This is an updated version of a story I wrote for the West Hollywood News in 2006. Some of the photos are also newer.
============================================
Feb. 23, 2006 – Ed Garren, the swamps of North Carolina
“I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there I’ve not forgotten, look away, look away, look away Dixie Land. In Dixie Land where I was born, early on one frosty morn, look away, look away, look away Dixie Land. Well I wish I was in Dixie away, away, in Dixie land I’ll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie, away, away, away down south in Dixie.”
As a child the radio stations all signed on and off with what we white Southerners considered our national anthem, “Dixie”, not the Star Spangled Banner. It was the favorite fight song at foot ball games. For many of us, it was the first “national anthem” we memorized. It was after all, shorter and easier to sing.
Distance and time conjure memory. The miles bring with them floods of images, one may travel in newer technology, air conditioning and radial tires, but the highway and the curves of the piedmont that it hugs, remain the same. I am crossing North Carolina, from the mountains of the west, to the swamps of the east. The first grand child is coming, and the family is gathering to share the birth, and all that it represents.
My extended family branches in two. Two of my mother’s sisters remained in Georgia and their descendants are still very attached to the region, with no other experiences to contrast or compare. They are good people, but they don’t travel much out of the region. My mother and her oldest sister Louise “caught the first thing smoking” and rarely looked back. Ironically, they both ended up in North Carolina: Louise on the coast, Edna in Asheville in the mountains.
Louise’s youngest daughter had a son who is my age. My second cousin “Monty” is the cousin whose grades were always put in my face (he was an excellent student, I was not). He went north to complete his education. His current status as a schoolteacher in a small coastal town, where the nearest shopping mall is 45 miles away, has given him an easy and slow demeanor. His relaxed southern accent belies his having a Masters in Philosophy from Harvard.
I’m driving I-40 east bound, remembering this trip first made in the mid 1960s. My father and I were flying low in a Rambler Classic station wagon, at about 80 MPH, his usual cruising speed. Its six cylinder engine with overdrive turned up almost 30 MPG, still respectable, particularly for what would now be considered a full size car. The highway then was less lined with buildings and billboards than now.
I remember the most striking of billboards on that first trip, Strom Thurman, U.S. Senator from South Carolina, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strom_Thurmond), with his arms stretched out like Moses, “They won’t betray us like the Democrats did. Join the Republican Party today!”. The road seemed lined with them, at least eight on our journey across the state.
The betrayal of course related to the signing of civil rights legislation that Lyndon Johnson railroaded through congress. Not content with desegregation in 1964, Lyndon personally assured the passage of the Voting Rights Act, Open Housing, and Equal Opportunity in employment as well. In other places, Lyndon may be remembered for the Viet Nam war, but to persons of conscience in the south, Lyndon is remembered as "The Great Liberator." He may not have had the glamour of John Kennedy, or a beautiful wife, but he and Lady Bird did more to change lives of people of color (and by proxy other "minorities") than any president since Abraham Lincoln.
Strom, bastion of the “Dixie Crats” was on the warpath, and he almost single handedly led the flight of many white Democrats into the Republican Party.
I reflect on the irony of fate, and his first child, a daughter Essie Mae Washington-Williams, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strom_Thurmond#First_daughter), half black, who surfaced after his death. Clearly when someone protests too much, they have something to hide, Strom was no exception. (Full story on Ms. Washington Williams here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essie_Mae_Washington-Williams).
So now I’m driving to the coast, in a state that has for years embodied the best of the so-called “New South.” Reflection is easy here, so much happened in my lifetime. Montgomery may have given birth to the civil rights movement, but North Carolina was right behind it. The first sit-ins to make the national news were in Greensboro (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greensboro_sit-ins). The capital of the state, Raleigh, advertises the “Martin Luther King Memorial Gardens”, one of its major attractions. Farther east in Goldsboro, I drive along a 20 mile stretch of U.S. highway 70, “The Martin Luther King Memorial Expressway.”
In addition to the world famous Research Triangle, I pass Volvo Truck’s U.S. headquarters, Electrolux Home Appliances has a facility here. Maya Angelou is proud to affectionately refer to North Carolina as “home”.
