Bill Ahlschwede (billahls@utm.edu) from 192.239.147.163 at 10/16/00 04:24PM
comment
    I spent the week, an extended week, of the Festival of Southern Cultures drinking in culture and thinking about the future. Much of my thinking was about pickup trucks and the now-high price of gas. My cultural immersion started and ended in Baptist Churches, and marched to the beat of numerous Southern drummers. Saturday evening before the beginning of the Festival, Margrethe and I attended a wedding at one of the Baptist Churches in Martin. It was not an usual wedding, more like a wedding-and-a-half. The lovely couple said their vows and exchanged their rings. Then the mother of the groom and her current husband (of twenty-some years) renewed their wedding vows. The chancel of the church was adorned with two brides, two grooms, two sets of attendants, one minister, and two unity candles, one of which went out. Two of the things I observed, which I took to be part of the Culture of the South, were the slit in the wedding dress of the “renew-our-vow” bride and the posture of couples seated in the congregation. The slit in the wedding dress of the “renew-our-vow” bride went up the side of the skirt nearly to the hip socket. Southern Culture is how I understand the mother-of-the-not-so-young-groom displaying her “Belle-ness.” My wife pointed out to me that many of the men in the congregation sat with their arm around the woman sitting next to them. I presume that they were all married couples. I have not noticed this posture in weddings I have recently attended in the north, so I conclude that this also is part of the Southern Culture. Monday’s speaker furthered my thinking about pickup trucks. I had been thinking about pickup trucks being a part of the Culture of the South. Monday’s speaker clarified issues by showing maps of things which define the Culture of the South and how that might be changing. The South is where kudzu grows, although kudzu wasn’t introduced into the South until long after the Civil War. The South is where cotton was grown in the 1800’s. Where Baptist Churches are mostly located. Where grits are sold. Where members of a national bar-b-que organization live. The maps were helpful because they were based on real numbers, not just notions. And maps can show densities. So I asked the speaker during the question period if he had a map which showed pickup trucks. He said that he did not, but thought that might be interesting. There is a small machine shop near my house, about a half mile to the left past the first stop sign. Based on the number of vehicles I see in the parking lot each day, I would guess that about thirty people work there. Always, most vehicles parked there are pickup trucks, and some days all are pickup trucks. That has supported my notion that pickup trucks define the South. But, the speaker lead me to think about density. Most of my non-South life experience has been in Nebraska, a state similar in size and shape to Tennessee, but with only one sixth as many people. Much of Nebraska, the farm and ranch areas, is sparsely populated. In those areas, one might drive by a livestock market and see only pickup trucks. For sure, there are more pickup trucks in Tennessee than in Nebraska. But if a map of pickup trucks per person were plotted, pickup trucks might be as prevalent in Nebraska as in Tennessee. Pickup trucks are symbolic of a Southern Culture, even if pickup trucks are as prevalent elsewhere. In West tennessee, pickup trucks say rural. Pickup trucks say redneck. Pickup trucks say hunting, say fishing, say look at my horse trailer, say check my Confederate battle flag. Pickup trucks in this part of the South are driven with a bit of defiance, an air of independence. Pickup trucks are also driven to the gas pump more often than comparably sized cars. This year, the season of the Festival of Southern Cultures was also the season of high gas prices. If the high gas prices prevail, I expect that small pickup trucks will be the mark of Southern Culture. Thursday evening, I watched and listened as a foursome of good-old-boys from Paris, as in Tennessee, played and sang Southern Culture. A banjo, fiddle, guitar, string bass, and four guys played and sang the night away. Bluegrass? Probably. Rock-a-Billy? Maybe. New Orleans blues? Once or twice. It was fun. It was South. It was Southern Culture. On Saturday, I ventured to Reelfoot Lake, Tennessee’s great earthquake lake, for the annual Arts and Crafts Festival. Arts and Crafts Festivals, along with flea markets and multi-mile yard sales are a Southern Culture. At Reelfoot Lake, there seemed to be hundreds of booths selling mostly stuff. In my humble judgment, the only art work on display were the hand-made duck calls, made within duck calling distance of Reelfoot Lake, and Calhoun boats, hand-made across the road from the Reelfoot Lake Visitor Center. Duck calls and Calhoun Reelfoot Lake boats are works of art, the essence of yet another Southern Culture. Sunday marked for me the end of the Festival, my personal extended Festival of Southern Cultures. During the early service at Martin’s First United Methodist Church, the minister announced, as he dispatched two youngsters with offering plates, “Buddy Boane is back to sing for us again.” Buddy Boane is a campus cop, a friendly, helpful sort of Sergeant with the University of Tennessee at Martin police, a.k.a. Campus Security. Buddy took the chancel, positioned himself behind the high-backed pastor’s chair, nodded for the sound system operator to start the accompaniment tape, and proceed to sing “Crying in the Chapel.” It was the Elvis song. The tape sounded like the Jordanaires. I assumed that Buddy stood behind the chair to hide his swivel hips. I decided that this was a sign of another Southern Culture. Elvis music in the Methodist Church. Later that day, I was part of another Southern Culture. In the first Baptist Church in Martin, I watched and listened as the Centennial Anniversary of this University, the University of Tennessee at Martin, was celebrated. The First Baptist Church of Martin was one of the founders of the Hall-Moody Institute, the predecessor of this University. All that is the Culture of a University in the South was there–a Chancellor declaring the occasion; a historian reminding us of our past; the verse of a poet set to music by a composer, both faculty members; students singing the world premier of the song accompanied by student instrumentalists; mention of a newly published history of the University written by a one of the university’s former football coaches; and a Baptist preacher praying over us. I have been among some of the Cultures of the South during the Festival. They are the cultures of now, probably different in some small ways from the Southern Cultures of last year, and probably different from the Southern Cultures I will experience next year. I figure to drive my pickup truck a little less this year, a nod to the high cost of gas. I have thought about a gun rack for the back window, but for now the old, rusty, small pickup truck is sufficient to restore my being whenever I feel a little low on Southern Culture.