On the Friday when several severe winter storms were having their way with Amador County, reporters Kelly Enos and Scott Thomas Anderson separately heard the defiant boasts of a Starbucks barista.

Swamped with dripping customers, the Martell coffee hub was one of the only places open in the county, she claimed. Scott corrected her, saying he had driven through both Jackson and Sutter Creek, where the lights - and many businesses - were still operating. That wasn't what she heard, the barista said. And considering the sad state of affairs on Jackson's once historic, now suffering Main Street, you really can't blame her.

When we ran a front-page spread last November entitled "Exodus on Main Street?" it seemed to kick off an enthusiastic debate about whether Main Street can be saved or whether it even needs saving. With the recent closures of two more Jackson businesses and questions about whether a third will ever reopen, the latter debate has been settled. Downtown Jackson needs help. And fast.

In truth, the warning signs had been percolating for some time.

Last August, Scott profiled Gino Ricci, an 84-year-old barber who has been cutting hair on Main Street for more than 66 years. The affable, plain-spoken Ricci lamented the gradual decline in communication among local business operators since the 1950s, when he knew just about every merchant in town. "Now most come and go so fast," he told Scott then. "That kind of community is gone these days."

Even before Ricci's profile, an idea for a story about Jackson's suffering Main Street had stuck in my mind. I remember receiving a call to go downtown one summer afternoon regarding a possible photo opportunity. I found movers excitedly preparing to angle a large model airplane out of a storefront business. Not knowing the full story, I walked in on a merchant who was in the midst of losing his business. He was in no mood to discuss the softball challenges of moving a colorful hunk of metal from point A to point B, nor was he ready to talk about the pressures that were forcing him out of the county after six years on Main Street. At his request, I left without a picture.

Last April, it looked like the city of Jackson intended to do something about the problems downtown. That was when the city council convened an economic development subcommittee to generate ideas about reviving the sector. But the subcommittee, headed by then-Mayor Drew Stidger and Councilwoman Connie Gonsalves, proved a bust. The first real action to be taken on this front happened Tuesday, when the city council held a special economic development workshop along with the Historic Jackson Business Association. This meeting should have occurred months ago and you won't hear me saying better late than never.

It may already be too late. Tenants have gradually filled out the Martell Business Park, bolstered by a relocated Safeway and auto dealership. The courthouse has moved out of the downtown, while city leaders are banking their economic hopes on luring an opposed Home Depot development.

It's not all the fault of Jackson elected officials, though. The downtown business mentality has been positively schizophrenic. It's not just the seemingly arbitrary hours of operation for many Main Street businesses, it's that there is real disagreement about what downtown Jackson wants to be.

A tourist attraction for visiting Sacramentans? How often do they travel through?

An eclectic retail strip that caters to locals? With the jobs here, how many county residents can afford to shop in Jackson?

While there remains palpable resentment against the Jackson Rancheria, it may be time to begin courting casino visitors with gift cards and other promotions, as Kam Merzlak suggested during Tuesday's meeting. Adding downtown parking and fostering a renewed spirit of merchant collaboration are also crucial. Heck, ask the Sutter Creek Business and Professional Association for tips.

Whatever Jackson decides to do, it can't be afraid to change. I spent a year in an East Bay city paralyzed by its own obsession with history. So enamored were Martinez residents of the old times that they allowed the city to ebb inevitably into economic ruin. But as city leaders can probably tell you now, there's a difference between being historic and being history.