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Starbucks: The Achievable Good en Route to a More Perfect

July 2nd, 2009

25 years ago (gulp) when I was a student in Chapel Hill, you could go to the Carolina Coffee Shop and get a fairly bad cup of coffee. By 1986 could you get a really first rate cup of coffee only if you went to Broad Street Roasters in Carrboro.


Even the Ninth Street Bakery, with its tremendous Bear Claws could not give you a decent brew. Magnolia Grill (where I would work) had not yet opened and Lex Alexander had not yet bought the old grocery across the way and turn it into the Wellspring (eventually to be Whole Foods).


After college while living in Washington, DC it was the same story. No decent coffee. So I arranged for Broad Street to send me three pounds of beans a month. A pound of Guatemalan Coffee. A pound of French Roast. And a pound of Sumatra, which I would blend.

Each month the box came to my apartment on Lincoln Park, smelling wonderful.


I traveled in 1990 to Portland and had a great cup of coffee at Starbucks, and not long afterwards, Broad Street told me they would not be able to keep shipping me coffee. I called Starbucks and they happily filled my orders and every month my shipments came. About two years later Starbucks too ceased to deliver beans to my house, but by then they had begun to open retail outlets in the DC area – and elsewhere – and I could get beans that way. Their influence began to widen, of course, and it became possible to obtain coffee from Peets and other retailers.

In 1995 I and others started a farmers market in my new community – Del Ray, a neighborhood in Alexandria, Virginia. But the retail strip we ventured onto was merely storefront churches, beauty salons, decrepid redneck bars, and vacant lots. No coffee.

We found a street vendor who occupied a spot across from the Library of Congress and she agreed to come each saturday to our new and young and tiny farmer’s market. Between her arrival and those of a few farmers, neighbors could get heirloom tomatoes and apples before they became vogue and also get a great cup of coffee.

A local developer watched and saw an opportunity and put in a local coffee shop – St Elmos – on Mount Vernon Avenue, so now we had a farmer’s market on one side of the street and good coffee on the other. The demographics had been shifting over the years so such an enterprise could work.

Del Ray had become less blue collar, more professional. The trucks yielded to the Volvos. The petunias gave way to lavender beds. Sub-zeros were delivered to homes undergoing rehab. Fancy baby strollers appeared. But for me, having a good cup of coffee so close was what mattered.

Of course demand for the coffee at the local shop was not always there. There didn’t magically appear pent up demand and knowledge. It was grown, and in my view not by the coffee fairy but by Starbucks. Much the same way Wellspring and Fresh Fields grew demand for organic produce beyond the hippie dippy set.

This presented no difficulty whatsoever to me. However hostile towards Wal-Mart and Borders Books and McDonald’s I may be, I loved – and still retain some love – for Starbucks, for what they did was expose people accustomed to drinking water that had had a brown crayon dipped in it and was masquerading as coffee to what a decent cup of real coffee could be. It’s not a latte that you would find on Le Boulevard Haussman, but it was not meant to be. It’s a strong cup of three dimensional coffee for a reasonable price now available almost (but still not) anywhere. As Americans migrated from fake bread to the real thing, so too did we leave behind Maxwells and Folgers for something better. A-fukcing men.

Amid this some very interesting class warfare issues took root and hold to this day.

Starbucks became associated with McDonalds and with everything we think about when we think about sprawl and corporate farming and the Earl Butzing of corporate Iowa corn. Why? Ubiquity has much to do with it. But so too does upper class ignorance.

Peets is no less present in some markets, but the Berkeley crowd fitted Peets with a badge of authenticity.

Which brings me to something else that happened 20 some years ago. I was in a poor South Carolina community working on housing issues when the mayor said, beaming with pride, in a slow southern drawl, “we got us a Piggly Wiggly!” A store no wealthy community would want he had recruited and was glad to have.

His pride was instructive, for it illustrated that we all look at retail as something of a proxy for how far we have come, the extent to which we’ve arrived, or how far we have yet to travel. Which it surely is.

Middle income communities want a Nordstrom instead of a Macy’s. Working class communities want to be a step up from Sears. In Mill Valley California when I was polling people there in 2002, they did not want a Starbucks, for that was seen as beneath them. At the same time, residents in derascinated Richmond couldn’t get a 7-Eleven. Santa Cruz could afford to fight a Borders (which is valiantly tried to fend off), while less affluent and less educated places like Fresno were thrilled to have a Barnes & Noble.

