COFFEE ROW IN A SMALL CANADIAN TOWN

A Small Town In Trouble

They gathered at Frank’s restaurant across the street from the local Co-op grocery store. There was no set time. Just a steady stream of people all day long. Some even came twice a day, if gossip was brisk. Some came so often they had preassigned seats. No one sat in Jim’s place.

Coffee row was where people discussed and sorted out things. Exchanged information. Solved the world’s problems. Well, at least in the minds of those sitting there.

Frank, owner of the small prairie restaurant, slowly glided around serving coffee, saying little. What was there to say? No one ever asked him what he thought.

Stan, Erna, Jim, Mary, Sarah and Bill were already there. Slowly drinking their coffee, as if they had all the time in the world. But this morning they had troubled looks on their faces, gazing at the scene across the street.

Erna finally spoke up. “Well, I’ll be darned. Shame that Jackson’s hardware is shutting down. That was a good business once. Bought all my stuff there. I don’t know what ever happened to the place.”

Bill thought he knew. “Old man Jackson was a good businessman. His kid ran it into the ground. Everyone supported the store. Where did the money go?”

Mary, sitting beside Bill, knew better. “I don’t buy that, Bill. The kid parties a little. A lot less than your kid.” This got a rise out of Bill. And a snicker or two from coffee row.

She went on. “But he’s not showy, spending all his money on toys. Fact of the matter is people are shopping more in the big cities. And slowly leaving our town, Bill. Nothing to do. No work here.”

Bill, now a little huffy after Mary’s comment, shot back. “We should do something about it, instead of just sitting here drinking our coffee.”

“And what are we going to do, Bill? Strike a committee? Maybe order people not to leave town, or go to the city to shop? You got a plan, buddy? Let’s hear it.”

Bill was silent. He had no plan. No one did. Instead, he turned and watched intently as the Jackson kid cleaned out the store and boarded up the front windows. Was this a sign of rot and gloom setting into their small town?

Sarah was beginning to tear up. “Fifty years and suddenly it’s all gone. Who’s next? When’s the bleeding going to stop?” Everyone looked on in silence as the kid continued to board up a lifetime of work and memories. Usually coffee row could solve the hardest problems. But this was a tough one.

Frank glided down coffee row behind a now solemn looking bunch on coffee row. “More coffee anyone. Made fresh pot just a few minutes ago. Maybe some fresh apple pie?”

Everyone absently nodded for a refill. As if Frank didn’t exist. Some ordered pie. Heck, no sense leaving now. There was still the weather and politics to sort out. And then the Thornton girl’s unwanted pregnancy, the local hockey team’s recent poor play, and Harry’s drinking problem. The list was long this morning.

Then Harry came in. Looking slightly tired and smelling of gin. Well, stroke Harry off today’s agenda. There was still lots to talk about though.

Talking about these matters could take time. A person might even have to stay for lunch if Frank offered one of his specials. Often coffee row turned into lunch row.

Across the street the young boy watched his father board up their store. He was crying, not letting his mother console him. Young Everett loved the store. The town. His friends. He didn’t want to leave. So, he screamed even louder. Hoping to convince mom and dad to stay. It didn’t help.

A Big Gamble

They were older now. And professing to be wiser. They sat in silence on coffee row. Slowly stirring their coffee. Hoping that with enough stirring, things would improve. Staring out the window at the boarded up Jackson’s store. Over the years a few other businesses had joined Jackson’s fate. Jim noticed a few weeds growing out of the town pavement.

Jim spoke first. As he looked over at the Jackson building, he slowly shook his head. “Jeez, Jackson’s closing was bad enough. But this? This is a hopeless disaster. What’s the town going to do now?”

“You mean what are WE going to do, Jim? It’s OUR bloody town.” Mary felt a slight headache coming on. Sometimes it was hard to listen to this pain in the ass sitting across from her.

“Don’t get me involved in this. I don’t live in town. I farm.”

“Farm. Ha!,” snorted Sarah. “You call that farming? You’re in town more often than on the farm, Jim. I don’t know who farms out there. But it’s sure not you.”

Jim said nothing. They had no idea how hard it was to farm. Occasionally he needed a break. To get away from it all.

Frank, a fresh white apron wrapped around him, jumped in. “More coffee anyone? Trying out new brand. Nice aroma, very tasty.” Hopefully more coffee would stop a fight from breaking out. Coffee row occasionally became a testy place. Tempers flared. Solving other peoples’ problems did that to a person.

