I wasn't planning on writing again this soon, as it is mid-week and I don't often do this. However, it is also hitting mid-August, which means the summer season is almost over. While many people seem to be under the impression that summer ends around September 21st or something, in reality for me summer always starts on Memorial Day weekend and ends on Labor Day weekend. Those two holidays, with Independence Day in the middle, anchor the summer season in my opinion. While there may still be a few warm days extending even into early October, the actual summer season for me is wrapped up around Labor Day weekend. The one thing I cannot fathom is how astronomically fast this summer has gone - I don't know why exactly, but June and July just sort of flew past. Maybe it is just a symptom of getting older - who can say? All I think though is how in hell did August creep up so fast??
One of the things I did want to talk about today has to do with what I was discussing about that hilarious Charlene character I saw on YouTube this past weekend. Looking at that got me thinking - for the vast majority of my life, I grew up either in the rural Appalachians (up until I graduated high school) or the South (where I lived for the following 27 years or so until moving back). This means that "redneck culture" is somewhat imprinted on me whether I want it to be or not. While I would probably be more like a Lewis Grizzard than I would a Larry the Cable Guy, the culture has indelibly left its mark. It leaves its mark in the movies I like - some of my favorite movies, it turns out, are Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes, Sling Blade, and practically anything with Larry the Cable Guy or Jim Varney (he created the iconic Ernest P. Worrell), and likewise some of my favorite TV viewing over the years has included shows such as Duck Dynasty, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Designing Women. I also actually appreciate places like the Dollar General, and my favorite high-profile eateries are places like Cracker Barrel and Bojangles (best fried chicken ever in my opinion). Likewise, if there is a roadside produce stand, a farmer's market, or a country general store, I am itching to visit it. The culinary satisfaction of Slim Jims, Moon Pies, and green boiled peanuts also are guilty pleasures I have as well. I do have some things I draw a line at though - I am not into casual sex humor, tattoos, drinking beer, or Southern rock or country music; those things I can do without. But, not every person from my neck of the woods likes every single thing our local culture possesses either. Because I prefer Guy Lombardo over ZZ Top does not mean I need to surrender my "hillbilly card," and because I prefer to wear casual boat shoes and khakis to cowboy boots and jeans doesn't revoke my roots either. And, even as far as I try to get away from it, that West Virginia mountain boy still comes out - some guy on a bus one day even told me I "talked country," because I still have my drawl and that won't go anywhere. This old boy may prefer to wear wing tips and fancy driving a 1928 canary-yellow Stutz Bearcat, but at heart I am still basically a "good ol' boy." I would even go as far as to say the contradictory aspects of who I am vs. where I come from make me more distinctive. And, that leads to a few other things I wanted to relate.
I mentioned Bethany Bultman's 1996 book Redneck Heaven last time, and to be honest it is actually perhaps one of the best books on local culture I have ever seen. And, she is not just a casual observer - she is a Southerner herself, and she also took the time to interview, befriend, and talk to people about things in that book. She has another book, Reflections of the South, that she published in 1991 which is good but not near as personable as Redneck Heaven. It is from the back jacket flap of that earlier book that I wanted to give a bit of a bio on Bethany.
Bethany Bultman, who was born and raised in Mississippi, is a career journalist who was published in a lot of prestigious magazines in the years leading up to these two very different books, and that gives her some credibility. In the first book, her 1991 picture has her looking like the "New South" career woman who could fit easily into the cast of Designing Women. However, five years later in Redneck Heaven, she looks very different - jeans and a Western shirt which frankly look good on her. Bethany Bultman - who must be in her late 60s or early 70s now - is both of these images at once, and that makes her one thing; thoroughly Southern. I respect that with her, as she embodies someone who can both shine with the class of a Scarlett O'Hara but also be as down-to-earth as a Dolly Parton. I am wagering she may actually be a fascinating person to talk to. She also illustrates that those of us from the region can both be successful yet at the same time not forget where they came from, and that is integral to being consistent. In that part of the country, you will be more respected if you are consistent than if you try to hide your roots to look "sophisticated" with the people you want to kiss butt with, and then be the town kid people actually know you to be. And, that leads me to something important to talk about.
Consistency and being real with who one is happens to be an asset - even in the upscale world of corporate hacks and goofy internet influencers, the average person wants others to be real with them, be themselves instead of manufacturing a persona that doesn't reflect reality. The fickle, false facade of the "celebrity influencer" is frankly nauseating, and what is really ridiculous about that is that the powers-that-be perpetuate that image and recoil in disgust at someone just being themselves because it doesn't reflect perfection. The problem with perfection is that it truly does not exist in this world - even the most pristine surfaces we see will often have miniscule blemishes because we live in a fallen world, and nothing is guaranteed perfect except God himself, but there is one notable exception to that. It has to do with the concept of true love - if a man and woman love each other genuinely, that makes them perfect for each other, even with individual imperfections. It is often said that "true love is blind," but in reality that is not accurate. True love sees through the exterior and sees the real person, and if the chemistry is right, then that will be attractive to the person meant to be their soulmate. We put too much emphasis in this world on supermodels, pornography, and other BS that touts a picture of "perfection," but it is deceptive. If a guy is truly in love with a woman, her externals are not going to matter to him, because to him all he sees is the most beautiful creature God has created, and she sees that in him as well. People around a couple may look at them and say shallow stuff like "what in hell does he see with her?" or "what does she see in that bum?" They don't see what that couple sees in each other, so they would do well to shut up and mind their own business. In other words, if you see a couple that clearly loves each other, leave them alone - or, it should make you envious because they may have something you don't but dream of. Being real and consistent has its own rewards in other words, and it's a reminder to maybe celebrate the person God made you to be instead of either shaming or envying someone else. If more people would do that, their lives would be happier for sure. That is the one lesson I wanted to give today out of this.
