A Simpler Time

In our modern world, I now see warnings on old television shows:

"this program contains outdated cultural depictions. Viewer discretion is advised."

A more specific one stresses language, and yet another warns of smoking. There is much for people to find challenging or offensive. There is no accounting for it. Be warned, there is discussion below about smoking, caffeine consumption, and the "old days." Reader "discretion is advised."

In my youth, I frequented a cigar store to eat. That is not a typographical error or misstatement. There was  a simpler time when businesses might stay to their a niche, or might expand into others. This one started as a sundries store, then evolved to a lunch counter. 

Back then, lots of placed had retail mixed with a food counter. I was introduced to the nuance of this particular place by the last generation, and over time came to reminisce on it despite my generation eschewing the model, much to its demise. More on that below. 

This store was complete with a "cigar store Indian," an iconic symbol of a bygone era. Tobacconists displayed these wooden carvings outside a store to signify the availability of tobacco products. There is certainly a different environment today, and many today would undoubtedly find these carvings offensive. Nonetheless, many towns had a shop displaying one. 

The cigar store Indian reference contends they were used as symbolic advertisement because of minimal literacy among customers, who associated such carving with sundries and tobacco, which is also fascinating in its own right. While literacy might explain symbolism, it hardly explains the implication of the earliest immigrants. 

This particular cigar store was located in a town center, just "off the square." Towns in America, and elsewhere, once revolved around town squares. The presence of a business "on the square" was of import, and someone owning a home in such a location was indicative of at least stature and likely wealth. This primacy shifted to the suburbs, then beyond. 

Businesses thrived on the square in an environment where people strolled and looked in windows for inspiration on their next purchase. The internet term "browsing" is likely derived from this practice. 

Commerce there/then was not a 24/7/365 experience. Stores were available only on designated days and pre-set hours. Few, if any, were open on a Sunday. The customer might "window shop" on those closed days/times, and dream or plan about purchasing. But buying and selling were not a Sunday option. 

The cigar store I frequented had a counter with perhaps a dozen stools. They spun on ball bearings and were convenient if not overly comfortable, upholstered in red vinyl that was easy to clean. There were also another ten +/- four-top tables, as I recall the layout; not a large establishment. Behind the counter was the kitchen, such as it was. I recall a small fryer, a large grill, and a two-burner industrial stove. 

The cook would prepare you just about anything that could be grilled: burgers, eggs, hash browns, and grilled cheese. There was always a daily soup, and it was often the same as yesterday's until it ran out. There was no haute couture, no garnish, or decoration. No salads of any description except egg-salad were available. There was honest food, served hot and quick, and reasonable price. 

There was also no Apple Pay, card reader, or even a register. The patrons would always pay with something we called "cash," and that was normal. We all carried some "cash" around in our pockets, and we used it daily to purchase items. Twenty dollars was a significant amount, which would usually fill your gas tank and would certainly fill your stomach. Some were known to carry large quantities, perhaps only to impress friends.

We paid at the cigar store by the honor system. Some would know their bill from persistent repetition. If you eat the same egg sandwich and coffee every day for breakfast, the $1.50 got to be ingrained knowledge. And, if you habitually got cheese for the extra $.10, then you knew yours was $1.60. There was no "tip the team" jug, but we usually overpaid by a quarter or more. 

Despite that habit familiarity, there were always those who would shout out to the cook/owner: "What do I owe?" as if that knowledge was somehow ingrained. I was always impressed that the cook could keep all those people's orders straight, delivering instantly, if not always accurately, on every such inquiry. Those customers paid the price he quoted, without question or discussion. 

When that exchange/order was done, the memory was released. Despite that, a few of us were habitual enough that that egg sandwich was prepared each day with a simple mention of "the usual." And everyone drank coffee, served in a ceramic cup perched on a saucer. The old guys would often pour their coffee from cup to saucer to cool it for drinking.  

Another uniqueness in all this was that you could watch your food being prepared. The hard-working entrepreneur made a living without much extra help. As I recall, there was usually merely the owner with a kid working alongside. The kid would wipe tables (which the customer had generally bussed - dropping dishes in a bin near the counter on the way to pay), and generally whatever else the owner told him to do.  

And people smoked. No, not generally cigars, it was after all a cigar store, though that was not unheard of. There were ashtrays on every table (a little plastic dish intended for the refuse and waste from burning tobacco). People smoked cigarettes while they ate, or lit up as they finished their coffee after. 

The customers often lingered over that last bit of coffee. And, the cook/waiter or the kid might bring the coffee pot through periodically and "warm up" your coffee. When they were too busy, customers often refilled their own (and their fellow patron's going and coming from the pot). Everyone drank coffee, and it was black, strong, and without frills. 

The place was seemingly always full. At breakfast and lunch, it was normal to see the mayor, judges, business owners, and more. They sat together, cogitated, and shared. There was a community in the cigar store, a collaboration. If one were attentive, one might learn a great deal. This was not eavesdropping; the conversations were loud and inclusive, sometimes even abusive. The environment was collegial, inclusive, and open. 

