“… to that old wooden door that you have to close behind you … to the wide board wooden floor worn down soft … to the real thing, good advice, quality at a fair price … and know that they know how deep the frost grows here …”
– from the song “East Asheville Hardware” by David Wilcox
I’ve spent many hours of my 36-year-old life in the local hardware store. I’ve got fleeting images of my father leading a much younger, thinner version of me through aisles of screws, gaskets, washers, bolts, brushes and odd-shaped metal objects, the purpose of which I still don’t know. Dad would always know exactly where he was going without having to ask for help. “We just have to get a flimflam for the jimjam,” he’d say and I would nod and trail along as he purposefully walked to his destination. He knew the hardware man by name (I don’t remember it) and always paid in cash. Those are good memories, my first of tools, of that sharp, oily smell of unused nails, nuts, bolts and washers, of a place where my father felt perfectly at home and I felt perfectly … in awe.
As you’ve probably surmised, my alias isn’t Mr. Fix-It, but I have done my share of duct taping, screw tightening and gluing. I’ve got a big book of do-it-yourself ideas (that serves as a pretty good door jamb) and I even know how to properly swing a hammer (I’ve only hit my thumb twice in my many years of whacking). My true expertise, however, lies in the science of replacing washers in a kitchen faucet to stop that insufferable dripping that has been known to keep my wife up at night. I don’t have kids yet, so I don’t have anyone trailing behind me whenever I stride toward that aisle filled with washers of all shapes, sizes, circumferences, thicknesses and, well, you get the picture. I have, however, since I’ve lived near the Town of Hyde Park, always had a local hardware store to visit whenever I’m in need of a thingamajig.
In a few weeks, that will be gone. I felt a pang of sadness when I read that Crispell Hardware, owned by brothers Walter and Niles Crispell, is closing soon, after 58 years of serving the tool needs of the citizens of Hyde Park. According to the story, the brothers cite health problems and a decline in business as their reasons for closing. My reactionary self instantly jumped to conclusions. “Another one bites the dust,” I thought. “Home Depot’s went and closed another one.” That’s what we all think, isn’t it? If someone closes the doors on his business, it has to be because of a run of bad luck, right? It must be just another example that the classic ideal of Main Street, U.S.A. is a thing of the past. Gone. History. De-funct. Spppfft.
But then my contemplative self took over, the more rational person who lives inside my head. Main Street, U.S.A. Dead? Nah. Just look around. Hyde Park. Rhinebeck. Red Hook. Millbrook. They’ve all got thriving main streets. Seriously. Have you taken a drive through Rhinebeck on the weekend lately? It’s impossible to get through the village center without braking at least five times for a smiling, jaywalking pedestrian. Millbrook has all those antique stores bustling with shoppers. Red Hook has bookstores, grocers, music stores, the library. And then there’s that little revitalization thing happening on Main Street in the City of Poughkeepsie right now. Lower Main Street is well on its way to once again becoming a thriving center, thanks in part to great restaurants, art galleries, a classic theater and the train station. And if you take a moment to look at the work they’ve done so far on the Luckey Platt building (get those permits in order please!) on the corner of Main and Academy streets, you can see the potential of a return to its former glory.
Picture this. You’re a pigeon flying over Main Street on a fall Saturday afternoon in 2010. As you flap your wings, you tilt your head down and see crowds of people walking up and down both sides of the street. They smile, go in and out of businesses, sit at tables in front of new eateries, carry shopping bags and go about their days. It’s the weekend and there is a lot of activity. It’s something to behold, isn’t it?
Does it sound far-fetched? I don’t think so. Get enough people to believe in something and you can make a difference (yes, I’m a little bit of an idealist). Will it happen? Ay, there’s the rub. I sure hope so. I’m on board and looking forward to the ride.
I just hope there’s room for a hardware store, because I’ll need to replace the washers in my kitchen faucet in another few years.
Questions? Comments? Send feedback to the Weekly Beat editorial board here.