Foster Dickson's Blog, page 46
April 14, 2019
Deep Southern Gardening Mystery #10
This bush is in a yard in residential neighborhood, built in the 1960s and 1970s, that I pass on the way to pick up my son each afternoon. As winter moved out and spring came, its blooms flourished and are almost like very large versions of the puffy balls that come from cottonwood trees. By now, the blooms are falling away. Does anyone have any idea what this is?
April 12, 2019
“Closed Ranks” at the Alabama Book Festival, April 13 at 10 AM
April 11, 2019
Southern Movie 34: “Drums in the Deep South”
By modern standards, the 1951 movie Drums in the Deep South is pure kitsch. This highly stylized, melodramatic film is set in Georgia in the 1860s, first at the onset of the Civil War and later near the end, and involves the often-seen conundrums of the Civil War: whether to fight for one’s country if it means fighting against one’s friends.
Drums in the Deep South begins, after a two-minute sequence of credits accompanied by orchestral music and titling on the screen to let us know where and when we are, with a well-dressed man with a Bryl-creem hairdo riding up on a horse to a classic Southern plantation. He speaks to his old Uncle Albert, who is lounging on a white-columned veranda, about Atlanta and the cotton business. Despite the dramatic tone of the opening, the old man’s buffoonish presence seems to be an attempt at humor, as he prattles on without noticing that both the younger man and his black butler walk away while he is talking.
After the brief interchange on the veranda, young Braxton Summers finds what he was looking for: his wife Kathy, a pretty young woman who is pulling grapes from an arbor of vines. They kiss and embrace. Despite the Georgia heat and an oncoming storm, which the two discuss, Kathy is aristocratically dressed, with impeccable hair, bright red lipstick, and not a drop of sweat on her face. However, the happy reunion is short-lived when he tells her, “Atlanta is a powder keg. They’ve called up the militia.” The young wife balks at such a possibility, saying that she has heard these ominous warnings before, but he chides her that it’s real this time. As a West Point graduate, he is being given the rank of colonel along with an order to get himself ready for active duty.
But that isn’t all of the news that he’s brought with him. The couple will have two guests for dinner: Will Denning, who Kathy calls “that Yankee boy from Boston,” and . . . Clay. Kathy becomes immediately sobered at the mention of his name, proclaiming that she won’t see him, and her husband reminds her that she can Clay had once been in love— and that she has never forgotten him. She counters by saying that the past is dead, and that there’s no sense in dredging it back up.
That night, dressed for dinner and waiting on their guests, Kathy is visibly nervous and Braxton again tries to reassure her. Will and Clay arrive, and a tense reunion follows. The two men are also young and handsome (and using plenty of Bryl-creem), and they have been in the shipping business together in New Orleans. Braxton tries to keep the conversation light, but Clay makes loaded comments to Kathy as they sip their aperitifs. Then, Clay unloads the news: he has paid off his father’s debts, bought his land back, and will be returning to live nearby. The tension grows some more when Clay gives Kathy a gift – a necklace – then the two are left alone after dinner, when Braxton and Will leave to discuss cotton seeds.
The plot thickens when Clay and Kathy are left alone to discuss their love for each other. During the conversation, Clay admits that he only came back for her. The story about the shipping business was lie— he was only a deck hand and dock worker who lifted and toted the bales himself. The story about buying back his father’s plantation was also a lie— he is flat broke. Even the story about the necklace belonging to a princess was a lie— it was his mother’s. As the thunder crashes outside, the two embrace and kiss passionately.
However, the kiss is broken up by old Uncle Albert, who bursts in the door! He is frantically shouting for Braxton, trying to be heard over the crashes of lightning and thunder, then announces, “We’re at war!” Fort Sumter has been fired upon, and Will must get back to Boston. Braxton offers for Clay to stay with him until they get called up, but Clay refuses after exchanging a brief, loving look with Kathy (right in front of her husband, mind you).