In my community in Alexandria, some of the older blue collar types get their coffee today at the 7-Eleven, and have personally told me they do not feel welcomed at the local shop – St. Elmo’s. This is sad and instructive.

In the strangest places you find a Starbucks – off highway 99 north of Madera, California in the middle of grape orchards. Some locals there will still gather at the Fruit Basket and drink light brown water claiming to be coffee, but others have seen Starbucks-induced customer knowledge and subsequent demand as opportunities for local entreprenurialism.

I saw this last week in upstate NY in the weak market city of Jamestown. Jamestown is too weak to induce Starbucks perhaps, but the community has for ten years now been exposed in other markets to what coffee can be and so even in small Jamestown there are two places where you can get local brew that’s quite tasty if not perfect. There, people are employed selling a product for which there was no demand just a few years ago.

Along this journey, two interesting storylines are not often acknowledged.

First is that thousands of coffee shops are flourishing in America only because Starbucks educated a pallid whitebread American palette. Second, they did so while providing health insurance and a great working environment and a growing environmental ethic.

What troubles me about the gripes you hear about Starbucks – and I myself have plenty starting with the proliferation of silly sugar bombs ten inches tall that have nothing to do with food and coffee and everything to do with tasteless kitch – is that Starbucks’ everpresence somehow is aesthetically unappealing and beneath us. That’s the worst kind of elitism and I say this occupying shaky ground on that front.

And worse, other coffee outlets like Peets – which I like fine – are somehow okay, and that the 3,000 small shops across the country that are locally owned would somehow have materialized on their own and become successful.

In elite communities like Santa Fe, NM you hear at the Aztec or in other places the refrain to “buy local”, which is crucial.

I started a Farmer’s Market that had as its original proviso a buy local requirement, and did this 15 years ago.

But the gripes about Starbucks are the same as those hollow ones about Whole Foods, for neither see that Starbucks and Whole Foods made possible the financial success of local coffee shops and local small farms by educating a rather ignorant America on one hand, and aggregating buying power on the other but in responsible if imperfect ways. And both are exemplars of responsible business stewardship.

Across America poor communities (which is where I work) pray for retail of the sort that Starbucks and Whole Foods bring. A stamp of arrival. Responsible stewardship of business relationships. Ethical employment opportunity. Tax base. They pray for grocery stores that might bring fresh produce and quality products. Jobs – imagine that!

On the other sides of those same towns, snotty buy local efforts miss the forest they want to save for the trees they themselves are milling, by looking down their noses at a Whole Foods or a Starbucks as insufficiently perfect.

Fifteen years ago two tiny farms came to my farmer’s market: an apple grower from Pennsylvania and a vegetable grower from Maryland. Neither could really make much money. They had only a few markets as outlets. No big buyers. They were eeking out a living as organic farmers and neither Safeway nor Giant had any interest in them.

Last year my Whole Foods in Alexandria had a display of local tomatoes and other produce featuring both those farms, which are now flourishing. My local farms can finance their organic aspirations because an admittedly imperfect buyer arrived to make it possible and now educated consumers demand such things. This is the same with Starbucks.

Welcome to the real world.

An astonishing challenge I face everyday in poor communities is that the good my work can often usher in is challenged not by them, but by their putative advocates who allow an achievable good to be killed in want of a distant perfect. They do this in housing circles when they resist making distressed neighborhood better for fear of gentrification and they do this when it comes to retail that is not perfect.

Is Whole Foods perfect? Far from it.

But I was there in Chapel Hill and Durham when Lex Alexander made Wellspring a beautiful contribution to our palettes and community and I welcome Whole Foods today.

Is Starbucks perfect? Far from it. But you can be sure the person making your coffee – even if they are making some stupid cream swirl thing for someone else – has health insurance and a good wage. These are not to be trifled. This is what community development is all about.

Our work in strong economies is to soften the harsh edges of a healthy market to create opportunities for people otherwise left behind, and do it in ways that don’t weaken market incentives.

Our work in already weak places is to make them strong.

The kinds of businesses we have in our communities – or don’t have – says much about the capital those communities bring to the table: social and financial.

