My son doesn't see a pizza he doesn't like (although olives and cheese is his favorite). The pizzeria between his day care and our house is a magnet and the source of many a threenager battle after pickup. Our routine has evolved to a weekly Tuesday visit.
As soon as we walk (or in his case, run) through the doors, the owner turns from the large brick oven to say hello and get started on the olive pizza, and the server fetches a matchbox car, which is curiously different every time. Our dependability helps the restaurant, which certainly does not count Tuesdays as its most brisk business day. We are a predictable tab. And the restaurant, in turn, helps our family stay sane through threenagerhood.
In short, we have become regulars.
To be honest, for a long time, I had not thought much about the idea of regulars. If you had asked me, I may have said something about the TV show Cheers. But more recently I delved into Ray Oldenburg's notion of the "third place," which is distinguished from the "first place" of home and the "second place" of work. Third places, for Oldenburg, were commercial spaces that did more than sell products or services. He identified a number of characteristics that define them, things like being inviting, having conversation as the main activity, and frequent laughter. But the one that has stuck with me is that they have regulars.
Some critics have pointed out that Oldenburg's examination of third places skewed toward the leisure spaces of single upper-middle-class urban men. The bars and coffee shops he wrote about weren't equally available, or equally welcoming, to everyone. But the idea of regulars isn't limited that way. A person can be a regular regardless of family situation, location, race, gender, or income. And they can be a regular at a bar or a coffee shop or perhaps a local yarn store or barber shop. Even more broadly, they can be a regular at a non-commercial place like a church, a library, or a chess table at the park.
It's with this frame that I devoured Social Infrastructure is Essential Infrastructure by the Institute for Public Knowledge (run by Klinenberg) and the design firm Gehl. The report makes a distinction between everyday programming (like dance groups, ping-pong, storytime), occasional events (like book talks or sports tournaments), and extraordinary festivals. It points out that extraordinary events tend to get more attention, buzz, and funding than the more placid everyday programming.
As I read the report, I kept picturing the regulars behind those everyday activities. And I realized that it is their steady presence that keeps the lights on for the big stuff. Their value does not show up on income statements. But by showing up week after week, they become a natural constituency for continued investment. Some may show up at public budget hearings to encourage continued funding, but the vast majority just make the case with their presence. Empty basketball courts are far more likely to have their hours cut or to disappear altogether than ones filled by pickup games and youth leagues. Attendance in these noncommercial spaces is in itself a signal for continued funding.
And yet I think there's cause not only to celebrate existing regulars, but to make room for more of them. They do more than just show up. I took my son to a splashpad for the first time this weekend and was relieved that the regulars brought communal water toys for those of us who weren't seasoned enough to know to bring our own. Regulars act as stewards of their places. They are there often enough that they see what staff can't see, and they feel comfortable enough to point it out, or in the best cases, fix it (or provide it) themselves.
Regulars are also engines of growth. At their best, they are hosts rather than gatekeepers. They have the comfort of insiders, which means they have the capacity to welcome newcomers. (What is less welcoming than walking into a room where you're the only one?) And regulars are the best proselytizers because they want to share their place with friends, family, and new people they meet. (I think we can all picture the conversation with that person who can't wait to share that they love the Mahjong night at the library.)
As the parent of a young child, I am not personally a regular at one of Oldenburg's bars. But I see now that there are many ways for people of all kinds of backgrounds to be regulars in all sorts of spaces.
The IPK/Gehl report says that institutions and policymakers can support everyday activities (and the regulars who enliven them) with predictable hours, free or affordable programming, and partnerships with community groups, which already have their own regulars. I would add they can hire the kind of staff who learn names and remember matchbox cars. Most importantly, they can simply value the quiet power of regulars.
Tomorrow, when I pick my son up at daycare, he will ask me what he asks me every day. "Can we go to pizza?" My three-year-old has, without quite knowing it, made us regulars somewhere. Saying yes will avoid a meltdown and give us another olive-infused meal together. But it will also be a small civic act: the act of being a regular.
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