When I arrive “Down East”, the greetings are warm, and “Baby Doe” is bursting at his mamma’s seams. Jessica is not happy, and the house is as full as her mid-section, so I elect to stay at a nearby Bed & Breakfast.
Its proprietor is very dog friendly, something which Solomon and I are grateful for. She breeds Labradors, and is thrilled to show them to me. She is also from New Jersey, and part of the conversation includes the usual “These people down here are so backward, and you can hardly understand them”. I pass for an “outlander” because of my lack of overt drawl, but having endured this “backward” stuff all my life I politely offer no response.
Life is complicated, the nuances of difference are vast and complicated. For most people, it’s easier to just ignore them, and the ignorance of those who call others ignorant. I reflect on my cousin, with his “thick drawl” and his Master’s from Harvard, life is also filled with irony.
The next day, Baby Doe decides to make his entrance into this world, and after more than the usual travail (he was sort of stuck sideways), everyone was very glad to see him, especially his mother.
His birth means a lot to all of us. There has been a lot of loss preceding his incarnation. Several years ago, his mother’s brother died in a miserable accident two weeks after his twenty-first birthday.
Nathan Upchurch
Two and a half years ago, hurricane Isabel sent almost three feet of water through the family homestead. My cousin and his wife have spent the ensuing time living like gypsies at various homes and places while their house was gutted, lifted six feet and re-built from the frame out.
Jessica’s sister, Elizabeth Ashley (“Bub”) spent summers between college traveling. While doing so she fell in love with Costa Rica and moved there after college. She is now Mrs. Alfonso Pena and will be returning home to Costa Rica next month. We all eat meatless meals; Bub is a vegetarian for over a decade.
The grandparents, Monty & Beth
Jessica is a third year medical student, and will be wrapping up her rotations this year and then on to residency.
Doe’s father, Guy, is in school and working full time to support himself while paying for his own education, He and Jessica have been together for nine years, dating since high school. He is a bit darker than the rest of us. I guess the current term is "African American" though at this juncture, “Family” is the only word that really describes him.
Domaine & Guy Vann
Baby Doe’s full name is Domaine Nathan Vann. Domaine is Guy’s best and longest childhood friend. Years ago they agreed to name first-born children after each other. Nathan is the name of the brother who died in the accident. So Domaine Nathan represents so much that is good and hopeful for this family. We keep our promises, we honor our loved ones who have passed on and we keep the faith. Success in relationships, keeping love around us, honoring and cherishing all forms of life is what southerners do best. But few “outlanders” take the time to get to know that, after all, we’re so “ignorant and backward,” and who can understand us?
In my own mind, Domaine represents hope for the country, if not the world. Who knows what magic the challenges of his life will bring, or how he will contribute to this world? One thing is certain, he will have a clear sense of place, people, and the value of what was sacrificed so that he could come into the world. He is loved and cherished. And the people in his world will take the time to get to know him.
The state of South Carolina added Essie Mae to all of the official documents and history of Strom's life (http://sti.clemson.edu/about-us-mainmenu-27/biography-mainmenu-126). Forgiveness is a central part of Southern Culture. There is much to forgive, and an overwhelming sense of the necessity to not carry around internal poison by bearing grudges. Forgiveness is certainly essential to the life and work of Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the life and work of Dr. Maya Angelou (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHvTWvKIPHo).
For those of us from "Dixie" our history compels us to live in a state of forgiveness and thankfulness. It is perhaps one of the most important gifts we offer to our very divided and broken country.
For those of us from "Dixie" our history compels us to live in a state of forgiveness and thankfulness. It is perhaps one of the most important gifts we offer to our very divided and broken country.
I don’t think Strom is turning over in his grave. I suspect he is probably holding hands with Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks and the multitude of heavenly hosts singing “Free at last, thank God Almighty, we’re free at last.”
============================================
Edward “Ed” Garren, MFT is a Family Therapist, justice activist, former West Hollywood City Council candidate, writer and sojourner. He is originally from the Tampa Bay area of central Florida. Ed has been published in the Los Angeles Times, Frontiers news magazine, and other books, including “Out of My Mind”, a pictorial memoir by Kris Nelson.
