Well, it was a bit more involved than that, what with career
moves and so forth. But it hit me this weekend as we were driving through rural
Ohio toward our B&B destination, popping into small towns first established
in the 19th century, that for a Canadian kid, I have such a “Small-Town America” ideal
stuck in my head. Surely this fascination came from watching 1950s and 60s television
programs like the Andy Griffith Show that painted such vivid portraits of the
American Dream; it certainly isn’t imagery born in Manitoba where a small town might
contain a grain elevator, a Co-op, a Chinese-Canadian café, and a Royal Bank. But
somehow, under the spell of TV, I grew up longing to find a small town that fit
my ideal of Main Street, USA.
And so, every weekend that we get a chance to go for a
Sunday drive, I love exploring country byways and coming upon real-life
versions of Mayberry. America is full of them, as it turns out. We have been
driving the back roads of New York, Ohio and other states for years now and are
constantly surprised by how many cute little towns we encounter. We’ve
discovered so many places where Main Street is a designated historic district;
either a couple of blocks in a straight line, or arranged around a town square;
consisting of two or three-story brick buildings with viable businesses within:
attractive shops, restaurants, a hardware store, commerce for the community.
Arranged around these “downtowns” are tree-lined streets of sweet, well-kept
houses; some grand Victorians, some dear little cottages; some dressed in red,
white and blue bunting and flags, flower pots and porch swings. Steepled
churches complete the scene. It all makes you think you can almost see Andy on
the porch after dinner of a Sunday night, playing his guitar, serenading his
best girl, Helen, and telling Opie to go to bed because he has school tomorrow.
These are places that exude a sense of community pride; peace and prosperity in
spite of the odds.
Some other little towns appear to have faded, where the
businesses in the brick buildings are limited to a Bail Bondsman, a dance school,
an insurance agent and a Christian Science Reading Room; or more sadly, boarded
up. The houses in the nearby neighborhoods appear run down and unloved, not as crisp
as in the other towns. So, we drive
through and wonder aloud how one town can be so darling, so Mayberry, and the
next one, not so much. I always wonder, what are the factors that cause this?
Too easily, you’d want to blame the other district present in
all of these towns: the long stretch of fast food chains, gas stations, chain
hotels and convenience stores identical in every community throughout North
America, making one place indistinguishable from another. And however comforting
it is that your Big Mac will be the same wherever you go, the effect of that
forest of glowing plastic signs is jarring. You drive this gauntlet on your way
to the historic district; your senses relieved by red brick and hand-lettered signs
once you get there. But I’m not sure that each community’s fast food region is
relevant to the success or failure of Main Street. I think, and this is only my
opinion, that it has more to do with community will and leadership; perhaps a
collective determination to keep Mayberry alive.
And then I begin to imagine what future generations of
Sunday drivers will encounter. A hundred years from now, will the fast food
district be designated “historic”? Will a collective nostalgia rally
preservation efforts to sustain these plastic and neon zones? Will someone like me go in search of classic
Burger and Fries Americana for the memories it evokes? I'm curious, but glad I won’t be around
to find out.
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