The honor box

Where else but rural America would you find a wagon loaded with garden produce parked along side a roadway with no one around, a hand painted sign saying "Sweet Corn $3.50 per dozen" and a small can nailed to the frame with the words "honor box" stenciled on?

It's a unique part of our heritage and a quiet statement of our culture and values. Learned men have said, "Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is watching." What could show more integrity than paying for something that could just as easily be taken for free? You could even take money out of the box and also take the corn if you wished.

But we don't. We honor the tradition, and each other, in a way that contradicts the trend in our society toward exploiting every opportunity for individual gain. There are more and more "self service" conveniences but they don't rely on honesty. We have gas pumps and ATM machines that are not attended, but they are sophisticated fortresses with video cameras monitoring them. We have an increasing number of stores with "self checkout" but the scanners and supervisors make it hard to feel like there is any honor involved in doing their job and paying to do so.

Rural America has many financial transactions that are built on trust and underpinned with personal honesty. Livestock and grain are sold through auctions and elevators with the buyers having opportunities to lighten the load or short the count, but the bond is strong and both parties do what's right for the other. Many deals are made on a handshake and closed with integrity. A "hot check" is a tough thing to live down.

I spoke in the small town of Loyal, Okla., many years ago and found that the local café was opened by the farmers as early as they chose to get there. "They make coffee and just leave their money," said the owner who arrived at 7 a.m. and began cooking breakfast. Up the street they showed me that they had a big freezer full of ice and an honor box attached.

Discussing this process with rural people who frequent the unmanned produce stands, I asked if they always paid. One man said, "No, I sometimes don't have any money with me, so I put in double the next time by."

Does a culture have to be stable and self contained to be this honest? I'm afraid it does. It requires the small town mentality that you are never anonymous. As Roger Welch, Nebraska philosopher, once told in a story about going to the lumber yard in Dannebrog and finding that all the workers were at the café drinking coffee. He boasted "I could have loaded the truck and driven out without anyone knowing!"

"Yea, but by the time you'd cleared the city limits we'd know how many board feet you'd hauled off," said the smiling manager sipping his coffee.

I look at those corn wagons in the summer and pumpkin wagons in fall and think of a small child who worked with their parents to pick and display the produce. Then I think of that child running over to the wagon to see how much money was there and the disappointment they'd have if the wagon was empty and so was the honor box.

Some farmers loan out their equipment without even knowing it. "I have a neighbor who borrows and then brings it back in better shape than when it went out," said one. "I sometimes find a vehicle full of gas when I know it was nearly empty when I got out of it."

In my years in Washington, D.C., I became a part of the hustling society and their version of the "honor box" at a parking lot near my office downtown. I went in to work on a rainy Sunday night and the garages were all closed and street parking was unavailable. I pulled into the lot and walked straight to my office rather than going to the unattended gatehouse and depositing my parking fee in the slot for my space. When I returned two hours later, the back windshield of my car was broken and laying in pieces in the seat. No other marks of vandalism, just a reminder that I broke their rule and they responded with vigilante justice.

I suppose half of being honorable is awareness that we may be observed being dishonorable. The other half is feeling good about being a good person. I hope that for myself I move more toward the latter.

Editor's note: Ken Root is now celebrating his 34th year as an agricultural professional. His career began as a vocational agriculture teacher then turned to agricultural broadcasting and writing as well as environmental consulting and association management. He was the original host of AgriTalk (1994-2001) and now is lead farm broadcaster for WHO Radio in Des Moines, Iowa. Ken also contribues to the Midwest Ag Report electronic newsletter each Friday. A free e-mail subscription is available by going to www.hpj.com and clicking on Midwest Ag Report.

Date: 7/27/06

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