Just about everybody ignored him. The tension grew. Frank worried. He tried his last and best gambit. “Today’s lunch special, everyone. My specialty, Chop Suey. All fresh. Very tasty. Only five-ninety-five, with dessert.” This usually calmed them down. Today it had no effect whatsoever. Frank worried even more.

“I heard the town invested over a hundred grand in infrastructure, hoping the Company workers would live here. But they didn’t come. Everyone from the new mill settled up the road in Morton instead. Kind of stupid. A much further commute to work than if they lived here.”

“I didn’t know the town had a hundred grand.”

“Well, where do you think our taxes go, Sarah? Of course the town has a hundred grand. We’re not dead yet.” Then they all looked out across the street at the boarded up store-fronts. Wondering about the truth of those words.

“But, how could our town council be so naive? To even think that was a good idea? Morton’s bigger. It even has a Tim Horton’s. Hard to compete with that.” Jim, now sounded as if he were living in town again. This gained him a few haughty looks.

And a chewing-out. Sarah had enough. “First of all, Jim. It’s not your town council. You live on the farm. You really got no say in this matter. This is town peoples’ business. Don’t you have some cattle to feed? Crops to harvest? That sort of stuff.”

Jim stood up in a huff and flung his quarters onto the table. And left quickly. Swearing never to return. He would. They always did. Frank glided by and deftly picked up the coins. Dropping them safely into his big brass cash register till behind the counter. Smiling at everyone. As if nothing had happened.

“Well, I’ll tell you why the town got bamboozled and took that gamble. It’s our mayor and council. They don’t tell anyone what they’re up to. There’s no oversight. They’re desperate. The town’s hurting. Anything that comes along that sounds half good, they jump at it. That’s what happened.” Stan usually said little on coffee row. But, when he did, people listened. That’s what eight sections of farmland and money in the bank could buy you on coffee row. Respect. Lots of it.

And Stan, unlike Jim, now lived in town.

Just then, Randy, their mayor stepped through the restaurant door. He badly needed a pack of cigarettes to get him through the day. As he nervously looked around, he realized everyone on coffee row was staring at him. ‘Probably not the best time to stop at Frank’s,’ realized Randy a little too late.

“Morning everyone. How are we all this morning?” Silence greeted him. Randy put on his best smile as he looked down coffee row. What he saw wasn’t good. Randy didn’t take official polls in town. He just needed to stop at coffee row occasionally to see how his political future fared. This morning it looked very bleak. Hopeless in fact.

Frank got Randy his cigarettes and looked on. “Randy, maybe you stay for lunch. Nice special today. Chop Suey. And I think maybe a side of fried rice with it.” Randy paid for his cigarettes, mumbled something about not feeling that hungry, and quickly left.

The others on coffee row continued arguing about one of the biggest screw-ups the town had ever seen. Frank worried about Randy. He was trying to save the little town. Frank had watched the careers of many mayors over the years. Through the eyes and ears of coffee row. Coffee row was a finely tuned machine in predicting their political futures. It wasn’t just Frank’s rice that was frying. Randy’s political future was also taking a little heat.

Salvation

Virtually the same people sat on coffee row. But now, more stooped, older and white-haired. Canes rested by chairs. A wheel chair stood in the corner. A few regulars were missing. Maybe watching over coffee row from above. Or below. There were some new faces. That was promising.

They all stared across the street where a young man was working diligently taking the boards off the windows of the old Jackson Hardware Store. There was hammering and sawing and a bunch of other stuff going on inside. But no one knew what. And that wore on coffee row. Not knowing what was going on in town was the worst thing that could happen to a person on coffee row.

Sarah was itching to find out. If she could break this story there would be free coffee for her. She was first to arrive, so she got in the first question. “I heard he’s setting up some kind of video and gambling center. Is this another one of town council’s lame brain schemes at revitalizing our town?”

Sarah was an expert at getting people talking. Just ask a simple, even a dumb question that people could react to. She’d learned that from watching certain reporters on TV.

“Don’t know. But that guy looks familiar. Isn’t that the Jackson boy’s oldest son? Sure looks like it from here.” They all squinted harder through watery eyes and thick glasses.

“Well, he’s sure busy and it looks like he’s throwing a lot of money into that building. You must have made some money with that sale, Stan, after buying it years ago.”

“Yeh, that’s Jackson’s oldest. Don’t know what he’s doing back here. I made a bit of money off that sale. Enough to buy everyone coffee this morning.” They all thought this very good of Stan. Some were hoping Frank would have a lunch special today. Maybe Stan would spring for lunch too.

They all looked back out the window across the street. A sign was going up on the store front. In big bold letters it read: MUSTANG ENTERPRISES.

