August 4, 2015--The Southernization of America

Anyone interested in understanding the conservative resurgence or revolution, if you will, should turn off Fox News and read Godfrey Hodgson's prescient, 1996 eyeopener, The World Turned Right Side Up: A History of the Conservative Ascendancy in America.

If you are interested in the intellectual roots, he does a good job of summarizing the contributions of serious economists such as Friedrich Hayek; pseudo-serious novelists such as Ayn Rand; polemicists like William F. Buckley, Kevin Phillips, and Irving Kristol; evangelical religious leaders such as Jerry Falwell; and political figures including Barry Goldwater and of course Ronald Reagan.

All of this is familiar ground for anyone paying attention to the cultural and political shift rightward, but nowhere all pulled together as well as by Hodgson.

For me, noteworthy is Hodgson's insight--or at least his clear statement--of how the ideology and politics that followed on in the South, transforming it from the Democrats' Solid South, after the Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1965 were signed into law, and quickly became solidly conservative and Republican. The South at that time became the South that we now know and live with, continuing today to shift inexorably to the right.

Nothing that new about that. But what is new is Hodgson's perception that much of the North shortly thereafter--certainly by 1980 when Ronald Reagan became president by picking off millions of so-called Reagan Democrats--became southernized.

This happened in two stages--first there was the dramatic population shift of northerners to the former Confederate States and thereby their accruing electoral power. Reallocation of members and redistricting meant more seats in the House of Representatives for conservatives at the expense of liberal states such as New York and Pennsylvania; and, as Texas and Florida passed New York to become the second and third largest states, there was a dramatic increase in the South's number of votes in the Electoral College. With the South also becoming solidly Republican that made it much more difficult for Democrats to control Congress much less the White House.

The second stage, the result of Reagan's appeal to traditional blue collar Democrats and his election and reelection, subsequently turned a number of blue states into purple states (Pennsylvania is a good example) and over time threatened to turn a few northern purple states to red states.

Perhaps the most dramatic example of that transformation, and perplexing to progressives because of its role in the history of the emergence of the Progressive Movement, is Wisconsin, where Scott Walker managed to get elected governor three times, largely by acting as if Wisconsin were South Carolina.

As in the South he appealed to hawkish hyper-patriotism, belief in American exceptionalism, evangelical impulses, anti-affirmative action forces, a desire to limit government of all kinds, dog-whistle racism, and above all attacks on unions. Thus, Wisconsin has tipped to the right and now culturally and politically could become a permanent part of the emerging conservative majority.

January 6, 2015--Snowbriding: Domestic Goddess

"You won't find anything there."

I was looking at the blackboard where breakfast specials were listed. "Why's that?" I asked the fellow sitting at a communal table with half a dozen pals who were clearly regulars at the Lamplighter, reputedly the best place for breakfast in Florence, South Carolina.

"If you look closely, you'll see they're only available Monday through Saturday. I know you haven't had your coffee yet, but today's Sunday." He said this more to his friends than to me and they slapped their considerable thighs in pleasure.

I muttered, "I know that." And then directly to him, trying to be friendly, "So what do you recommend? From what I read about this place I understand they make great biscuits."

"Read about it?' he said, mocking me. "I don't know anyone who'd do that or anyone here who could read what got written." His friends rocked back and forth as he toyed with me. "But to answer you--southern hospitality, you know--anything with country ham. And don't forget the grits. It'll cost you a little more--with the specials they give you a break on the price--but you won't get hurt too bad." He winked at me and grinned.

I rejoined Rona at our booth and told her the country ham was recommended. Looking at the menu she noticed that they served it and an egg on a biscuit. "I think I'll have that. And," she whispered, "It's only $1.90."

"We're not in New York anymore. And look, two eggs, country ham, grits, two biscuits, and coffee or tea, not on the special board, is $5.95."

"Including the coffee?"

I looked at the menu again, "That's right."

Both orders came in a flash and were delicious, Rona, who is an authority on grits declared the Lamplighter's the best she ever had.

Feeling pressure to get on the road--we had quite a distance to cover if we were to get to Ocala, Florida before dark--we asked for the ticket (how they refer to the bill or check in the South) and when it arrived Rona scrutinized it as if there was a problem. "It looks correct, but," she leaned toward me and whispered, "it's less than ten dollars. In fact less than nine. How do they make a living charging so little?"

The place was crowded. "Maybe," I offered, "they make it up in the volume. In nay case I think we pay at the cash register over by the communal table."

We gave it a wide berth and kept my eyes averted, but we weren't able to slip by unnoticed. "You folks live here?" the original fellow asked, obviously knowing from my accent that we were from up North.

"Nice of you to put it that way," Rona said. "That makes us feel welcomed about being here. But, no, we stopped here overnight on our way to Florida and heard this was the best breakfast place in town."

"And?"

"And you were right," I said, "about the country ham and--"

"And grits," Rona said, "About the best I ever had."

The boys at the table exchanged glances and head nods. "Where you from then?"

"From New York," I said.

"The city part of New York?"

"That part."

"Isn't Al Sharpton from there?" he asked, sounding ominous.

I muttered something, feeling eager to pay and get out of town.

"Didn't hear that," he said, twisting his finger in his ear. "Don't hear so good these days. You know, that little fella they put on TV all the time? Sharpton?"

"I think he is," Rona said. I glared at her. "You have a problem with that?"

Before he could answer, thankfully one of his buddies said, "I know someone from up there. He's in the honey business. Sells his honey at, whatcha call it, the green market."

"There's a big one right near where we live," Rona said, "At Union Square."

"That's the place," he said.

"Did you say Union Square?" the first fellow asked, again with a mocking tone. "For the soldiers who came down here during the War of Northern Aggression?"

"The very one," I said, feeling somehow bold. Why not, I thought. What could happen? It was 2015, not 1965, and we weren't in Selma.

"We're your people from?" he asked, sounding less threatening.

"From New York."

"I mean originally."

"Oh, my mother's from Poland and my father's family--"

"From a cabin in a forrest in Poland," Rona added. "But when they got to Ellis Island they changed the family name to Mooney. So she passed for being Irish. Which helped her when she began teaching. The school system at the time was all Irish." I had no idea where all this was coming from. Maybe the caffeine. But though things seemed calmed down still I wanted to pay and leave.

"The Irish, they're the ones built America," he said, again nodding toward his companions. "Then the slaves came and they did nothing."

"Slaves?" I gasped. "Did nothing? I think you got that all backwards and wrong. I mean the Irish--"

"I'm just playin' with you, that's all," he said with the beginnings of a smile.

Taking no chances, I said, "Gotta hit the road. Nice talking to you guys. Really. And thanks again for--"

"Everyone from New York has a beard and wears something black."

"Well I--"

"And has a beautiful women with him," the fellow in a Vietnam Vet cap sitting in a wheelchair at the end of table said with a nod of appreciation.

"Thank you kindly," Rona said, with an emerging South Carolina accent. "We've been married 30 years."

"Thirty-one," I corrected her.

"Thirty, thirty-one," he said, sounding all flirty, Why she don't even look thirty-one."

"That's right nice of you," Rona said.

"A domestic goddess," he gushed, "A regular domestic goddess. You sure are lucky, boy." He meant me.

"S'pose I am," I said. "S'pose I am."

We paid and drove west to get back onto I-95.

"I like that," Rona said after a while. I knew what she was referring to.