The next scene shows us the passage of time. Scenes of cloudy smoke, shadowy soldiers on horseback, and regular cannon fire are overlain by a stream of years: 1861. 1862. 1863. 1864. When we emerge from this segue, three grey-coated Confederate officers are discussing an unnamed man of immense bravery and cunning. No other man could possibly be right for the daring job they have in mind. It is Clay, who comes in the tent to receive his orders. The goal will be to halt Sherman’s march to Atlanta by destroying the railroad he is using as a supply line, and the task will be to get four cannons on top of Devil’s Mountain to bombard the railroad tracks and destroy them. Clay reminds them, when they point to the spot on the map, that he’s from near there and knows the place well. Yet, when he is advised to stay away from a place called Monrovia, Clay is startled at the news that the place is abandoned.
Clay collects his men, and they ride. Accompanied by a triumphant orchestral score, they barrel on horseback toward their duty, quickly coming to a hilltop, where they see a farmhouse that appears unoccupied. Clay and two men go down to make sure, but they find a man who has been hung by the Yankees. All we see are this feet dangling in the doorway.
More riding, more orchestra.
Soon, the small company reaches their location. Clay climbs to the top of a rocky embankment and points out Devil’s Mountain. The other soldier with him remarks that it seems like a hard climb, straight up, but Clay explains that they will go through the caverns within it. Quickly, another soldier appears, warns of a Union scouting party, and points in another direction. Clay gets his binoculars and looks: off in the distance is a white mansion. What is that,” the first soldier asks. “Monrovia,” answers Clay.
During their nighttime climb into the cavern, after a few weak attempts at comic relief, Clay admits that he lied earlier and doesn’t not actually know the way to the top. However, their assignment is still there to be completed: to get cannons on top of Devil’s Mountain. The men struggle with huge guns, then Clay gets the news that an old man was seen down at the house. Clay knows it is Uncle Albert. Monrovia is not deserted after all!
Clay then sneaks past enemy lines and gets to the plantation house. It is now occupied by Union troops, who are nasty and surly. One breaks a window in Uncle Albert’s face, and another seems to be using shirt-mending as a ruse for pursuing Kathy. Clay evades the blue-clad men, however, and gets inside where Uncle Albert helps him to rendezvous with Kathy.
Under the grape arbor when Kathy embraced her husband at the beginning of the movie, she now huddles in the darkness with her true love Clay. The two have a brief, sentimental conversation about their relationship, before they skedaddle away so Kathy can help the men to navigate the caverns and get those cannons up to the top of Devil’s Mountain!
When they return, one of the men has fallen in the caverns and another has gotten lost looking for him. Clay is concerned, but not concerned enough to divert the mission. With Kathy’s help, they’ll get it done! During the climb, another man falls and is lost, along with one of the cannons. By the time they stop to rest, Clay apprises us that they’re down to sixteen men and three cannons. Kathy estimates that it will take three or four days for the Union soldiers to fix the railroad tracks after the last attack, so the Confederates have some time. Before she leaves for home – with a passionate kiss – Clay and Kathy agree that she will signal the men from her bedroom window when the train is passing through, so their attack can have maximum effect. On her way out, Kathy also finds the lost man Jerry.
The next day, the Confederates are hard at work on the cannons. The injured man is healing, and the lost man has been recovered. But back at the house, things are more tense. Kathy is approached by the Union soldier who wanted his shirt mended, and it looks for a moment as though he will attempt to force himself on her. However, he softens and begins to speak kindly to her. He was a farmer in Illinois who was drafted, leaving behind a wife and two sons. He just wants to finish up in Georgia and get back home. In imparting these facts, he also shares that they won’t be leaving Monrovia in a few days— it will be that afternoon when the train arrives to pick up all of the men. Kathy senses that she must act quickly to signal the Confederates about the train, and she sends the Union soldier away by asking to see pictures of his children, which he has to leave to get.
