I used to spend nights at the Village Gate on Bleecker Street. I’d finish my bartending shift at 2am, walk across the street, and sit in the small room to listen. Sometimes, if I had the courage, I’d play.
The room wasn’t much to look at. Small. An upright piano. Nothing about it felt important in the way important things are usually presented to us. But it was. It’s where I watched Joshua Redman and Brad Mehldau figure it out in real time, night after night, set after set.
It gave us access to something unpolished and human. That’s what made it powerful.
The Village Gate is gone. The rent became unsustainable, and the space became a CVS. After that, I never stepped inside. Not only on principle, but because a few blocks away, on Sixth Avenue, there’s C.O. Bigelow Apothecaries. It’s been there since 1838. One of the last independent pharmacies of its kind.
Inside, the floors creak and the shelves are curated, not stocked. Someone looks up when you walk in, and someone who understands what they’re selling helps you find it, even if it’s just a tube of toothpaste.
Places like that carry something forward. Not just products, but standards. Care. A way of doing things that has been refined over time and passed down.
We’ve convinced ourselves that scale is progress, that bigger is better, and that convenience is the goal, but that comes with a huge trade off.
When a place like Bigelow disappears and something like CVS takes its place, nothing immediately dramatic happens. The shelves are full, the lights are bright, and everything works as expected. On the surface, it feels like nothing has been lost.
But something else gets stripped away, and it’s harder to notice until it’s already gone.
The conversation, the sense that someone is paying attention, the expertise, the care. These are the things that quietly disappear. And once they do, they don’t come back.
John Sherman saw it coming in 1890: “If we will not endure a king as a political power, we should not endure a king over the production, transportation, and sale of any of the necessaries of life.”
The Sherman Antitrust Act was meant to guard against concentration. At a certain point, scale stops serving people and starts replacing them.
But that ship has sailed.
The independent operator has faded, and the consumer has lost more than choice. Especially in the “necessaries of life”.
Research from Deloitte shows that smaller teams consistently outperform in complex environments. They move faster, adapt quicker, and produce better outcomes. Not because they have more resources, but because they are closer.
And now, the experience has been turned into a transaction.
Most people have felt it, even if they won’t acknowledge it or do much about it.
The alternative requires more effort, more intention, and a willingness to choose something less convenient.
Let’s be honest. Being human takes work.
For me, this is the real loss: When the small places disappear, we don’t just lose them. We lose what they produce, and with it, the sense that something real is still possible.
We don’t just lose the Village Gate. We lose everything that would have come after it.
And that is less human.
But not all of it is gone.
Some of it is still here. And some of it is still waiting to be built again.
Let’s do this!
Shaun
