My time on stage is most likely done, unless Gen Alpha decides to bring the struggle session to American shores, but sometimes when I am working up the courage to talk to other dads at the playground while my daughter impatiently waits for their kids to get off of the good swing, I remind myself that I used to be kind of cool. People used to pay money to watch me play music and perform comedy, and the comments from critics I got were pretty positive, except for one that has stuck with me through the years.
Walter's (first on Washington Ave, then on Naylor St) was a vital waypoint in my development into adulthood. I met my core group of adult post-college friends there, I played shows there, I developed my first feelings of confidence there. Walter's was a true independent music venue, every band with enough indie cred passed through the Walter's stage. There were memories that we still talk about decades later, some moments that feel shockingly dangerous to look back on but were weirdly funny at the time like when Two Gallants got tased by the cops and a riot broke out, any of the dozens of times Roy the bartender fired a gun into the air, and sweeter moments like watching our friends in The Dimes/Young Mammals, Buxton, and Wild Moccasins share the stage with larger than life indie acts like The Walkmen and Warpaint. I got to share a few moments like that playing with Titus Andronicus and The So So Glow a few years later. The memories were core, but there was a cast of characters that made Walter's feel truly rooted as an institution.
One of these cast of characters was Terry, the sound guy. This was a man who in a very real sense made things work, Walter's sound punched above its weight. His technical skill was impressive, his patience and kindness towards a bunch of twenty-somethings with ambitions dreams of indie fame was legendary.
I had a spot on a stand-up show one night in 2012, I told an offhand joke about my embarrassment to be considered a "local." I was taken with the idea of a digital network of connections, to be rooted in one place felt antiquated to me and not where I felt like I belonged. When I stepped off stage, Terry stopped me and told me that my joke hurt: being a local was something that made him proud. Delivered with the same patience and kindness as any of the times when I fucked something up during sound check, his reaction immediately shifted my attitude about the role and utmost dignity of being a "local." Without Terry's kind aside this project wouldn't exist, nor would my foundational understanding that true community places like Walter's are a vital part of the fabric of our society, partially because they allow local figures like Terry to make themselves visible and known.
Roy Oldenburg, American sociologist, arrived at this understanding a few decades earlier. Oldenburg noted that local figures provide continuity and identity to a place. This allows them to act as informal hosts who can integrate newcomers and lower barriers to entry, making a community more welcoming to join into. This all allows them to act with a great deal of power to transmit local knowledge, stories, and norms. Through their presence and interactions, they create the unwritten rules that govern how people interact in that space, creating social cohesion and an environment that can protect its community (link to Walter's sign).
What are Third Places?
Oldenburg is most notable for coining the term Third Places. Third places are primarily thought of as informal public gathering spots that exist outside the two usual social environments of home (the "first place") and work (the "second place"). Third places are the cafes, pubs, barbershops, bookstores, parks, and other venues where people come together voluntarily for conversation and community. They are places that facilitate social connection.
Third Place Defining Features
They operate on neutral ground, meaning no one plays host and everyone feels free to come and go.
They function as levelers, where social rank and status are set aside in favor of more egalitarian interaction.
They have regulars who give the place its character and welcome newcomers, yet remain accessible and unassuming, with low barriers to entry.
And they serve as a home away from home, providing warmth and a sense of belonging without the obligations of domestic life.
Oldenburg noted back in the 1980's that participation in the spaces were already declining. In the time since the publication of The Great Good Place, his prediction has continued to prove prescient. Today, in the mid-2020s, in the time since the COVID-19 pandemic, participation has dropped even further. Personal preferences have changed dramatically with the introduction of social media and the smartphone, as socializing has for the first time shifted more and more towards screens (cite data here).
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