Here, at the halfway point in the movie, the drama intensifies. Kathy runs upstairs to her bedroom to signal from the window, but when the Union soldier returns, picture in hand, to find her gone, he searches the house for her. As Kathy stands at the window flashing a mirror in the sun, a blue arm grabs her and pulls her away. The soldier berates her for her deceit, and backhands her across the face. Suddenly, we hear gunfire, and the Union soldier falls. Uncle Albert stands, slack-mouthed and pistol in hand, as the soldier droops from his wound. But he gets in one shot— Uncle Albert takes it in the gut and begins to fall, too. Kathy runs to Uncle Albert, but the wound will be too much for the old man. Before he dies, he points out to the Kathy that the Confederates got her signal.
The problem on the mountaintop is: the cannons are not yet in place. They will have to work furiously to be ready to fire on the train. Once they are assembled, the first two guns will take aim on the first train, Clay orders, and the third gun is to aim for the second train. The men wait patiently as the train rolls through the California hills— I mean, the Georgia mountains.
The barrage of gunfire goes on for a few moments of the film. They miss at first, but roll the cannons around, and eventually hit their targets. Mission accomplished. In the cavern that evening, Clay congratulates the men, but warns them that retaliation is coming.
Back at the house, the Union soldiers are preparing to leave Monrovia and to fight again. A soldier informs Kathy that he will be taking Albert’s body to bury it. Kathy also asks what happened to the man Albert shot, and she is informed that he died, too. She asks for his address, so she can write his family a letter, and oddly that request is honored.
Now, it is time for the big battle. The Union troops have to get the Confederates off the mountaintop, and Will Denning returns to the story to lead the Northern troops. They enter the caverns and begin the treacherous, twisting climb, but are met by Confederates who run them out.
At Monrovia, Will Denning is confronted by his superiors who want him to get the Rebs off the mountain. He retorts that he had previously advised his own side to occupy Devil’s Mountain but they didn’t listen. He is then told that they have a huge, long-range gun, usually used by the navy, on its way by rail. The gun can blow the whole top off of that mountain.
After conducting is business, Will speaks with Kathy. He tells her that he and Clay almost avoided the war entirely, but Clay had to come back to Georgia. Will thought it was because of his father’s plantation, but he knows now that it was because of her. Will also tells Kathy that Braxton is alive and well and free, which she is glad to hear (for some unknown reason, considering she is back in love with her old flame). Will tells her that she is still technically “the enemy” so she must remain on house arrest, if she is to stay at Monrovia.
Will then directs his men as the big gun arrives. They will shoot at the Confederates from a range that the mountaintop cannons can’t reach. Then, under cover of darkness, Kathy sneaks out of the house and heads to the caverns where her main man and his soldiers are stationed. Despite Will’s fidelity to her, she betrays him and shares the Union plan. She begs Clay to flee, and the men debate how to handle the oncoming attack. Clay accompanies her back to the house, and she proclaims that she’ll never see him again. But Clay retorts that he isn’t ready to die.
The Union attack comes, and it is as bad as they feared, though Clay is still standing.
Yet, the Union soldiers’ plans change when they get news that they aren’t getting all of the equipment they’d hoped for. One of the officers remarks that they have plenty of powder but not enough guns, to which Will responds that they’ll load up the caverns and blow off the mountaintop from the inside. As they’re talking and planning, Will runs his hand across the piano keys, but no sound comes out. He had earlier played a few notes on those keys, which sounded normal, and now recognizing that the piano’s wires are gone, he knows that Kathy has betrayed him. The final decision is made to blow up the inside of Devil’s Mountain.
Back in Kathy’s bedroom, where she is now under guard, she laments the outcome that she knows his coming: Will will kill Clay. However, she tries to persuade the corporal who guards her to let her talk to Will Denning. When the attack was planned, Will didn’t know that his old friend Clay is leading the Confederates on the mountaintop. She believes that she can get them to surrender and that she can talk Will out of the blast if he knows.
