Some said it’s about time. Some wondered why it took so long to come to this one-horse town.
At any rate, the megastore came. It was a wonder to see, perched in the fields of Middle Park, off Granby’s main drag. Most everyone welcomed it with open arms. Why, you could buy fresh lobster, imported chocolates, warm French bread and fill your tank with gas, all in one stop. If you could afford it on your hourly salary cutting timber or skiing safety patrol or river guiding, you could buy everything from soup to nuts for a seven-course meal, at one place. And you never had to go to the big city. Some called it a godsend; folks from out of town living in weekend homes expected it; a few old timers cursed the bright neon-lit sky on the hill overlooking town.
Now, who could argue against progress? And what about the dependable tax base providing funds to pave those chuckhole streets in Granby? Well, it’s downright mean-spirited to argue against a big-box supercenter. Could be anti-American, if you ask me. But there’s another story to consider, one cutting to the heart of what community is, what makes it work, what holds the fabric of community together. It calls the question of whether we even need a community in this brave new world. Maybe people aren’t as important as convenience and low prices.
I watched with mixed feelings as plans were made for this thing that was going to bring Grand Lake and Granby into the 21st century. “Maybe we should be careful what we wish for,” I muttered once over coffee in the Corner Cupboard Café. Immediate dark glances nailed me from several nearby tables. You see, it gets pretty cold and lonely up here in the winter. Sometimes it’s good just to get in the truck and cruise to a store where there are fresh tomatoes from Mexico or grapes from Chile when it’s 15 below, no end in sight to sideways blowing snow. What better place than a big box to get some variety?
Here’s what happened, maybe what we didn’t wish for: Within 60 days of the big box opening its doors, the variety store in Grand Lake went up for sale. Same with the only movie rental store in town. The butcher counter at our small-town grocery saw a 45 percent drop in business. Down the road in Granby, Leever’s Grocery, a stable employer in town for 20 years, was closing down. The Rexall Drugstore on Main went out of business after 25 years. And the last gas stations in Granby are on the edge. Brian Blackwell, owner of a third-generation Phillips station in town, may not be able to save the business his dad helped build up over the last 30 years.
Now, maybe you could argue that all those people got a job over at the big box; they’re one big happy family. Argue there will always be others to fill those empty storefronts left behind. In the short run, maybe it’s true. But in the long run, I don’t believe it.
So what’s the matter with progress? Things change, you know. What’s good for big business is good for the community. Or is it? When small-business people are driven out by the chain stores, the community changes. When the high school football team doesn’t have any small businesses to pester for support at homecoming, something is lost. If you have to drive 30 miles one way to get to the big-box pharmacy when your kid has the croup, you wonder. When a faceless corporation from out of town is one of the major employers of local folks, you ask where the loyalties lie.
There’s a rumor of another big box on the other side of town, maybe a Home Depot or a Wal-Mart. More progress is coming. Me, I didn’t mind paying a little more to have a conversation with a store owner about the weather and how the hay crop was this year. Guess I didn’t mind a one-horse town.
Paul Johnson is a consultant on organizational change and renovates old houses.
