In his book The Great Good Place, Ray Oldenburg explores the importance of “third places” in civic life. Third places are those places outside of work and home where a person can go, relax, socialize, and feel part of a community. Such places promote virtue and boost psychological health; that’s why the subtitle of Oldernburg’s book is Cafes, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Bars, Hair Salons, and Other Hangouts at the Heart of a Community.
I recently had the joy of going to a brand new great good place. It’s Hill & Dale, a new record store in Washington, D.C. Hill & Dale sells records. New records. Vinyl records. That’s very cool, even more impressive is the space it’s in. Owner Rob Norton has created a great good place.
In recent years places like Starbucks have claimed the title of great good place, but the coffee chain is really anything but. In a real great good place, say an Irish pub or a classic diner, you don’t feel rushed. You aren’t crammed into your seat and made to feel anxious about lingering. Conversation with strangers is easy and natural; everyone doesn’t have their face buried in a laptop. You’re not made to feel herded into a line or prodded into spending money, although your conscience and others expect you to support the business in the best way you know how. You feel better, not worse, when you leave.
Hill & Dale is in a quiet space in Georgetown, off the main drag of M Street and a couple hundred feet from the sidewalk. It has nice high ceilings and clean walls that are decorated with posters and photographs of great musicians. And something special happens when you walk in: you calm down. You take a breath. You enter into the dreamscape of the music that’s playing. You start having pleasant conversations with strangers. It’s a totally different vibe from home and work.
This is not to say that great good places are morally ambiguous places. One point Oldenburg makes in his book is that great good places enforce certain rules, but in the gentlest way possible. A good joke is appreciated, but not hogging the conversation. Conviviality and a good drink are welcome, but not abrasive drunkenness. The language can be easy and free-flowing, but crude or off-color comments means others will quietly move away from you – or encourage you to find someplace else to hang out. This, argues Oldenburg, bleeds into the larger community: a person begins to conduct themselves better in public for fear of doing something that would tarnish their standing at the local watering hole. The question “What would the guys at the pub think?” says Oldenburg, is a healthy form of social control.
This was the vibe I got from my first visit to Hill & Dale. As with an Irish pub, you often find yourself shoulder to shoulder with a stranger; in this case you’re flipping through records rather than having a pint. Conversations organically start up, between and among people from all different walks of life, but you’re always aware that you’re in a space dedicated to art and not a football stadium. There’s a couch to sit on, even if you’re just hanging out. There’s a general feeling of comfort, unlike the tiny chairs and sharp angles of a Starbucks. And rules are gently enforced – or maybe even not so gently. I used to work in a record store in college, and on my first trip to Hill & Dale I was with a younger friend, the terrific opera singer Rebecca Henry. At one point I showed her the proper and improper ways to handle stacks of records – you don’t press them together or ever remove the shrink wrap – and she took it all in good stride, laughing when I exaggerated going into DEFCON mode when I saw kids manhandling records.
I left Hill & Dale feeling like I had been to a special place, a place not only of commerce but of social and spiritual importance. And yes, I bought a record – R.L. Burnside’s Wish I Was in Heaven Sitting Down. I also made a video of the visit:
The post What Happened to “Great Good Places”? appeared first on Acculturated.