There’s a small coffee shop down on Erie Boulevard where I like to spend my Sunday mornings. It’s nestled amidst the manicured lawns of suburban Schenectady, New York, a stone’s throw away from my childhood home. There, under the comforting hum of the coffee grinder, I cradle a hot mug of joe between my hands, cautiously warming them against the winter chill. This mug, like the others in the shop, is a hefty ceramic monster with a chip on the rim and a hairline crack creeping up the side.
It reminds me of a bygone era—an era that prided itself on crafting products that stand the test of time. Products that age with dignity, their blemishes worn with pride. Today, it seems this timeless craftsmanship has been overshadowed by mass-produced pots, hastily constructed and short-lived. And it’s not just mugs, heck no. Everything, from typewriters to automobiles, seems to share this common fault.
As someone who’s spent the last half-century in this corner of the world, I reckon I’ve earned the right to gripe about it a little. Feel free to humor this grumpy old man some, and let me share a tale or two. Perhaps it would shed light on the fading art of craftsmanship my generation hold so dear.
In the 70s, my mother used to tote a cumbersome Kodak camera. It was indestructible. She’d drop it, bang it, lose it in snowbanks while we were sledding, and yet it would produce images of such clarity and color saturation, it could make even a hardened shutterbug weep. When was the last time you saw a digital camera withstand that kind of abuse? Or a smartphone, for that matter?
I remember working alongside my Dad in our musty garage, his calloused hands expertly assembling a radio from discarded vacuum tubes and transistors. It crackled to life with a warm glow, broadcasting the Beatles’ latest hit, when such things were new. Today, radios are hardly more than afterthoughts, replaced by soulless streaming services on glossy smartphones.
In my twenties, I was gifted a Timex wristwatch. It wasn’t fancy, by any means, but it was reliable. Rain or shine, drop or dunk, it ticked along with a steadfast precision, matching time’s ceaseless march beat for beat. Today, you’d be hard-pressed to find a watch that won’t fizzle out with the slightest hint of moisture, let alone survive a decade’s worth of wear and tear.
I’ve noticed the same degrading trend in automobiles. In the sixties, cars emanated a sense of permanence. Big hulking beasts like the Chevy Impala or the Ford Mustang ruled the roads. They were built sturdy and solid, with gleaming chrome bumpers and steel bodies. Today, you’re more likely to come across a car with plastic doors and polystyrene bumpers.
Corporate behemoths care more about quantity these days than quality, favoring profit over durability. Market competition, it seems, has encouraged a race to the bottom. Instead of being built to last, goods are now designed to break, making space for constant innovation and replacement. It’s a system known as planned obsolescence, where consumer items are purposefully made to become functionally or stylistically outdated within a certain period. It means more frequent purchases, more profit, and more waste in our overflowing landfills.
Sure, modern products come equipped with bells and whistles our ancestors could never dream of. Still, when a pair of shoes falls apart within months, or when a computer seems outdated within years, I can’t help but pine for the age of craftsmanship—an age I grew up in here in Schenectady.
Sipping my coffee from the worn mug at the corner shop, I often reflect on our changing relationship with the products we consume. I yearn for the time we didn’t just ‘dispose’ but ‘repaired’; when goods matured with use and technology promised sturdiness rather than planned obsolescence. It wasn’t just a different time—it was a different value system.
Craftsmanship isn’t just about the quality of the products—it’s about the quality of life it cultivates. It’s about pride in workmanship, sustainability, slow living, and the satisfaction derived from owning a product that ages gracefully. It’s about treasuring our belongings, not replacing them at the blink of an eye.
While time might have moved on, I am, and will always be, a stubborn advocate for craftsmanship. After all, if this chipped and cracked coffee mug can still hold its heat after all these years, maybe there’s a lesson to draw there. Perhaps it’s time to reclaim those values and revive the art of enduring craftsmanship – for both our sake and that of the world we live in. God knows we could use a little more substance and a little less fleeting flash.
