Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

There are many courtesies extended in small town life, and when you move from the Big City to a smaller burg they catch you off guard at first.

For instance, people actually come to a full stop – rather than the rolling variety – at four-way-stop-sign intersections. In addition, they pay attention to that old rule about the person who arrived at the intersection first having the right to pass through first. I’ve had cars wave at me that it’s my turn, whereas in Chicago they’d just as soon run you over.

Most business transactions include some social element. At LaSalle Federal, the local bank, they know me by name and never fail to ask how Earl is or encourage me to have a great weekend. If I need a copy of a cancelled check, it is faxed to my home without question. At Chicago banks, you have to pay a fee and then wait two weeks for the copy to arrive via snail mail.

When someone comes to your home to fix something, I’m used to having to pay for it on the spot. But here in St. Joseph people do the work and bill you. Your word is your bond and they trust that you will pay. It works well, because in a small town you undoubtedly run into that person again; and this is a great incentive to be up front and honest in business dealings in the first place.

One afternoon I drove over to Three Oaks, a small town several miles down the road from St. Joseph, with a friend. We were gabbing and not paying attention as I parked the car on the main street. We got out, still yakking away, and started our tour of the local shops. About an hour later, we returned to the car. How surprised I was when we realized that we’d not only left the car running the entire time with the keys in the ignition but also that the car was unlocked.

I shudder to think what would have happened in a Big City.