Deep South

Growing up in the deep south cultivates a memory torn between tragedy and liberty.Nine decades after Lincoln’s Emancipation, Justice demanded a Supreme Court decision to open the gates of public education for four children in Little Rock. Racist whackos were still hiding in the hedges, waiting for Medgar Evers to get out of a car in his own driveway across the street. . . so they could shoot him dead. Years later, when Martin Luther King Jr. addressed a church gathering, on a fateful night in Memphis, he told them that he had received a phone call, from “an ugly voice”, It was a warning. But Martin was a brave American; he understood his rights as a citizen of these United States. The next day, a racist gunman shot him dead. Martin was only following the example of his ancient predecessor, Moses, when he said: “I’ve been to the mountaintop; and I’ve seen the promised land. . . I may not get there with you.” The next day, a racist gunman shot him dead. After that, after the Freedom Riders. . . after federal marshals enforcing admittance for black students, an alert Canadian, Neil Young, recorded a song, “Southern Man”, with an admonition: “Southern man, don’t forget what your Good Book says!” Not too long after that, a rock group from Alabama wrote a song with this line: “I hope Neil Young will remember, southern man don’t need him around anyhow.” Not to worry, Neil. . . there’s a bright spot shining from east Tennessee. Heaven had birthed a songbird maiden in the hills of east Tennessee, to brighten the dark deep south. . . to gently guide southerners toward a tolerant, gospelistic renovation of their obsolete redneck racism. The saving grace of southern culture on the skids emerged from a river valley in East Tennessee, when a princess was born. Dolly went over to Nashville and initiated a regal recovery of southern decency. Her bold, melodic voice inspired folks to get out of their ruts, out of their riots, rise and shine, and redirect their attention to the mellow tranquility of the deep south. . . relax in a rocker. . . the songbird from Sevierville sang: Sittin’ on the front porch on a summer afternoon. . . june bugs, fireflies in the cooling evening. . . in her Tennessee Mountain Home.

Dolly rescued the ole South, redirecting our attention to the finer things in life. Dolly lit up the grand ole opry and the southern airwaves like a cool mountain breeze, with rocollections of sitting in a rocker on the front porch on a summer afternoon. . . then in the fall, puttin’ on that coat of many colors that mama made, moments of the good life so that workin’ 9 to 5 to make a living wouldn’t be such an ordeal. And yes, Johnny Reb, the deep south did indeed rise again. . . born again into a new identity of equality, generosity, humility and joy, with a little help from Abraham, Martin, John, and Dolly. Now, while peckin’ out messages from my Appalachian mountainside home, we will remember, yes, we will remember the Deep South. Yes, indeed, we sho’nuff did rise again! King of Soul