I had to change a password again the other day. Chances are you know the drill. Factor in two-step authentication and all the surrounding necessities, and it’s several minutes of your life you’ll never get back — assuming it works correctly the first time, and if you’re anything like me, it almost never does.
And for what? Why, to keep the hackers and thieves away, of course. There’s just no trusting people these days, and the fact we need multi-level passwords to protect ourselves online — not to mention all the extra security features of our homes and businesses — continues to strike me as, well, depressing.
Now, before any of you accuse me of another “get off my lawn” column, let me be clear: This is most definitely going to be another “get off my lawn” column. That’s because I remember an era, and a place, where thievery was not only highly frowned upon, it just wasn’t accepted as something most normal people would sink low enough to do.
On that note, I present my memories of the Flournoy Store.
The store — still open to this very day — was a little more than a mile from my childhood home, just a few minutes’ bike ride. They relied almost entirely on the support and trust of the local community. In turn, they trusted the community right back, to a degree that doesn’t even rank on the feasibility scale here in 2024.
First, believe it or not, you didn’t need to worry about bringing money to the store. Just about every local family had a tab. You’d get your groceries, lay ’em on the counter and either Cap or Florence Whitlock would write everything down in a little yellow pad. Every couple of weeks, dad would bring the checkbook, and we’d settle up.
No interest. Just pay when you can.
That was one part of the trust they showed the community. The other will sound much more implausible, especially today.
There were two gas pumps at the store. The pumps weren’t locked, and there was no technology inside the store that told them how much customers had pumped. Thus, you’d just fill your tank, go inside and tell them how much you owed, and they’d take your word for it.
Of course, sometimes you’d need gas when the store wasn’t open. That was OK too. You’d just gas up and come back to pay another day.
Yes, for a good number of years out there, we actually got gasoline on the honor system.
Eventually a few bad apples started taking advantage of that situation, which led to the Whitlocks taking the previously unheard of step of padlocking the pumps at night. But even then, they made sure their regular customers knew where to find the key: Under a big, highly conspicuous rock just a few feet from the pump.
Let’s compare all of that with today. It’s been decades since I bought gas anywhere that didn’t require me to either pay first or at least insert my card. Thieves have even ruined that experience with card-scamming equipment. You not only have to pay in advance, somebody might be ripping you off while you’re doing it.
These days, thanks to the benevolent nature of our California state legislature and the fact we have far more criminals than we apparently have the ability to arrest or punish, stealing merchandise worth $950 or less is a misdemeanor. That means law enforcement often doesn’t have the means or interest to investigate these cases; they’re far too busy with bigger crimes that our overwhelmed district attorney’s offices will hopefully be able to prosecute. I’m trying to imagine Cap Whitlock telling a district attorney “I’m not sure how much gas they took, because we’ve never locked the pump.”
That little store, and community, probably sent me into the world with a warped sense of loyalty and an unwavering feeling of trust for anyone who showed they deserved it. As our state has become so overwhelmed with crime it’s barely even illegal anymore, I’m left with a pretty low tolerance level for the thieves who put us in this situation. I know there are a myriad of reasons for crime; I also understand that in most cases, crime wasn’t the only option.
I often wonder how we got from there to here. It’s almost as if we’re all so busy protecting our passwords, we’ve barely noticed something much more important has already been taken away.
Mike Wolcott is the editor of the Enterprise-Record. He can be reached at mwolcott@chicoer.com.