The corporal concedes and lets Kathy speak to Will, who is at first resistant but allows her to talk. Then, Kathy gets her chance to ask Clay to surrender— to Will. As Kathy climbs the cavern, though, a Confederate soldier who is guarding the entrance shoots her with his rifle! Dying from the gunshot, she pulls herself up to the place where her love and his men are, and she warns them. Clay orders his men to go down the mountain, but he stays with Kathy. Ultimately, the powder is ignited and Devil’s Mountain is blown up, with the two passionate lovers still up there together. In a final twist, Will realizes after it is too late his friends did not come down with the others.
Drums in the Deep South ends with this text on the screen: “Out of the chaos of brother against brother, came a new realization of our common destiny,” and “From the smoke and debris and the sacrifice, a new meaning of unity was forged for the United States of America, indivisible, now and forever.” The End.
By modern standards, movies like Drums from the Deep South are phony and cheesy. Compared to current representations of the Civil War, especially the battle scenes, these sentimental portrayals are sanitized for public consumption. However, to put the movie in the context of its time, the presentation makes more sense: this is the Civil War as shown through the lens of post-World War II prosperity. This wasn’t made to be accurate, but to send a message that the recently victorious United States has always been “indivisible,” even in its darkest hour.
Notwithstanding the unrealistic nature, the problems with Drums in the Deep South, though, are real and numerous. It isn’t a very good movie, in part because the storyline is flawed. Braxton is prominent in the beginning then disappears, and is also so weak a man that he allows his wife to fall into her former lover’s arms. It’s hard to have sympathy for Kathy, who is going behind her husband’s back. It’s also hard to have sympathy for Clay, who lies. The near-constant orchestral music creates more melodrama than drama, too.
Finally, I have one other nuanced criticism, something that may bother me more than it bothers other people: if you’re going to make a movie that’s set in the Deep South, know the difference between the landscape of the Georgia and the landscape of California. It’s really annoying. I’ve seen this problem in 1966’s The Black Klansman and in 1977’s Moonshine County Express, and it was in this movie too. I realize that it costs money to shoot on location, but come on, man!
As a document about the Deep South, this film falls flat, obviously. The caricatures are borrowed, and the sentimental styling is kitschy, though it is mildly interesting that the ordinary Union soldiers are the villains. But perhaps most of all, popular films like this one make the most pitiful thematic attempts at exposing (again) the unfortunate, everybody-loses, brother-versus-brother nature of the Civil War. We all know how the Civil War went and how it ended – there’s no mystery about that – so trying to create tension using cardboard stereotypes in a story we already know . . . it just doesn’t work.
April 10, 2019
Feeding the Family, Part One
When I ask my kids what they want from the grocery store, their answers are usually not the ones I hope for. Among the common requests are individually packaged snack foods and sugary drinks. While I’ll admit my own affection for chewy granola bars and Grapico, in making my list I’m not asking what they want to snack on. I’m asking what they want to eat.
The challenge as a parent (and as a person with a long family history of heart attacks) is: I’m fighting a constant battle against the brightly packaged, sugar-added “food products” that were born in laboratories, not in the earth. And I’ve become convinced, the more I read and pay attention, that these Frankenstein-foods are at the root of our collective unhealthiness, and also of our dependence on a system in which we need the insurance to pay for the drugs that will be prescribed by the doctors to counteract the effects of sitting around and eating trash.
I can be guilty of this, too. My work as a writer is mostly sedentary, and my work as a teacher means that leaving campus for a meal is difficult. Getting up to move around and having healthier, fresher foods on-hand both require forethought and effort on my part, since neither is a naturally occurring aspect of my typical weekday. Ratherthan involving physical activity, my work is often done hunkered over a keyboard or a student’s paper for so long that my upper back has to crackle and crunch itself back into the upright posture of a homo sapien. And when it comes to carrying a lunch and snacks, it is so much easier to choose foods that are pre-packaged and don’t need refrigeration, which means they’ll be processed and loaded with preservatives.