“What? He gonna sell horses? I don’t think that will get him very far.” Jim knew. He’d tried horses years ago on his farm. Fancy ones. Not mustangs. That didn’t work out too well. Jim never seemed to have enough time to properly train and work them.

The young man across the street stepped back and looked at his handiwork. Then he put down his hammer, took his son by the hand, and walked across the street to Frank’s restaurant.

A dozen pairs of eyes followed him across the street and through the restaurant door. Jackson’s father would never have come to coffee row. And, according to experts on coffee row, that was one of the problems. Maybe even why the business failed. You had to talk to people in the community. Get to know them. Especially those on coffee row.

As he stepped through the door, Everett looked around. Some things never changed. He still recognized a few faces. Now older with whiter hair, if they had any. But the alert, inquisitive eyes told him everything. They wanted to know what he was doing here. They could barely contain themselves.

“Morning everyone. Mind if I join you. Could use a little more caffeine this morning.” Without waiting for an answer Everett plunked himself down on a chair at the end of the table. His son sat down beside him.

His greetings were returned by a few polite, cautious responses. Couldn’t trust these outsiders anymore. Especially after that last town debacle. Frank glided up, coffee pot in hand. A little more stooped and not walking quite as smoothly as years ago.

“Coffee, Everett? And for the young guy? A coke maybe?”

“That’d be great, Fan. How’s your family, your wife, Feng?”

“Oh, everyone good, Everett. Children move away. Nothing here for them. Feng cook, still put up with me.”

There was shock and silence up and down coffee row. Fan? They all thought he was just Frank. Few bothered to find out his real name. And how did Fan know Jackson so well? It would be hard finding the answers on coffee row. Without Fan listening in. Well, maybe they could just ask him.

“Nice sign, Mr. Jackson. You now sell Mustang cars, right? You get me a bright yellow one. With big motor. I pay cash.” Everyone wondered how Fan could afford a fancy new car running a restaurant. The fact that he worked sixteen – eighteen hours a day hadn’t crossed their minds.

“No, Fan. I don’t sell real mustangs, or cars.” Jim the horse expert, and Bert, who owned a small car dealership, were relieved to hear that.

Mary couldn’t hold back any longer. She just had to know. “Well, if not cars or horses, what do you sell, or do, Mr. Jackson? What does that sign mean anyway?”

“You know what mustangs are, Mary. Wild, free and a bit of an independent bunch. They do as they please and make their own way in the world. That’s us.”

Everett was just about to continue when the mayor walked in. He quickly gazed around taking the pulse of the town down coffee row. Looked safe enough. So he sat down beside Everett.

“Morning everyone. Dad, how you keeping?” Stan just nodded and waved.

“So, how’s it going over there, Everett? Lot of banging and sawing. Where did you learn how to do that?”

Some of the members of coffee row looked concerned. Everett and the mayor knew one another? The newcomer seemed to know everyone. If he joined coffee row it could upset the delicate balance established over many years. He could be a real threat in the gossip department.

“Going well, Jason. Learned a little carpentry by renovating my house in the city. Only way to learn anything.”

Everyone on coffee row thought those words exceedingly wise. A few wished they’d learned that lesson long ago.

Everett idly scratched the back of his neck, as if something was irritating him. “That refit’s not my biggest problem, Jason. I need to hire three or four really good computer tech people and two secretaries. Seems to be a shortage of those around here.”

Stan, or Fan, overheard Jason. “Seriously, Everett? First son, Fook, looking around for different job. Want to get out of city. Too big, too expensive.”

“Actually, Fan, that might work. I remember Fook. What’s he do? I need one person specializing in computer machine and assembly languages. Another one in algorithmic languages. FORTRAN. ALGOL. C. I could use someone who knows BASIC, Pascal, Logo, or Hypertalk. Or someone with a background in C++ C# Ada, Java, Visual Basic or Python.”

Fan casually took in Everett’s words. The rest of coffee row only gaped. As if Fan and Everett had just invented some sort of new language? “I text him immediately and see what he specialize in.” Fan left in a hurry, forgetting the coffee pot on the table.

Everett looked around. There was silence on coffee row. No one knew what to say. Even Mary was afraid to ask again what Everett did.

“Well, time to go. Nothing ever got done sitting around here. Let me know if there are any town folks that might need jobs.” That was an understatement thought Mary. She’d help if only she knew what the jobs were for.

Everett was about to get up and leave when he thought of something else. “Oh, and we’re going to need houses. I saw a few boarded up driving around town. Anyone know who owns them?”

