The End?
… of the Sunday Market, I mean. We had our “last market” this past Sunday, which was (to say the least) bittersweet.
I talked to about a dozen people over the course of the weekend about the dilemma the Sunday Market (and the community of vendors) finds itself in. I was surprised to hear criticism of the County Board—specific in some cases, general in others—from everyone I spoke to. There was not one apologist or even “hopeful citizen” among them, which I have to admit I was really surprised by. There seems to be, at least among the people I spoke to, a groundswell of discontent.
For example. I was talking to one of the other vendors about what had happened in the past couple of weeks, not noticing a “civilian” (non-vendor) lingering nearby, looking at some things being offered for sale but overhearing our conversation by circumstance of proximity.
The conversation (naturally) centered around Mary Hynes, who had called the meeting and then shoe-horned the closure announcement into the last two minutes, leaving no time for discussion.
During a lull, the “bystander”—well and smartly dressed, obviously someone who has seen a measure of success in whatever her profession might be—spoke up. “You know,” she said. “I worked with Mary Hynes …”
I braced myself, thinking I’d put my foot in it and was about to get blasted. It’s bad form to talk politics or religion among strangers, but especially bad form when you’re attached to a business trying to provide quality goods and a positive experience to anyone you might be lucky enough to attract as a customer—you do not want to alienate them.
I was in for a bigger surprise, though.
“She’s just like the rest of them. Once they get in office, they just don’t give a damn about the people who got them elected.”
Wow. Without saying anything that would give away her identity, I will say she spoke at some length about having worked with Mary Hynes in the past, and even having worked on her campaign. She had met and was familiar with other board members—Jay Fisette, Walter Tejada, board chairman (that’s how she’s referred to on the Arlington County website) Barbara Favola (well known for her trademark red blazer). She roundly condemned them all as “typical politicians.” I was pretty much speechless.
Here was a “lifelong Arlingtonian and yellow-dog democrat” just laying into the County Board, people who I had thought were seen as progressive and responsive. “Typical politicians” would be a refrain I heard over and over during the course of the day as I spoke to friends, regular customers, people who stopped by and inquired about setting up as vendors in the future. A friend who I’ve known for over two years (we met at the market; he started out as a customer, but as often happens the relationship has changed) said simply, “I’m getting sick of this Board.”
It is, perhaps, predictable. People are seldom completely happy with their elected officials, and often experience “buyer’s remorse.” The recent criticisms of the Obama administration featuring prominently in national news may have sparked some introspection on the local level among voters and taxpayers.
I know that I have been disappointed (and it’s no exaggeration to say bitterly so) by local government, but I was genuinely surprised that so many other people, especially people of the same political party as those in power, felt the same. If I had to sum up the general feeling one word, I’d say “used.” Then again, maybe it isn’t so surprising that I wasn’t aware of the consensus—I have seldom talked politics, local or otherwise, at the market.
Someone I’d just met (who was asking who to talk to about setting up as a vendor), greeted the news of the market’s closure with “I was just reading that they’re cutting more bus lines on the way over here, and they were closing a nature center near my house. Now this? This doesn’t even cost the county any money.”
I guess there might be a wake-up call coming for the Arlington County Board in the next few elections.
(By the way, each of the conversations I mention above had at least one other witness—I’m trying to walk a tightrope between divulging anyone’s identity and seeming like I’m just bashing the County Board for no good reason; I hope I’m succeeding, but please address any concerns you might have to me, care of this website).
Enough of the political. On a personal level, the “last market” feeling was downright depressing, but only because of we were reminded of how wonderful the Sunday markets have been in the past.
I saw a couple of friends I hadn’t seen in about six months (again, the relationship started as “vendor-customer,” but changed over the time that I’d known them). I’d met them in sequence—first him, then her—originally concerning a gift from him, for her. They had just recently met then (this would be about two years ago, maybe a bit more), and he wanted to be sure to strike the right tone with his gift (first gifts are notoriously tricky).
Evidently he chose wisely: they were stopping by to announce their engagement. Amidst the round of congratulations and when’s-the-date questions, he said “If it weren’t for you guys, it may not have happened!” I’m sure he was (at least) half-kidding, but she echoed his sentiment by saying “yeah, it all started here with that first gift.” Again, I’m sure these comments were made mostly in jest, but it did remind me of all the positive experiences I’ve been graced with over the past four years at the market.
I can’t count how many times I’ve been part of helping someone pick out a birthday gift. When you hear later that the recipient “loved it,” it becomes a lot more than simple commerce. Being some small part of the celebrations of others is something that I really treasure about my experiences at the market, and I know it’s not just me.
Other vendors have sold furniture to young couples who had just moved to the area, then a year or so later sold them children’s furniture for a recent addition to their growing family. Last week, a father-son duo spent an hour or so looking at bikes together (the son left with one, the father with the intention of coming back soon for one of his own so they could ride together).
I remember a Sunday market visitor buying a framed advertisement for a Nash automobile that his father owned. He was buying it in early spring, saving it for a Father’s Day gift. It was one of three left in the world of that specific make and model. “What are the odds?”
Then there are stories like the pair of chairs purchased for $60 at the Sunday market several years ago that turned out to be worth exponentially more: one was later sold to a private collector for in excess of a hundred thousand dollars, the other now resides in a museum.
And then there are all the visitors passing by from their hotels to the metro, asking directions or recommendations on local restaurants or things to see and do in the area. As a native Washingtonian, I’ve always tried to help people find their way around and guide them towards locally owned businesses (which is something I haven’t even touched on: the impact the absence of the Sunday market might have for business owners in the Courthouse area).
The Sunday market meant a lot of great things to a lot of people, things that many of us are just realizing now that they’re in serious jeopardy (we still haven’t given up hope).
I told my recently engaged friends about the market’s closure (they’ve known about our previous attempts to get the Clarendon Alliance to promote and advertise—or even just manage—the market competently). I also told them about the complete stonewalling we’ve experienced from Arlington County government and the County Board members who claim to be interested in supporting the market.
The by-now-familiar criticism of local government returned. “That sucks. I kind of feel like this is less of a cool place to live, now.”
I know the feeling.