[image error]So how can an ordinary guy like me, who grew up not on a farm but in the suburbs, who works indoors at a desk, and who has always eaten some processed foods, reform my eating habits and improve my overall health? No matter what that new way of living may look like, I have already learned that it isn’t easy, because modern social forces and a corporate food system work against this goal. First of all, processed foods are often cheaper, and when I’m trying to fill the bellies of two adults and two growing children, quantity does matter. Not only are healthier foods generally more expensive, our family meals are not such that I can plate a four-ounce piece of lean meat garnished with three bright-green asparagus stalks and call that “dinner.” If my children don’t get full on what’s on their plates, they’ll be hunting the cupboards for junk all evening. Second, to have fresh, local produce often requires shopping more often and in markets other than traditional grocery stores— that takes time and gasoline. Of course, there are community supported agriculture operations (CSAs), but I still had to go pick up my shares, which is no easier than making a special trip to a farmers market.
Back in 2010, I interviewed David and Margaret Ann Snow, who own and operate the Snows Bend Farm CSA, and in explaining why CSAs are important, David remarked that it really isn’t possible for the average American family to raise all of their own food. The time, equipment, and supplies (and knowledge) are out of reach for most people today, and then there’s the issue of land ownership. Buying the land and putting a house on it would require a mortgage for most people, and if the land were used for subsistence farming, paying the loan would mean working another job beyond the farm. Notwithstanding that logistical problem – Snow didn’t say this, but I’ll add it – the other issue is that not everyone wants to grow their own food. Some just want to eat it. Moreover, not everyone is physically capable of doing farm work.
While I’m not sure whether I would want to be a full-time farmer, I am certain that I (and my wife) want for our family to eat more fresh, locally produced fruits, vegetables, meats, and breads and less chicken nuggets, boxed mac-and-cheese, Gushers, and Lucky Charms. By the time our first child was born, we had virtually cut fast food out of our lives after watching the 2004 documentary Supersize Me, and when the kids were small, we chose organic milk and hormone-free meats as a strict rule. These days, a busy life sometimes necessitates running through a drive-thru, and those lofty ideals about healthy eating aren’t always sustained. Though I can’t speak for anyone else in my family, I’ve found that fast food no longer tastes good to me, and moreover, since I seldom eat it, I notice how badly I feel after I do— which is kind of nice, because it keeps me away from it.
What I’m driving at is: in every aspect of life doing what’s right requires conscientious effort, and eating is no different. In Montgomery, Alabama, where I live, there are twelve McDonald’s, thirteen Burger Kings, eight Wendy’s, eight Hardee’s, three Jack’s, six Taco Bells, five Zaxby’s, six Chick-Fil-As, five KFCs, five Popeye’s— and seven farmers markets, one Fresh Market, and one Whole Foods. And despite that numerical imbalance in my locale, apparently it’s getting worse nationally. While I was working on this post, I read an NPR story in mid-March whose title asked-and-answered, “Why Are So Many Farmers Markets Failing? Because the Market is Satured.” It made me think of Lou Rivers’ one-act play “This Piece of Land” about an African-American family in Depression-era South Carolina who are on the verge of losing their farm to an overdue mortgage, which they can’t pay because the market is glutted with crops no one has the money to buy. The main character Rosa asks, of being unable to sell her husband’s crops, why there are so many hungry people, when there’s so much food you can’t sell. That’s kind of what I’m asking myself: how can prices stay so high and availability fall so low when so many people want safe, healthy food? Moreover, how can it be cheaper to run real foods through all those machines and add all those chemicals and truck it all over the country than it would be to pull a naturally occurring thing out of the dirt and eat it nearby and soon after? To an ordinary guy like me, it doesn’t make sense.