All eyes turned towards Stan. Some of them now not in a too friendly manner. Fully knowing that Stan bought those places almost for nothing years back. Another great real estate opportunity squandered.

Stan gave a nervous cough. “I could probably help you out, Mr. Jackson. Heard prices for housing were going up though in these little towns. Seems a lot of people are moving out of the city and need homes.”

“Now dad. Everett needs some houses for his people at a fair price. To get his business going.” Everyone on coffee row fully supported their mayor on this point, and gave Stan a withering look to show it.

“Well, got to get back to my coffee row.” Everett stood and poured his unfinished coffee into his thermos.

“But, this is coffee row, Mr. Jackson. You know of another one around here? You opening up a restaurant or something? Maybe one of those fancy internet cafes?” Fan, who rarely ever showed any emotion, now had a worried look on his face.

Everett only grinned. “I collect information. Just like you folks. My coffee row sits on six big computer screens, connected to the rest of the world. Last time I looked there were 22.5 million of us, sipping coffee, collecting and exchanging information. But the information we collect is valuable to the right people. We repackage and sell it.” Only stunned silence greeted his words. Had they known, they could have made millions off coffee row over the years. Even Jim would have fared better, than farming.

As Everett walked across the street he looked around the small town. There were fewer ‘For Sale’ signs and more ‘Sold’ signs on homes and businesses than when he first had checked it out. Always a good omen.

Even coffee row was recruiting, it seemed. And with a healthy coffee row there was always hope for a small town in Canada.

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EndNote

I grew up around or in small towns on the Canadian prairies. As a grocery boy working part-time at the Co-op store through high school, right across from the local restaurant, I watched the proceedings at coffee row quite often. This is where people gathered to casually socialize, exchange information, or barbs, and just generally be part of the community. It was an important institution. And, not just in my home town. It was common across the Canadian prairies. And elsewhere too, I’m sure.

I also saw first-hand how small towns struggled to stay afloat. And how hard people worked to keep them going. But eventually over the years, ever so slowly, they dwindled away as more people left, businesses closed and infrastructure couldn’t keep up. One author in a recent magazine called this the Slow Burn.

In a recent article in Maclean’s Magazine (https://www.macleans.ca/killing-rural-canada/), that same author, journalist, Aaron Hutchins asked the big question: What’s Killing Rural Canada? There were multiple reasons. I touched on a few in this story. But there were few solutions on how to fix the problem.

I’m an optimist. Perhaps a bit of a dreamer. I don’t know if all small Canadian towns can be saved. Do we need one every eight or ten miles along a stretch of highway in rural Saskatchewan? Perhaps long ago we did. Even in the 1950s, when I first arrived in Canada, some of those towns were already struggling. But I think some might be saved. Computers and the internet are changing where many Canadians work or run a business. The pandemic has also helped the process along, as more people work from home.

Of course, this method doesn’t work for all businesses or industry. Virtual baking can’t replace the real thing.

“It’s not just families seeing the appeal either. Businesses, both startups and large organizations, are making the move (think Amazon considering Kitchener-Waterloo over Toronto’s downtown) for the same reason the average Joe is. Lower cost of operation, more room to grow.” https://www.empirecommunities.com/blog/rural-renaissance-how-a-new-generation-is-embracing-small-town-living/

In Alberta, the shift to smaller towns outside the large urban centers is underway. The recent Covid pandemic is partly responsible, as people try to isolate in the less densely populated rural communities. But there are other reasons as well:

“Another driving factor is that people can work from home since remote working is still being encouraged by many employers. Some businesses are offering more flexible working environments such as work from home at least a few days a week, with a requirement of going to the office occasionally. This allows home buyers considerably more flexibility when looking for a new home, no longer bound by the requirement of being in close proximity to the office. This explains the surge of families exploring quieter, more remote areas that traditionally only attracted retirees.” https://blog.remax.ca/canadian-real-estate-alberta-an-ideal-buyers-market/

On British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast, where I live part-time, the local real estate market in the community of Powell River is going bonkers. For many of the reasons listed above. Plus, a lot of baby boomers in the large urban centers are cashing in on their multi-million dollar properties in the city and moving where living is slower and cheaper.

“Grand totals show 40 units, valued at $13,572,800, sold in December 2020, compared to 25 units, valued at $8,872,700, in December 2019.” https://www.prpeak.com/real-estate-news/strong-real-estate-sales-continue-in-powell-river-3418406

No one currently knows where this will all end. But the signs are encouraging. So, maybe there’s still hope for that small town and coffee row in Canada. Or, perhaps I’m just dreaming and being overly optimistic. But, that’s usually what writing fiction is all about.

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