Getting back to Bethany Bultman's book, let's talk about that some. This is by no means a review of it, as there is so much in it a review would take more time. Rather, I think it is a good book because it contains pretty much everything - if you want to know about certain "redneck" phrases, or if you want to sample recipes and such, this book has it. It even gives clothes etiquette, and what I really like about that is how the good ol' boy really feels about crap such as designer jeans. On page 44 of the book for instance, Bethany had talked to a cowboy in Guthrie, OK, who went by the nickname Freckles, and to quote directly what he said about designer jeans, this is it "Shiiittt, jeans ain't nothin' but work clothes. It's gettin' harder and harder for people like me to get 'em for less than twenty bucks a pair. This company in New York City actually pays fifteen dollars for jeans we broke in - wore out is more like it. The buyer gets a certificate telling him how the jeans got the rips. Hell, you got to be dumber and lazier than a buckworm to pay extra to get someone to break in your clothes!" (Bethany Bultman, Redneck Heaven: Portrait of a Vanishing Culture. New York: Bantam Books, 1996; 44). My good friend and noted Catholic Monarchist Charles Coulombe expressed a more urbane version of the same sentiment when he recalls that in his day no one went outside the house wearing jeans unless it was doing work on the house or in the garden - his dad had a diehard conviction about that as a fairly staunch and traditional Catholic French-Canadian. In these days when stuff like Jordache, Gloria Vanderbilt, and the newest fashion empires of Old Navy and Tommy Hilfiger are capitalizing on marketing designer jeans that look like they went through a wood-chipper, I kind of see the point. Since I was probably in second grade, I never wore a pair of jeans in public, and I also didn't really wear shorts, t-shirts, white socks, tennis shoes, or any of the like in public either. I just never felt like it was right, as for me wearing jeans in public would be like being naked in all honesty. I never had anything against anyone who did wear them, but for me if anything those were always either work clothes (as Freckles said) or intimate wear that you wore inside the house with your significant other. That got me some persecution at times - especially in middle school - but I stand by that conviction even today. Also, I think coming from where I did the wearing of jeans as casual wear in public denoted a sort of negative "hillbilly" stereotype too that I didn't want people to see me as having then. So, I always dressed casual, but business-like - even in high school I wore clothes such as casual pleated slacks, loafers, and either polo shirts or button-down dress shirts. Especially in my Pentecostal days too, it was even customary for me to dress up for church - I wore ties - both traditional neckties as well as bowties - and that was just me. In time, I loosened up a little to wear just regular dress pants and a polo shirt to church, but I still find it integral to dress decently in God's house. That, along with the music I listened to as well as the finicky culinary habits I possessed, set me apart quickly. I still have my own unique way of doing things today, although I have refined and softened somewhat over the years. Bethany's touching on that topic piqued my interest though when I first read it, so I wanted to just give my perspective on that.
One of the most fascinating stories in this book has to do with a couple by the name of Al and Essie Morris, who she details on pages 204-207 of the book. Al and Essie also kind of stick out, as they were Black performers of country music. Now, despite it's association with the rural South, country music has had the occasional Black icon, notably Charlie Pride, as well as Ray Charles and others doing some crossover work back in the day. Bethany noted something of interest on page 206 when she relates one of Charlie Pride's notable quotes - "Only a White guy can get away with sounding Black in country." I actually understand that, because when I was growing up Mom listened to his early stuff and if you didn't know anything about who Charlie Pride was, you would swear he was just another White country artist with a baritone voice. His biggest song from those days was Kiss an Angel Good Morning, and Mom said that when I was a kid for some reason when she played Charlie Pride music I would sleep sounder - that is weird, because I never really particularly got into his material at all. And, a funny story from one of my uncles about that too. My uncle Chod was perhaps one of the most racist people I knew growing up, as every time he referred to a Black person he used the N word. Being he lived here in Baltimore when I was a kid, I always wondered with the significant Black population here why someone never hurt him for that. However, he was not the only one - there was always this mild bit of racism in my mom's family - something thankfully she didn't inherit and always taught me that it was wrong - that caused anything "Black" to be framed in some way with that epithet N word. After some time, you learn to sort of disregard it and go about your business, but it was disturbing. However, my Uncle Chod had a couple of little weaknesses that he didn't realize. For one, my aunt (who was my maternal grandfather's half-sister - she was the third-oldest of my great-grandmother's kids from her second marriage after my great-grandfather passed away) was rumored to be quadroon, since one of her paternal grandparents was possibly Black. Secondly, Uncle Chod loved listening to Charlie Pride, and he was always raving about Charlie Pride's music. When another relative informed him that Charlie Pride was Black, Uncle Chod went into an instant fit of denial by saying "No he ain't - he's an Injun!" Being Uncle Chod passed away several years back, I would wager he probably went to his grave still believing Charlie Pride was Native American! And, as stubborn as some of those older relatives of mine were, there was no way you were going to convince him otherwise (some of those people were so hard-headed that even if you showed them solid evidence, they would still swear they were right!). That was the thought that Al and Essie's story in Bethany's book made me think of. The "country culture" in the past 50 years or so has gotten very diverse - with Hispanics like Freddy Fender in the music area, and comedians such as Henry Cho, the country persona has taken on a multiethnic flavor now. In a way that is a good thing, but I have this nagging feeling that there are those stupid pockets of resistance like my uncle was still out there, and we will be contending with those for generations to come.
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