The Food Desert

I didn't slam the door, even though I wanted to, but the look in her eyes when it shut was priceless to me. She really thought a few apologies and a lot of sex would make it all better. She stood there for a few minutes, thinking I would change my mind. I'm sure she heard me fire up my bike and leave by the back driveway. When I got back an hour later she was gone, a thick note stuck in the door. I used it to light my charcoal grill that night, not even curious about what she wrote.

Chapter 4

The girl I was dating turned out not to be the one. We were great in bed and got along pretty well, but neither of us was what the other was looking for. In the end, we parted on good terms.

I dated from time to time, but still hadn't found the one. Kara remarried, and it crashed and burned in eighteen months. Cheating was rumored to be involved, but nobody knew who cheated on the other.

Two years later she married again, and two years after that, she was single again. I didn't hear much about her by then, so I couldn't say why and really didn't care enough to find out.

Apparently, the divorces had left her a woman of independent means and she went back to school, getting certified as a CPA, and went into real estate, a small office that handled high end properties, her listings coming from contacts she made while being married to her different spouses.

Her business flourished and she opened another branch, then another, until she had four offices. Between the second and third office she married again.

My cousin had told me about it on a trip home. I had gotten so involved in the new business I had to give up farming and had turned my acreage over to him, just to keep the farm viable.

This was the first time I had seen Kara in all those years, but I noticed she found a way to comment on my success. Maybe all those marriages made her even more mercenary.

So then, what was making me so successful?

Chapter 5

I farmed, and sold in a market on the outskirts of the high end section of the nearest town. My customers were doctors, lawyers, bored housewives, people with money, usually. They were nice people despite being well to do, and most were concerned enough to ask questions about how the food was produced, and how fresh it was. I had a core group that pretty much wiped me out every week, but this particular Saturday it was raining pretty hard, and it was an outdoor market. I only sold about half my product, and realized the rest would be going to a soup kitchen I supported. I always gave a portion of my vegetables to them anyway, my attempt at being a good citizen.

I was taking the short way home, going through the 'bad' section of town when I blew a tire. Cursing under my breath, I pulled under the shelter of a defunct minimart. It took me a while to move my produce out of the way to get to my spare, and I had it scattered about as I hurried to change the flat. Bad neighborhood, remember?

I was just letting the jack down when I heard a small, wavering voice.

"Them collard greens?"

I looked up to see a tiny black woman, guessing her to be sixty or better, looking at the basket.

"Yes ma'am, that and some kale thrown in. Do you like collards?"

"I love them," she sighed, "but I ain't had no fresh ones in years. Almost forgot what they look like."

Looking back, you realize that often your life pivots on the smallest of things. A chance meeting and a random act of kindness that day led to where I am now.

"Would you like some? You can have them, the market is over, I'm stuck with them and it would make me feel better, knowing they went to someone who could appreciate them."

It shocked me when tears sprang from her eyes, and she looked like she was going to faint. I grabbed her, and sat her in the passenger seat of my truck.

"You all right? Do I need to call someone?"

"I'll be fine in a minute, son. It's just that you don't see a lot of kindness in this place, especially from strangers. Are you a Samaritan?" She had a little smile on her face.

I grinned back. "No ma'am. I'm a Baptist, but I remember something about casting bread on the waters. The offer stands; you can have all you want."

"What else you got?"

I uncovered the basket of carrots, the spring onions, the heads of buttercrunch lettuce, the loose lettuce for salads, and another basket of mixed greens.

She just looked for a minute, then asked for my phone. She made three calls. Ten minutes later I was surrounded by older black and Hispanic women, all talking excitedly. Twenty minutes later, everything I had was gone, a line of ladies clutching bags like they held gold.

They all thanked me and I asked them why they didn't just buy produce from the grocery stores. The woman I met first explained.

"We ain't got no grocery store. The last one left ten years ago, after being robbed one time too many. We have to ride the bus twenty-four blocks to get to the closest one, and they don't like our business much. They follow us around like we're gonna steal. And you can't get much at a time, not and carry it on a bus. You breaking down here is like a gift from God."

