viving hotel has become the city hall, anothernan antique shop; one railroad stationnis the Chamber of Commerce,nthe other a garden center and farmers’nmarket. A cotton warehouse has becomena row of shops, an aerobic center, andna bakery. Mainstreet stores are all innbusiness. An industrial zone has attractednsome new plants including,nrecently, the first Japanese manufacturernto come to south Georgia.nWe surveyed the area’s ethnic foods asnwe had in Toronto—meaning, in Tifton,nthe barbecue and catfish places. Butnfirst we sampled the opinions of localngourmets (e.g., the public library staff,na pawnshop owner, members of anwedding party). In our final rankings,nour findings coincided exactly withnthe judgments of these resident expertsn(who might, of course, have been cousinsnof the owners). First place for barbecueneasily went to a former filling stationncarryout run by two black men with ansingle table under a pecan tree in thenback. The worst in all categories (sandwich,nBrunswick stew, cole slaw) was anregional chain. The best catfish was atna packed, locally owned seafood placenwith no frills, meaning no tablecloth.nOn the opposite side of the highway isnthe “Agrirama,” Tifton’s attraction forntourists, most of whom seemed to benfrom around Tifton. It is a collection ofnantique farm cabins, schools, barns, mills,nand businesses, all of which are beingnoperated by old folks who grew up keepingnhouse, milling corn, grinding cane,nsawing logs, or dispensing sodas.nThese Georgia buildings have a peculiarnarchitecture. You won’t see them outsidenthe region, but you can still see the samencabins and barns on back roads. Tiftonersncome to inspect this “living museum,”nI expect, not for nostalgia, but becausenthose country buildings, like the othersnin “historic Tifton,” make them feelnproud about structures, a physical contextnthat sets them apart from other people.nIt gives them a sense of identity, ofnbelonging to some place—though certainlynnot one of them would describe hisnmotivation in that highfalutin way.nSo how is it these two very differentnplaces are such successful, happy, goodnplaces to live? We knew the answersnbefore we went (and you did before readingnthis far). But we saw the two principlesnstark and plain before us, nine hundrednmiles apart.nFirst, architecture counts. Worthy buildings,nespecially those preserved from thenpast, provide the primary structure forncivic consciousness. People don’t throwntrash or commit crimes so freely in ancity they care about. They are encouragednto behave as if they were in a museum,nplace of worship, or their own house.nEven the dullest of us has some aestheticnfeeling, and a sense of pride ornself-respect comes from being part ofna handsome physical continuity. It’s asnif Cleveland had a winning footballnteam every day of the year; we’re all partnof this larger, beautiful surround.nMost Americans have moved fromnsomewhere else. Fine buildings createna community that welcomes, inducts,nand implicitly sets a standard for conduct.nArchitecture sets a tone—inspiring,ndepressing, or numbing. Alas, the tonenyou hear in Cleveland’s downtownnis mostly discordant and destructivenof public spirit.nA parking lot never turned anyone on;nauto ignition is not the spark of life. Therenare blocks of ill-zoned land in Clevelandnthat deaden the passing soul because humannlife has been expelled from them.nA city that disregards public pleasurenand honors private profit in permittingnwasteful destruction and banal constructionnwill get the kind of self-preoccupiedncitizens it deserves. The moneynwe save on cheaply designed publicnhousing projects is spent many timesnover tending to the social ills thosendepressing structures help to create.nThe second lesson also has to do withnscale—not only of structures, but of enterprises.nThe person who serves food orngoods has to have a stake in the process,nif work is to bring the mutual satisfactionnwe used to know in this country. Corporatenchains transform small enterprisesninto heavy bureaucracies—the kind wendeplore in Washington. But because theynare private and market-responsive—nqualities we esteem—we don’t seem tonobject to the subtle or blatant, but alwaysnpowerful, ways they shape our lives.nIt is a deadly figure, a finger of blamenpointed at each patron, that one chain hasnsold 11 billion hamburgers. Think of thenmany thousands of little guys who werendriven out of business in the process,nhow much creativity lost, how manynsinews of the community were cut. It isnprecisely a revulsion against lack of choice,nagainst sameness and massiveness and,nabove all, against control from above andnoutside that has produced the democraticnrevolutions in Eastern Europe andnelsewhere. This social decay is happeningnnnhere: it is the slow, quiet demise of ourntraditional way of life.nToronto and Tifton tell us that we donnot need a revolution or nationally fatalnsleeping sickness to free ourselves from homogenizationnand external control. Thensolution is at hand if the vision is clear.nPreserve what is best in the physical citynof the past. Preserve and nurture thensmall and indigenous entrepreneur.nCelebrate diversity and keep it authenticnand vital. A great city is neither a museumnnor a theme park. People have livednwell in cities like Cleveland before us.nThat great achievement demands ournrespect and our active emulation.nHenry Precht is,a retired foreign servicenofficer and the president of the ClevelandnCouncil on World Affairs.nLetter From Arizonanby Gregory McNameenEmpire of the Antsn”America,” noted H.L. Mencken, “is anland so geographically tilted that every-nA CHRISTiAN VISION BOOKnMAN AND MARXISMnReligion and the Communist RetreatnFREE SHIPPINGn$9.95 paperboundn178 pagesnVisa / MC / Discovern1-800-437-2268nFor discount informationn(517) 439-1528next. 2319,’nHILLSDALEnXzc OLLEGE ~nJUNE 1992/47n