On the bright side, another article that I came across while writing this post explained that Amazon-owned Whole Foods began cutting its prices on April 3:
Whole Foods will slash its prices on hundreds of products, with a focus on produce, such as greens, tomatoes and tropical fruits. Customers will save an average of 20 percent on the new reduced-price items.
That’s good news, especially for us since my wife and I have Amazon Prime, which is part of the discount schedule. Though I don’t typically shop at Whole Foods, since it’s nine miles across town from where I live, these discounts and price-cuts do make it more attractive than before. Once again, though, there is a downside: if those of us in my neighborhood don’t patronize the grocery store near us, will it eventually close and become a food desert . . . ?
This main question is at the heart of my search: how can an ordinary guy like me, who grew up not on a farm but in the suburbs, who works indoors at a desk, and who has always eaten some processed foods, reform my eating habits and improve my overall health?
[Part Two is coming soon . . .]
April 9, 2019
Dirty Boots: A Column of Critical Thinking, Border Crossing, and Noblesse Oblige
Three weeks ago, on March 19, I wrote my column about a 2007 article in The American Scholar, written by University of South Alabama professor Ethan Fishman, which criticized self-proclaimed conservatives whose political ideas are based on “substituting feelings and emotions for rational discourse.” Around the same time that I was reading and considering that article, I also ran across a more recent study done by the libertarian Cato Institute in 2017, whose lead-in shared this equally disconcerting (and possibly linked) notion: 58% of the people surveyed said that the current political climate makes them worry about expressing their political opinions. Even more disconcerting was the finding that 71% believe that “political correctness has silenced discussion.”
[image error]I couldn’t disagree more. There is no need to worry about sharing our opinions and ideas with each other, and no, political correctness has not put an end to discourse in America. Spending two minutes on any social media platform or listening for two minutes to talk radio will show anyone that neither are people scared of expressing their opinions, nor has discussion been silenced. If anything, discussion has been ramped up to decibels only achievable through this most vigorous cacophony.
What has actually made people reticent is witnessing the onslaught of negative responses that follow an obnoxious, divisive opinion posted on social media. It’s hard to watch someone get torn down when they’ve gone “substituting feelings and emotions for rational discourse.” And it’s even harder to watch when the person can’t defend their own opinions. Seeing a “friend” get berated and chastised in the comments by other offended “friends” is ugly, but it shouldn’t lead us to have fear about sharing valid opinions. It should show us that making meritless, tactless generalizations about whole swaths of people tends to be met with anger and frustration.
However, meritless, tactless generalizations continue to abound in a media environment where outrageousness is rewarded with attention. Keeping in mind that the Cato Institute’s sample for their survey represented only 0.0007% of the US population (2,300 out of 325 million), some of their findings were still disturbing. According to their report, “51% of staunch liberals say it’s ‘morally acceptable’ to punch Nazis,” and “47% of Republicans favor bans on building new mosques.” Furthermore, “51% of Democrats support a law that requires Americans use transgender people’s preferred gender pronouns.” None of those ideas is feasible in a civilized democracy. It is never OK to commit violence against any person based on his or her political and social beliefs. Likewise, impeding the practice of a whole religion violates not only the First Amendment but also all notions of respectful pluralism. And, finally, the idea of a law requiring the use of specific verbiage for daily interactions couldn’t be enforced. If you ask me, this sounds like what Ethan Fishman described as “substituting feelings and emotions for rational discourse,” on both sides of the political spectrum.
This fear about expressing opinions may also be a consequence of that host of teeth-gnashing hobgoblins who burst forth from their echo chambers to bash even valid, well-supported ideas. Like their off-the-cuff counterparts, thinkers who are smart, pragmatic, and productive also have to deal with those who are all too willing to go about “substituting feelings and emotions for rational discourse.” And sometimes it does seem like it’s not even worth it . . . But in a civilized democracy, it has to be.