It hit me what a captive market this could be. I asked her if she thought I could sell if I showed up the next Saturday. Instead of being happy she frowned. "You could bring three times what you had today and go home empty in three hours. But this is a bad neighborhood, white boy, like you would stick out like a sore thumb. Wouldn't take long for the homeboys to notice you. I wouldn't if I was you."

I drove her the three blocks to her home, offered to help carry her stuff, but she thanked me, yelled at a couple of ten year old boys that were hanging around, and handed them the bags. I thanked her for her business.

"I'll be here next Saturday at eight, same place. Spread the word."

She looked at me and finally smiled. "God bless you, boy. I hope you know what you're getting into."

She got my number, and I went home feeling good. She called me the next Wednesday. "You take EBT?"

EBT cards were the next generation of food stamps. I didn't, but there was an app I could get, and a scanner to use on my smartphone. "I will by Saturday."

"If you could come on Friday it would be better, We all get our cards then, and it goes pretty fast. I got a lot of neighbors wanting to see what you got."

Friday worked even better for me; that way I could make my regular market and keep all my customers happy. I worked four ten-hour days so it would work. I told her it would have to be afternoons and I would be there at two.

Chapter 6

I was more than a little surprised to see a small crowd gathered that afternoon, glad I had hit my buddies up for any excess they might have, just in case. I think I may have overloaded my phone, and I was sold out by four. As I was packing up to leave a cop car rolled in, and two cops, a huge Hispanic guy and a shorter black guy getting out.

Grandma Greely was still there, waiting for her promised trip home, and she greeted them by name.

"Officer Jose, Officer Dan, how ya'll today?"

"We're fine," answered the black one. "What you got here?"

She motioned me over and introduced us. "Officers, this young man is Steve Moore. He's a farmer, got him some mighty fine stuff here. God dumped him in my lap, and I ain't letting go. He's got good stuff, fresher than anything you can get at the store, cheaper, too, and I ain't got to go half-way across town to get it. You boys be nice to him."

We shook hands and talked for a minute. They seemed like nice guys. Grandma was talking to some latecomers, telling them I was out but I'd be back next week, and they got me off to the side.

"Don't take this wrong, it does us good to see you here, to see these folks this happy. If you could keep coming back, it would mean a lot to these people. But this is a bad neighborhood, son. Crime, drug use, shootings, all sky-high. You'll be a mighty tempting target, a white boy doing a cash business. We'll do our best to keep an eye on you, but watch your back. And remember, if you're faced with it, it's just money. Give it up and live."

I thanked them for their concern and showed them my conceal carry permit, telling them about the Bond Arms four-ten two shot pistol and the Smith and Wesson .40 caliber, both within arm's reach when I worked. They frowned a little, and told me if I had to use it, make sure no one else got hurt, and reminded me again that it was just money.

Officer Jose told me as he got into their squad car that I also needed a special business license, as my farmers market credentials didn't cover me here.

"Relax, it's only fifteen bucks. I'll tell my buddy in permits you're coming, so it should be a breeze. My mother bought from you today, it's how we found out you were here. I'll find out how good your stuff is come Sunday. Remember, be careful."

I had noticed a few young black guys checking me out, but they hadn't approached me, so I let sleeping dogs lie.

The next day I was telling my customers about my new location. Ms. Chen, a tiny oriental woman who was also a lawyer, gave me her card. "You keep going there, sooner or later you're going to need me. Give me my produce this week free, and we'll consider it a retainer."

Chapter 7

It soon became obvious the demand was outstripping the supply by a large margin. I had signed up every farmer I knew and a lot that were friends with them but I didn't know, and found myself having to pull a small trailer behind my truck, and still selling out. I had five or six folding chairs, and I would take them along, setting them up for Grandma Greely and her friends, along with a canopy for shade. She had become the official hostess, and would hold court while I worked. When it got to be too much for me, she sent me her fifteen year old granddaughter, and I showed her the prices and how to use the scales.

