law of economics, and it is not fair to boo the winners because they are so good at what they do.
These ideas, and my own opinions, may be too generalized for comfort, but statistics and arguments often fail to note the consistency with which the economy has evolved and changed over time. Things are always lost with forward movement, and old ways fade into business lore.
We will lose many of the mom and pop shops. Main Street will darken and then reopen with familiar brand names, and people will always miss the good old days. At the same time, they will wonder what they ever did without the world at their fingertips, and congratulate themselves on their low-low-priced purchases.
The little enchanted bookstore represents the past with its dusty tombs and lovingly applied identity. Wal-Mart does not have a chatty mistress to exclaim over titles and give advice. Their books crack open new and are missing those mysterious smudges and worn down notes that make each book somehow more beautiful.
The bookshop also represents the future. For all its charm and character, its poor management and high prices could not sustain the business. The windows are dark now. The door is locked.
Peering through the glass, I can still see the books perched upon the shelves waiting for hungry readers. There is a small sign hanging from the door. It reads: Seeking new management. Soon, it could be just one more empty building on a darkening Main Street.
Jessica Bennett has enjoyed writing her whole life, and has worked as a news reporter and occasional freelance writer. She is a student at Truman State University, and hopes to integrate writing into her future career.
