In an old part of town, and for almost a mile, the old man moved slowly against the winter wind and snow.  Clasping his lapels, he finally reached his destination.  Inside, he dusted the snow from his coat, as he turned to the warm greetings from friends he’s known for years.  He recognized everyone in that hazy smoke-filled room. 

He was at his social club again.  It was a place where ordinary people could go and find conviviality, innocent and cheerful conversation - that very useful something, that offered a respite from family and hard work.  Somehow he came home from the club relaxed, more amiable and seemingly content, with himself and life.

Once upon a time, American society seems to have had many equivalents of that ethnic club.  There was the local tavern, as well as the small-town express office, the barber shop and the corner drug store, were local people would go; anytime they need it’s therapeutic value.

But, have you noticed that, in recent decades, the range of social interaction for many of us has narrowed to the office and the home.

And so the quality of many people’s lives has come to depend almost exclusively on the quality of their family life and their jobs.  Not surpassingly, they expect too much from both and are oftentimes disappointed.  They begin to relish vacations as their only escape.

I contend that much of what people seek is a place like that old man’s club. Not family-related, or work-related, but a “Third Place”!

 hangout that provides a sense of belonging; an opportunity for spontaneity, surprise and emotional expression.

An aura of the unexpected surrounds each visit to a third place.

One can never be certain who will be there, but will know everyone who is there. People go there primarily to simply enjoy one another’s company with those who incidentally and secondarily: repair appliances, sell insurance or teach school.

To discuss local politics,

To harass old friends,

To complain and gossip and joke about the state of the nation,

To find commiseration on how everything seem to be changing.

The hours go by unnoticed.  Many men, historically, have had difficulty explaining just that to their wives.

What happened to these wonderful places?

Richard Sennett, a noted sociologist, says that too many of us have moved to the suburbs.  “People suffocate there for a lack of the new, the unexpected, the diverse in their lives”.

Yet the instinct for a hang-out, a third place still exists.  Given a chance, kids will always build a clubhouse.

The proprietor of a bar in New York City’s Grand Central Station through which thousands of commuters pass twice a day, may have the right idea.  The bar has a glass façade, so that the cheerful, playful group inside is clearly visible.  The sign on the door simply reads; “Miss Your Train”.

So now in our society, many people seek out the tavern or the bar, as the dominate third place:

Set it on the golf links and call it a clubhouse.

Put it at the water’s edge and call it a yacht club.

The bar is now the core of what’s left of that venerable institution.

ut a third place does not need liquor, it can be established wherever people can linger, laugh and play without being hassled.

Put exercise equipment around it, and call it; “The Health Club”.

A limited version is to schedule it on Thursday nights and call it a “Toastmasters Club”.

(Optional) As the Dutch historian and social philosopher, Yohan Suinga said of play (as a human activity) because it is also true of the third place;  “Into the confusion of life, play brings a temporary, a limited perfection”.

If there is a malaise in America today, I believe it can be at least partially attributed to a lack of such places.  There ought to be many more hang-outs and there could be, if only people were not so darn reluctant to invest the time, energy and emotions in activities that do not enhance either their home life or work opportunities, but just for the fun of it.

Yes, there was an ingredient in that old man’s life that is missing from my life and probably yours.

I knew that man once, and when he died, I remember the people gathered at his funeral that cold winter afternoon; a few friends from work, his family, and a third larger group; his friends, his playmates from The Third Place.