She wouldn't take any money from customers, though. I surprised her by paying her, minimum wage for three hours, the time she got home from school until I was packed to go. I paid her in cash, and tears came to her eyes. It was the first money she had ever earned. I told her I would up her pay if she would learn how to use my app for EBT purchases and handle the money when I was busy. She seemed surprised that I would trust her with money.

"Why, you gonna steal from me?"

She was a very pretty young woman, black, white, and Hispanic mixing together in a very attractive balance. She blushed and said she would never do that.

"Didn't think so. I'll let you in on a business secret. People like to buy from pretty girls. Now hop in the truck and help me get your grandmother home. I expect you by three next Friday."

The two officers made it a point to cruise through at least twice while I was there, and word got out.

It didn't stop one guy from trying his luck. I was packing for the day, Grandma Greely and two of her friends were sitting chatting while her granddaughter Alice helped me total out the day and pack up. I was paying her ten dollars an hour by then, thirty dollars a day, and was thinking about taking her with me on Saturdays, which would give her another fifty a week. She was very excited when I told her we would give her a try next week.

He was young, thin, with the wild eyes and jerky mannerisms of a junkie. He had a tiny pistol, a little twenty-five automatic. Not much of a weapon, but I still didn't want to get shot by one.

He was weaving, demanding the money. I reached for the money box, grabbing the Bond under it. I did not want anyone else to get hurt, and at short range the four-ten would blow him almost in two. The pistol didn't have a chance to clear the table, when two guys slammed into him, hard. He went down, and they kicked the shit out of him for about five minutes.

They stood back, and instead of smiling, the two glowered at each other. Grandma Greely broke the silence. "Miguel! Michael! You boys behave now. This is Steve Moore. The black one is my grandson Michael, and the other guy is Miguel. They used to be friends, until politics got in the way. And Miguel is the grandson of Tina, my best friend."

Tina was sitting beside Grandma Greely, and she was giving Miguel an earful in Spanish. To make it more interesting, the cops pulled in, looking at us talking and the unconscious guy on the ground.

"What happened to him?"

Miguel looked at him blandly. "I think he fell down."

Michael chimed in. "Yeah, that's it. His eyes just rolled back in his head, and he fell. Must have landed wrong, and it knocked him out. Junkies, huh?"

Officer Jose reached down and picked up the little pistol. "Well, I think we'll take him in, possessing an illegal firearm and all that. You, you, and you come with me."

Micheal, Miguel, and I walked with him to the side of the building. "Steve, let me introduce you. Miguel here is the leader of a 'social' club known as the Tenth Street Kings. Michel here leads the Brothers of Shadowwood, the name for the local projects. They clash from time to time over business interests and territories. They'll screw up one day, and become guests of the state, but right now they're clean."

He turned to them. "Here's the deal, boys. You leave this man alone. He's doing a great service to the community, your grandmothers love him and he's not really making enough to make it worth your while to hassle him. He's also got your sister working for him, Michael. Do you really want her to get caught up in a crossfire? Maybe down the line he'll get big enough to hire more help, you got a young sister, don't you, Miguel? If something were to happen to this man, if he were to stop coming, the city and this neighborhood would be very disappointed, not to mention two local cops. Locals who might just get interested enough to dig a little. We understanding each other here? I want your word that you'll leave him alone, you might even want to have a couple of your guys keep an eye on him, to avoid ugly incidents like today. Now shake hands with each other, and let's go back out front."

They looked at each other while I extended my hand.

"Deal?" They shook my hand, and surprisingly, each other's.

Miguel grinned. "One thing. I know you give his grandma her stuff free. I want the same thing for mine. Deal?"

I shook his hand again. "Deal."

We walked back around the building to nervous faces, who relaxed when they saw us smiling.

Miguel and Michael hung back a little, talking, and from then on, every time I was there, there were a couple of guys that seemed to hang around. I always made sure they had bags to take home to their families.

The cops told me later it was the first time the two had talked face to face in two years, and crime in a four block square dropped over fifty percent after the deal was made.