Then came "progress." Plates began to disappear, and disposable paper and foam became all the rage. The customers demanded accoutrements and began to eschew the old standbys. Smoking was slowly constrained and eventually banned. 

The Egg McMuffin burst on the scene in 1977, and quickly gained traction. The fast food environment was faster, and even offered drive-thru. Those restaurants were consistent from town to town, no one smoked in them, and they were more open, cheerful, and formica'd than the cigar store. But no one sat about in them and pontificated. There were no domino games, politics, or arguments. They were breakfast sanitized, impersonalized, and industrialized. 

Before there was the internet, people watched television. The news came on each evening, to the chagrin of young people and the adoration of the adults. Usually, there was a local half-hour, then the "national news." You had to watch when it was scheduled, because it did not stream or repeat until late that night. There was no cable; these signals were beamed into our homes/businesses and picked up by antennas called "rabbit ears." No offense to the Oryctolagus-Americans out there.

One feature on a national broadcast was Charles Kuralt's On the Road, in which he traveled from place to place experiencing and documenting Americana. It was a showcase of America and all of her quirks and foibles. Kuralt has since been copied by such shows as Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. I remember back when Charles came to the cigar store one day with his crew. The place was mobbed. 

Gone that day were the local leaders, business owners, and other "regulars." The "in crowd," the "cool kids," descended instead. Their confusion was reportedly palpable as they struggled with such challenges as self-serve coffee, vague food descriptions, the lack of printed menus, and the self-pay process. No, that day, the place was full of tourists in to see the show. 

I watched the Kuralt segment. I wish I had recorded it, but in those days, you needed a videocassette recorder, patience, and persistence. I lacked all three. The cigar store in Kuralt's report was barely recognizable. The cook/owner wore a clean apron and even a hat. Throughout the entire segment, he did not once have a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he cooked, harangued, or responded. No R-rated words were uttered. 

For the masses that day, the place cleaned up nice. It was reflected for the country in a mirror not of its making. It appeared not as the Americana it was, but as what the masses may have envisioned it as. It was cleaner, crisper, and idealized for the news. But it was not the cigar store of my youth. 

I am not certain why the memories of that old haunt came back to me recently. They say old age can bring transient thoughts, as well as take them away. It gets more difficult to decipher what tricks your mind is playing sometimes. 

In reflecting on those memories, and where we are some 50 +/- years hence. I am amazed at the transformation of America. Small towns themselves have struggled, and many have ceased. The mom & pops are mostly gone the way of progress, and national chains rule the marketplaces of retail, food service, and more. 

The mail-order days of the catalogs, from Sears, Montgomery Ward, and Penney's, have faded. See, before there was an internet, we used to look at pictures of products printed in books. We placed orders using a "phone," which was used to convey the sound of a human voice across wires to other humans. We have seen that paradigm innovate, dominate, stumble, and fail. So many dynasties fail. 

In those moments of change, we saw the existing paradigms as quaint or antiquated. The "next thing" was progress, modernity, and the future. The new is always shiny and pretty, and it is marketed to us by the best and the brightest. We are manipulated and even coerced - "all your friends are on Faceplace, why aren't you?" 

Sören Kierkegaard (1813–55), a Danish Philosopher, famously noted the truth of the human condition: "Life must be understood backwards; but…it must be lived forwards." I have witnessed the import and impact of the "new" and "improved" repeatedly. I have been sold many a bill of goods whose siren call in the moment was later tarnished by time and retrospection. I have lived it, and in looking back I understand it. I lament that the young cannot. 

 

Nonetheless, time and "progress" are inexorable. Today, I find myself striving to understand artificial intelligence, self-driving vehicles, social media, and a raft of other "new and improved." I want to engage them, to adapt, and to grow. I wonder if I have both capacity and patience. 

And yet, I long for an egg sandwich on a ceramic plate in a little dank corner of a smoke-filled room full of hot air, local politics, and hyperbole. And people. There were people, gathered, socializing, and engaging. They might spend an hour discussing the weather, but they were together to do it. 

Change is not new. Is it any different in the world of workers' compensation? Gone are the "new" fax machines of yesterday. The cell phone revolutionized law practice just before smart phones made them blasé. We have seen the advent of metrics, the computerized enhancements to records and more. 

We have lived through the internet. I remember bitter arguments about whether a law firm should have a website. The old guard insisted it was just a fad, just as some said billboards were. We have lived through email, social media, and a persistent evolution of "new and improved" softwares, tools, and more. Us old folks have indeed lived through change, and we have some perspective. 

Yes, tomorrow will be different. But I long for that egg sandwich, and all that it entailed. What are you enjoying today that you will miss in 50 years?

Whether that is rosy retrospection or fear of the future, I cannot tell. Where the world and its progress are taking us, I do not know. Whether tomorrow is better or just more, only time will tell. Nonetheless, I long for that egg sandwich, I reminisce, and I thought I would share it with you (AI made the picture below, but it just would not put that cigarette in the owner/cook's mouth). Perhaps someday even I will make AI work. 

If any of this triggered you, apologies. After all though, Reader "discretion (was) advised."