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Cast your eyes up
and down the streets of this wonderfully walkable Maine seaside
town where lobstermen rub shoulders with summertime tourists
and you see scarcely a sign of a national chain. Starbucks,
Banana Republic, Holiday Inn, Barnes & Noble, Victoria’s
Secret -- they’re obvious by their absence.
Instead, a stroll
through Boothbay Harbor brings you past places like the Boothbay
Fudge Factory, Grover’s Trustworthy Hardware, the Mung
Bean Gift Shop (featuring Maine crafts), the Tugboat Inn,
and Sherman’s two floors of everything under the sun
from great books to lobster earrings. In Mollie Hutchins’
dress shop, I discovered an applique pattern dress that looked
right for my six-year old granddaughter. But I wasn’t
sure about the size. “Don’t worry,” said Mollie,
“if it doesn’t fit, just mail it back to me, and
I’ll make her another.”
Later, checking with
Jaimie Kleinstiver, director of Boothbay Harbor’s Chamber
of Commerce, I discovered I’d missed a Rite-Aid and a
Subway somewhere in town. But Boothbay has “absolutely
no chain hotels or motels,” said Kleinstiver, rather
proudly.
Part of Boothbay
Harbor’s freedom from national chains, their big signs
and plastic hard sells is that coastal Maine’s economy
is so seasonal. And why, pray tell, would a Wal-Mart or other
big box retailer want to locate at the end of a 10-mile peninsula?
But the reasons go
deeper. “We’re Yankees,” said Kleinstiver.
“We don’t want to be like everyone else. We take
pride in our individuality -- people, architecture, businesses.
Our hospitality reflects that. It’s very personal.”
The disturbing reality
is that more and more American towns and cities -- especially
those that would like to preserve their local culture and
to grow their own local retailers and inn-keepers -- are facing
a tough dilemma.
As people have begun
to flow back into cities and towns, many of the “formula”
chain stores and restaurants that populate suburban malls
and strip shopping centers have decided to come to town too.
From San Francisco to St. Paul, and from Tampa, Fla., to Coronado,
Calif., cities and towns fearful of losing their uniqueness
are trying to limit numbers of chain restaurants and retailers
or setting strict size and design requirements to keep them
at bay.
But exclusion is
a dicey game, as many towns learned back in the 1920s and
‘30s when they tried to keep out Woolworths, Sears and
other chain retailers. Legally, a store can’t be discriminated
against just because it’s chain owned.
What’s more,
there may be a plus to some chain stores in town. Lenders
are more comfortable financing them. A mix of nationals and
locals may help a city’s downtown weather an economic
downturn. And nationals keep the rents up, which helps flush
out the laggards who are running truly inferior stores.
The dilemma is how
to strike a balance -- so that on a Saturday morning you can
still get in your car and drive to a big box and buy goods
cheap and anonymously, if that’s your taste. Yet if you
prefer, stroll down Main Street, open a shop door, smell fresh
muffins like no chain ever produced, chat with the owner/baker,
and know the dollars you spend are supporting a local entrepreneur,
not some cash-hungry, distant chain.
My colleague Peter
Katz, author of The New Urbanism, now a professor of urban
affairs at Virginia Tech in Alexandria, Va., has an answer:
Let the chains compete for a place on Main Street. But make
sure they play by pretty strict town rules: No cheap economy
boxes set in the middle of parking lots. No horsey plastic
signs overwhelming the streetscape. No big blank walls facing
the street.
Towns that want to
take command of their own destiny, says Katz, need to spell
out their own vision of the Great American Main Street, not
through traditional zoning but rather specific form-based
codes. That means, for example, requiring that storefronts
have ample windows, come right up to the sidewalk, and allow
offices or residences on their second floors.
If all stores are
obliged to follow those rules, argues Katz, some chains will
likely come in -- indeed in many cities and towns, even big
operators like Home Depot have shown they can fit tastefully
into the historic townscape.
But even with chains’
competition, Katz contends, the convivial atmosphere of a
well-planned Main Street, the personal relationships that
local merchants can establish, will keep them strongly in
the game. By that optimistic scenario, people will just start
saying “no” to any street they find offers them
nothing but the same chain outlets they can find from Anchorage
to Miami.
Let’s hope Katz
is right, and that the Boothbay Harbors of America don’t
end up being historic relics in a sea of dull commercial sameness.
Comments may be addressed to npeirce@citistates.com
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