Moscow
Food Co-op Turns 30Eyewitness to Co-op History
by Phillip Sawatzky, from the October 2003 NewsletterWe must have appeared, to some townsfolk, to be a small gathering of gypsies, college students, hippies, transient bliss ninnies, and even worse, vegetarians. But what I recall was the common smile which shined on our faces as we stood on the downtown sidewalk outside what was perhaps the smallest food store in America (outside of a Coney vender). It was a beautiful North Idaho May day in 1974, and we were listening to Jim Egan announce the formation of a non-profit, member-owned cooperative, which had sprung from the need to provide low-priced, wholesome food to the community.
Jim had started the Good Food Store with a of couple friends the year before, initially as a buying club, then as a storefront. There was an energy, an enthusiasm, an anticipation with us that day, the kind that travelers know when beginning a long-awaited journey – as we were invited to share in the cooperative vision and venture. This was the first defining moment in Co-op history.
Beneath the realm of ideas, vision, and defining moments, there was the great amount of volunteer effort, the daily tasks and chores such as clerking, stocking, cleaning, sign-making, cheese cutting and packaging, more cleaning, flour runs to Oakesdale, bookkeeping, inventory – all the basic organizing and work that kept things running. I think of the honey barrel (and the sticky floor when a curious child would open the spigot), the tin money box, rudimentary scales, adding machine and notebook where purchases were recorded, the large machete-like knife used to cut cheese; I think of the many times when volunteers would go beyond their scheduled work time to cover for someone who couldn’t make it as planned, but mostly I think of the many good people I got to know and work with and serve.
The new co-op was cash poor, but Jim and crew put forth a grant proposal with the Community Action Agency (within the Office of Economic Opportunity) in Lewiston. We dressed up and put our best foot forward, and with the help of Mari, a Native American CAA rep, we succeeded in grabbing about $20,000 through two grants during 1974-75. This money was earmarked for paying a manager and part-time bookkeeper, as well as toward increased inventory and new equipment. We were gleeful, like Robin Hood and his merry men, as we drove up the Lewiston grade – I think Jim said, “Once we get the money in our hot, little hands, there’ll be no stopping us!” or words to that effect. The successful grants were a validation from others that the idea we believed in, loved, worked hard for was a sound one. (We were the only project funded by that CAA during this period that was a clear success.) We were on the road.
The first year of the Good Food Store (GFS) was characterized by rapid manager burnout (average expectancy: four months), a dwindling board of directors, steady membership growth, and increasing business, thus quickly outgrowing our store’s capacity. In the summer of ‘75, we moved to a larger place on Main next to the music store, and simultaneously seemed to be thrust into the process of earnestly examining and defining/redefining our co-op more consciously. We drew together a solid, committed Board, put up the new storefront sign that read, “Moscow Food Co-op,” changed the single “manager” format to a three “coordinator” team, issued membership cards, instituted new pricing policies that reflected the realities of the retail food business (the GFS initially had a 10% mark-up for working members and 20% for non-members, with no provision for non-working members).
When Sandy joined with Maggie and I as our coordinator team, I sensed an upsurge in our acceptance and integration to the Moscow community (Sandy came from a local farming family). We began attracting local growers to provide seasonal produce, a Chinese family made the best tofu for us, new coolers and scales accommodated expanding business. We began printing a newsletter, and having members’ potluck gatherings, which were a blast. Increasing networking with the Puget collectives, NW suppliers and farmers, as well as other regional co-ops in Cheney, Colville, Sandpoint, Missoula, resulted in more dependable service, quality, and selection, and more opportunities for large quantity buys at better prices. At times, our choices forced us to take extreme measures, such as unloading two tons of organic pinto beans in the basement of a member, and the surreal, midnight unloading of six tons of honey from a semi-truck in a back alley garage of a board member. But what a deal!
I believe the crowning achievement during ‘76-77 was the inception of the farmer’s market downtown, the proposal for which was presented to the city council by our co-op member’s committee. Certain council members were highly resistant to the proposal, citing such objections as: the market would be unfair competition to local grocers, and, dope dealers would be selling marijuana there, thus attracting much riff-raff. There was standing room only the night of the final council meeting and vote. Farmers and gardeners, residents of all ages, came to passionately lend support to the market. In the future, the city representatives would proudly list the farmers’ market as a valuable community resource and event. I had a gentleman tell me how happy he was to see it happen, since the community hadn’t had one since the great depression.
Through all the chances and changes, challenges and controversies, personality conflicts and philosophical differences, through all the tedious labors and financial crisis, there was one thing I kept coming back to (and do today) – it's all about working together for the highest good, it's all about the unity in comm-unity. Thus work becomes a celebration, a song, a prayer, it becomes worship. Being in the Co-op helped teach me that, and God knows we can all us some more of that.
Phillip Sawatzky was a Co-op coordinator from 1974 to 1978.