Things rocked along for almost a year. When the local season ended I hit the regional commercial farmers market, looking for the best stuff at the best price. It got cold, and I bought some space heaters and comforters for Grandma Greely and Grandma Vasquez and their friends.

The new season was just starting when some guy in a suit came by and sat watching for about an hour. When the market was done, he came over and introduced himself.

He was from the management group that owned the building. They had tried to sell it for years, but no one was interested because of the location. He was there to offer me options. One, stop trespassing and set up somewhere else, or two, lease the building for a very moderate price. He then outlined several of the programs available to anyone interested in operating in high risk areas, cities around the country were just coming to terms with the concept of food deserts and their impact on neighborhoods. I talked it over with the Grandmas and Alice after he left, and they were very excited. They made phone calls, and Miguel, Michael, Jose, and Dan showed up. Alice took the Grandmas home while we sat and discussed it.

The general consensus was it would be a very good thing, and the boys agreed to leave the store alone. Jose and Dan promised a bigger police presence until the store got on its feet.

I talked it over with Ms. Chen, and she looked into it for me, finding all kinds of government programs from the federal level all the way down to the city.

The place needed work: new coolers, shelves, lights, paint, but I leased it through a government program that had me paying two hundred a month for two years. At the end of that I could pay full rent or buy, but I was on contract to keep it open for at least two more years.

Ms. Chen was worth more than her weight in gold, guiding me step by step. She headed her own firm by then, and we were one of her biggest customers.

I took a leap of faith and quit my job, increased my acreage, and was now a full blown small-business man.

Chapter 8

We opened Grandmas' Faith Grocery Store, five months later. There was a lot of hoopla, politicians praising each other for bringing affordable food back to the masses, that sort of thing. The locals just smiled and thanked Grandma Greely and Grandma Vasquez. They were stunned when they unveiled the store logo, both their faces smiling back at everyone walking through the door.

Ms. Chen had wrangled a deal with an independent grocers association, getting access to their prices instead of what jobbers charged to outfit a bodega. They took it on faith, if it succeeded it would lead to more business, and if it failed they could shrug their shoulders and say they tried to help the community. I think they were shocked at the volume we did, rivaling some of their smaller full-service stores.

We opened at eight every morning and closed at seven every night, and we were closed on Sunday. Even though we were in good graces with most of the people who could do us harm, I didn't want to expose my people to risk any more than necessary. It was one of the reasons I decided not to carry alcohol. It took a lot of temptation away, and besides, I needed that cooler space for vegetables and milk.

I had people. Alice worked from three to eight, three days a week, and eight hours on Saturdays. Miguel's youngest sister, seventeen, worked the same hours as Alice on opposite days, and Consuela's Spanish skills helped us tremendously. I even took Spanish classes, and could now speak it, poorly. I think a lot of customers came in just to hear me try, and laugh as they corrected me.

Besides the girls, I had four middle-aged women working the two registers I had to keep open all the time. I also had two full-time stockers, because the place was small and stuff came off the shelves pretty quickly. Both were mature men, happy to have work, and I paid pretty well. The girls got ten an hour, the women and men fourteen when they got to top pay. In the summer, I paid the girls the same, because they worked full-time. I wanted to make money, but I wanted those that worked for me to make a living, also. Even after all these years, I have one of the lowest rates of turnover of any grocery chain.

Everyone who worked a register was trained on how to handle a robbery. Open the cash register, raise your hands, and back away. You also mashed the panic button on the floor as you backed away, and the police usually responded quite quickly. We only had three the first year, pretty amazing really. The fact that I kept two coffee pots going in the office and we never, under any circumstances, charged the police for snacks, probably helped a little. Plus, the guys they caught got the shit beat out of them when they made bail or got out of jail, courtesy of the two "social" clubs. Word got out.

After the first year, I had to give up the farm. I just simply didn't have time, anymore. It broke my heart, but I realized I could do a lot more good in my store.

The place was a cash cow. I had no competition to speak of and a good reputation in the community. The Grandmas, as they came to be called by everyone, were there three or four days a week, holding court with their friends. If you wanted something known in the community, drop a word to them and everybody heard about it before the day was out.