I think I’ve figured out why all those dot-coms tanked. Besides the fact that their expensive TV ads were incomprehensible. I mean, why pay a mil for 30 seconds of artsy/techie visuals when nobody can figure out the name of your company, much less what it is you’re trying to sell?
A few weeks ago, I was doing some research for an article on “sick building syndrome,” which is like a bad B movie called, “The Mold That Ate Tokyo.”
So I punch in a word search for stachybotrys, which yielded dozens of informative links plus this not-so-very-useful dot-com ad: For stachybotrys and lots of other cool stuff go to ebay. Well, I don’t think so. Lethal fungi aren’t on my shopping list this week.
In a world of huge conglomerates, it’s reassuring to know there are still a few independent shopkeepers, though their numbers are dwindling.
They’ve thrived without TV ads, investors or going public. They’re the ones on whom we all rely for everything from boots and saddlery to watch repair.
The little town of Calabasas has gotten a huge facelift with the nicely designed Calabasas Commons: movie theater, drug store, market, Barnes & Noble, Gymboree, Hallmark and many upscale shops, most of which are chain stores. But across the street in the older section, a nonchain jeweler has quietly plied his trade for decades. Mr. Cole repaired countless chains for my elephant pendants, replaced the batteries in my watches and resized my rings. Since he charged so little for these services, I always bought Christmas and birthday gifts from him.
Recently, I went with my daughter to Cole’s to have her rings remodeled. The diamonds had come from a watch casing that had been stepped on by a horse. Mr. Cole had bought the damaged gold band and told me to save the diamonds for something else. When my twin daughters turned 21, I gave them the stones to use as they wished, and Mr. Cole had restyled them.
Now Betty wanted to have hers redone. While she discussed this with Mr. Cole, I bought a watch for Susan and one for myself, which were both on sale. When we left, Betty said to me, “How amazing is that, to go into Cole Jewelers and actually talk to Mr. Cole.” I guess she was right.
Last week, I stopped by to have my son-in-law’s ring resized and found the door locked, the display cases empty, the gilt lettering removed from the window. The florist next door said he had decided to retire and that dozens of people had come in to ask about him. I remembered when he’d had a heart attack and his wife and sister had kept the store running, sending out the repair work while he recuperated. Now they were gone for good.
I found Addie’s Gold & Jewelry in a large Valencia strip mall amid a Mervyn’s, a Big 5, a See’s and a Target. It didn’t look promising. But once inside, I met a friendly young clerk, who looked at the ring, warned that the inscription might be lost in the process and that she’d feel better if my son-in-law could bring his finger in to make sure of the size. I told her this was not going to happen, and that we’d pay even if it wasn’t exactly right. Then I asked if there was a real person named Addie. The clerk smiled and said, “Of course. Would you like to meet her?” I was amazed. Addie, a stylish Asian woman with a friendly smile, came out and shook my hand. I told her about Mr. Cole. She said she had been in business there for 20 years. Who would have guessed?
I thought of all the trades people who had been squeezed out by the big chain stores. And the few who survived, like Freddy, who could repair any TV set regardless of its age and willingly told you if the repair would cost more than the set was worth.
We’ll miss you, Mr. Cole, but I hope you and your wife enjoy retirement; you’ve certainly earned it. Addie will have to take over. And to Freddy and the other craftsmen we’ve relied on for so long, hang in there. We don’t all want to go to McOutlets or shop the Net. Some of us still need to talk to the guy whose name is on the door.