Maine

Where Have All the Small Stores Gone?

Hank Garfield

A packet of jigsaw blades fits easily into a pocket of my autumn jacket. It so happened that I needed a blade on a recent November afternoon, and I had to think a minute on the easiest way to get one.

There used to be a hardware store in Penobscot Plaza that I could walk to. There used to be one on Broadway that was easy to reach to by bus. But they are gone. With a twinge of sadness, I realized that my best option was Home Depot, out on Stillwater Avenue, one of Bangor’s busiest car corridors. I slung my bicycle onto the Community Connector bus and headed off to the nearest corporate megastore to buy an item smaller than my hand.

We had been doing a home construction project, the lovely Lisa and I, and so far, everything too heavy or too bulky to carry home had been delivered. But sometimes you need to run out and get something. This is when owning a car can seem like a necessity – or at least an awfully handy convenience.

The store is set back from the street by a massive parking lot, sectioned off by raised asphalt islands into smaller lots. There is no designated bus stop, no sidewalk or walkway for pedestrians. Nor are any bike racks in evidence. Bus passengers must navigate the parking lot on foot, and bicyclists at their peril. I locked my bike to an outdoor display of garden tools and went in to find my blades.

As I pedaled home through the car traffic, I pondered the absurdity of operating a two thousand-pound, gas-burning, space-occupying machine to obtain one pocket-sized package of saw blades. Doesn’t anybody consider this, well, wasteful?

It’s bad enough for someone like me, who has chosen not to own a car and to live with the inconveniences. It’s worse for people who have no choice: those who can’t drive, due to medical, financial, or other reasons.

In 1999, I packed my kids, the dog, the cat, and all our worldly belongings into an Aerostar van and a U-Haul trailer and moved from California to Maine. We tried to take local roads instead of the Interstate when we could. As we went through Illinois and Indiana, we began to sense the same story in every town. The brick post office and a church or two in the old town center, and then, a mile or more away, at the junction with the highway, a cluster of the same 15 or 20 corporate businesses. The same chains in every town. I hoped it would never happen to Maine.

But it has. It just took a quarter of a century longer to happen here. You can no longer walk down to Joe’s Hardware Store and buy a rake, or a set of jigsaw blades, or anything else you might need. You have been handed another reason to own and drive a car, and another alternative has been eliminated.

It’s not just hardware stores. Downtown of small cities like Bangor seem to be replete with restaurants and bars and places to buy art or antiques, but mostly devoid of outlets for the practical items of day-to-day life. I’ve had similar problems getting ink cartridges, fresh fruit, cleaning supplies, clothing, and scotch tape. The whole idea of walkable cities and downtowns is predicated on the idea that people can live, work and shop in a small area. If you must go to an outlying box store to get what you need, doesn’t that defeat the purpose? Shouldn’t city planners be considering this when they draw up zoning regulations?

Car ownership would not seem like such a necessity in an environment where Joe’s Hardware could coexist with Home Depot. But powerful forces seem to want as many of us to drive and own cars as possible. Never mind the millions of Americans excluded from such a system, or the damage our dependence on cars inflicts on the natural world. The car is encouraged and incentivized at every turn.

But we can do something about it, however small and incremental. We can patronize pedestrian-friendly businesses. We can eschew drive-throughs. As much as possible, we can avoid the big-box stores. There isn’t always a choice. That’s why we need to use the choices we still have.

An Accumulation of Small Annoyances

Hank Garfield

When you decide to give up car ownership, two things will happen. You will walk more. And you will become, almost by default, an advocate for public transportation. Neither of these is a bad thing.

It helps if you live in a walkable community with both local and out-of-town bus service. In Bangor, we have the Community Connector and the Concord Coach bus systems. I hate to say anything negative about either of them, because I use them both a lot, and they are as essential to me as a parking space is to a car owner. On many mornings, I have walked the two blocks from my house up to the bus stop, boarded the Community Connector, ridden to the Concord Coach depot, and headed out of town.

Recently the Community Connector went to a fixed-stop system, which makes the routes more efficient and improves the reliability of the whole system. But there is no fixed stop at the Concord Coach depot. Riders transferring from one bus system to the other must get off the Community Connector at a sign down the block and walk approximately 100 yards, the length of an American football field. This isn’t a problem for a healthy person, but what of an older or physically challenged passenger with luggage? It makes no sense.

Twice now, I’ve had drivers refuse to let me off at the Concord Coach depot. They insist, as per the new rules, that I get off at the sign and walk. Then the bus continues on, right past the depot.

Small annoyances like this are a big reason more people don’t use public transportation. It would not take any longer for the driver to let transferring passengers off at the depot rather than the sign. But rules are rules, and they must be followed to the letter.

Concord Coach has rules of its own. The driver won’t let you off anywhere but at the depot. The afternoon bus from the coast arrives in Bangor at 5:30. This is five minutes too late to catch the last inbound Community Connector toward downtown. Sometimes I’ll see that bus after the Concord Coach gets off the interstate on Union Street.

In Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria, where I lived for a year, there is regular bus service to Sofia, the capital, about an hour and a half away. The bus goes directly from one city to the other, but once in Sofia, it makes stops at major intersections to let passengers off who don’t need to go to the central bus station. This makes eminent sense, and provides a friendlier and more convenient experience for passengers. But Concord Coach won’t do it. Rules are rules.

The Community Connector drivers will routinely ask passengers if they need to make a connection to another Community Connector bus. Similarly, the Concord Coach driver will ask passengers coming up the coast if they need to connect to the Cyr bus to Aroostook County. They will hold the buses for a few minutes if anyone answers in the affirmative.

But I’ve never heard a Community Connector driver ask if anyone needs to meet a Concord Coach bus, or vice versa. There seems to be little effort to coordinate the services. Bangor once had a downtown Greyhound bus terminal, but that has disappeared over the horizon to Hermon, where the Community Connector has no service at all.

This isn’t just a local problem. It’s representative of the American piecemeal approach to public transportation. There’s no centralized clearinghouse for ready information on how to navigate from one system to another. The result is an accumulation of minor irritations like missed connections and forced walks and strict adherence to rules that ought to be more flexible. None of these things are debilitating by themselves. But an accumulation of them will discourage people from leaving their cars at home.

I’ve talked with many people who support public transportation and want to demonstrate demand by using it more. My answer to them is that they should use it anyway, even if it’s inconvenient, because transportation planners look at current numbers. It’s the only way to get past the circular argument that public transportation is unpopular in the present and therefore a poor investment in the future.

Public transportation seems unpopular because official policy incentivizes people to drive. If you want better and more comprehensive public transportation, invest some of your time in using what’s already here, despite the accumulation of tiny annoyances that discourage people from using it.

The Last Mile

Hank Garfield

Last month Lisa and I ventured out of Maine to see Bob Dylan perform in Mansfield, Massachusetts, south of Boston. We did 99 percent of the trip by public transportation. It’s easy to get from Bangor to Mansfield and back by bus and train. There isn’t a compelling reason to drive it, even if you own a working vehicle, which we do not. The problem is the last (or first) mile.

As I wrote in a recent post, transporting a dog can be challenging without a car. Fortunately, I have a few readers, and I’m happy to report that this blog stimulated the economy by creating a job. Rita got to the kennel, we got to the bus, and the process was reversed the next day.

We had booked a hotel within walking distance of the concert venue, formerly known as Great Woods, but now called the Xfinity Center. The train from Boston stopped in the center of Mansfield, by all appearances a nice New England town with a village green, well-kept homes, and a central commercial district. But the hotel and the Xfinity Center weren’t located close to anything except an interstate highway exit, some three miles away. It was in no way walkable.

What to do? A few people were around, including a guy about our age who had gotten off the train and, as it turned out, had ridden the same bus down from Maine and was staying at the same hotel and going to the same show. Unlike me, he has conquered the entrance exam for Uber, and we all shared a ride, arriving at the hotel around 3:30.

The concert started at five with an opening act (one of four acts in total), and the hotel bar and restaurant opened at five. A poor bit of planning, I thought, especially since we hadn’t had lunch. The desk clerk at the hotel named a couple of restaurants a couple miles down the road, which was of course useless information to people without a car.

Maybe because I was hungry and a bit irritated, I decided to press my luck. “Do we get a discount on our room because we’re not using a parking space?” I asked.

He laughed, as if the question were ridiculous.

But I remember staying at a hotel in Quebec City many years ago, where the policy was just that: one charge for the room, and a separate charge for the parking space. It was nominal, I think about twelve dollars, but if you got there without a car, it was twelve bucks you didn’t have to pay. And why should you? By including parking in the price of the room, the hotel is effectively making you subsidize the cost of parking even when you don’t park. But we are so accustomed to accommodating cars and their owners that most people don’t see it as unfair.

The next morning, I asked at the front desk if we could get a cab back to the train station. The bad news was that, as in many places in the US., Uber has effectively killed off the local cab companies. The good news was that the guy at the desk was extremely polite and helpful, and called us an Uber on the hotel’s dime.

Still, I must wonder: why doesn’t the Xfinity Center provide a shuttle between the train station and the hotel on event nights? Why do they assume that everybody is going to arrive and depart by car, and why are there so few alternatives for those who don’t?

What we have here is an illustration of the “last mile” problem in public transportation. It’s easy to get from one transit hub to another. But only a car can take you from the front steps of your house to the gates of a concert venue. Does that make it worthwhile to drive from Bangor to southern Massachusetts? Obviously not. But the last mile problem discourages people from using public transportation even when it’s the most convenient option. Cities, towns and businesses that benefit from visitors must work together to come up with better solutions.