Our work should not be about keeping an imperfect Starbucks or Whole Foods out on the basis of an ephemeral definition of authenticity, but how to move entire markets get quality products in sustainable ways to people in all kinds of circumstances, and do so in a manner cognizant of the world as it is. The achievable good is the necessary step towards anything better.

James Dickey, Highway Crosses, Cigarettes, Gunsnammo

June 9th, 2009
Be Saved, Smoke, and Shoot Thy Gun

Be Saved, Smoke, and Shoot Thy Gun

Virginia is a larger state than one might imagine, and the drive from the DC area to the Knoxville-Chattanooga corridor can take a long time; long enough to generate a sense of confusion as one tries to sort out the sordid from the sorghum.

Cigarettes are big part of life between Roanoke and Bristol along 81, as is Jesus, his legions, and their guns.

Dickey referred to those in North Georgia and parts of eastern Tennessee and western NC as being from the land of nine fingered people. But I think he had it wrong in some material way; derisive and observant, such descriptives fail to see a deeper, richer hue.

It’s not the land of nine-fingered so much as it is the place where dogs aren’t on leashes, where dogs are bred and fought, where dogs are loose on country roads, where dogs are strayed on highways but not spayed at the vet, where dogs are shot when no longer convenient.

It takes a special kind of person to have a dog but not care for it. Such people surely live special kinds of days.

I imagine they get up and reach for a cigarette. Then they head over to the the bait and tackle to get ammo for their guns, pausing to genuflect at their own calvary. They take a breather between sermons to raise pups they’ll let wander the dirt roads, then drive their oversized F350s past a handful of a few more dogs on the side of the road.

Yet they are courteous people, and genuinely so. Deeply so. Careful drivers. Their farms are family farms at a family scale. In parts of Maryland where its more sophisticated, the farms reek of manure ponds and industrial scale. South of Knoxville n a country road last Sunday at 6 am the farms smell good, healthy. Even in the heat of the afternoon it smells like a farm, the way it should. When lost I found supportive, kind people offering direction and coffee, if not a ride to Sunday services.

There are always multiple truths.

As Daniel Quinn wrote, the world is divided between leavers and takers. It’s not blue and red as I used to believe. It’s those who think and those who don’t.

My farmer friend from near Hiawassee said to me overlooking the Tennessee River at sunset contemplating the Trail of Tears, “you can’t teach stupid.” And in some way I suppose he was right. But stupid is often courteous. Sophisticated is often selfish.

It’s grace I am looking for, in whatever color, along whatever road.

Fear of Poverty

May 27th, 2009

When you sit in front of the city council or local media and present your findings, heads nod. Concentrations of poverty make no sense. “When there are concentrations of poverty,” you tell your client, costs for services rise, crime increases, and a range of negative impacts result, not least of which is the huge missed opportunity for so many living in such terrible situations to find opportunity and make their way forward. But when it comes to acting on the recommendations – whether in the form of inclusionary zoning, or density bonuses, or mixed-income encouragements – then the heels dig in. Can’t. Nuh uh. Property rights. Property values. Fear takes hold. You can see it in their eyes. Those people near me? Not on my watch. When you open the discussion of what it is they are concerned about, I have learned it is the image they have of the troubles sure to follow. In their minds any low income family in their neighborhood is tantamount to importing all of West Baltimore right next door. Much of the work is to modulate an even handed conversation about the differences between affordable housing and the challenge of tackling poverty, the difference between today’s poverty of a family and endemic and chronic and systemic poverty. and the difference between the diffusion of poverty and the deconcentration of it. These are hard conversations.

Tea Leaves in Cleveland

May 20th, 2009

In January 1992, The New York Times Sunday Magazine ran a piece by Columbia’s Nicholas Lemann, titled “The Myth of Community Development”. It was then – timed to provoke critical thinking about the Clinton Administration’s vanilla urban policy of Empowerment Communities (EZ/EC) – a poignant evaluation of community development, and it asked hard questions.

Questions about the capacity of local organizations, the wisdom of economic development efforts in the hands of anemic CDCs. Neither wholly right nor wrong, the piece put on the table a necessary skunk: was it sensible to try to revitalize the inner city using the tools and thinking then at hand?

Sadly, the community development field largely ignored the piece, dismissed it, or otherwise resettled comfortably into our low-income housing tax credit barcaloungers and proceeded for the next 15 years to define the whole of community development as a production problem to be solved by a corps of community-based organizations, few with any real estate capacity whatsoever.

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