Political correctness has not silenced discussion. What it has done is make us think before we speak, write, or post — and that’s what some people don’t like! So-called political correctness has become the chimera that gets blamed for all manner of unwelcome introspection and uncomfortable circumspection, instead of being given credit for accomplishing exactly what it meant to do. After calling political correctness a “strawman,” which it has largely become, scholar Marilyn Edelstein wrote this in 1992 about what PC is, as compared to what its critics say it is:
Critics of political correctness combine and often distort three different but related issues. First, political correctness is used to describe the goals of those advocating a more pluralistic, multicultural, race-, gender-, and class-sensitive curriculum. Second, certain academicians are branded politically correct for insisting that intellectual inquiry reflects, to some degree, the values and interests of the inquirer and that aesthetic judgments are always intertwined with moral and political ones. Third, and most harshly, people are labeled politically correct for advocating university policies designed to minimize sexual and racial harassment on campuses. Fuller understanding of these three issues is critical if the widening public debate over political correctness is to become fruitful and illuminating rather than bitter and confused.
In short, the 1980s and ’90s ideas now lumped together under the auspices of political correctness were in favor of: respecting diverse perspectives, valuing thoughtful critique, and creating safe workplace policies— all good things. The stigma now assigned to PC came when this valid and inclusive ideal was warped and twisted, both by some of its proponents and some of its opponents.
Social media has changed society in two major ways: it has connected us with people we never would have met otherwise, and it has given global-sized megaphones to people (of all stripes). Unfortunately, some users employ that interconnectedness in a campaign to bash everything they don’t agree with, and some users’ perspectives are more outrageous than substantive. Yet, those people shouldn’t prevent the mass of us from using social media as a vast virtual meeting place . . . one that we should never, ever, ever mistake for the real world.
“Dirty Boots: A Column of Critical Thinking, Border Crossing, and Noblesse Oblige” posts will be published regularly on Tuesday afternoons.
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April 7, 2019
Help a blogger out!
Each May, the bill comes to renew the web domain and hosting services for Welcome to Eclectic. While I like keeping the blog free for any reader anywhere to click on a post and read, the costs associated with keeping Welcome to Eclectic online are real. Though thousands of people visit Welcome to Eclectic each year, only a few click on the page that offers information on how to support the project financially, and even fewer actually make a donation. So, as the date nears for me to pay those annual costs, I’m asking my readers to help a blogger out— make a donation, even a small one. If you’ve enjoyed what you read here, be a part of keeping it going.
Make A Donation
April 5, 2019
“Closed Ranks” at the Arts & Craft Beer Festival, April 6 from 2–6 PM
I’ll be at the 21Dreams / Goat Haus Biergarten Arts & Craft Beer Festival on Saturday afternoon, April 6 with copies of Closed Ranks. Displaying artists (and at least one writer) will have work available from 2:00 – 6:00 PM.
April 4, 2019
#throwbackthursday: Grapico
[image error]The headline in the Sunday, October 10, 1915 issue of the Shreveport, Louisiana Times says it all: “New Drink Achieves Instant Popularity: Demand for Grapico Forces Manufacturers Greatly to Enlarge Their Plant.” The article explains in the first paragraph that Grapico had only been around for four months, but was already a big seller. By 1917, Grapico was a successful enough product that other local bottling operations were organized, one of those in Montgomery, Alabama at the Lime Cola Bottling Company, which also handled Orange Crush and Hire’s Root Beer. Today, Grapico is bottled by the Buffalo Rock Company in Birmingham, Alabama— and it’s still delicious.
April 3, 2019
A Moveable Feast: A Big Ol’ Pile of Dirt (for a Rebirthed #schoolgarden)
*If you haven’t already, you should read the two previous posts, “A Moveable Feast: The Rebirth of a #schoolgarden” and “A Moveable Feast: Vegetable Beds for a Rebirthed #schoolgarden.”
Once you’ve got a spot, then you till it up. And after you’ve tilled it up, you bring in the topsoil . . .
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April 2, 2019
Dirty Boots: A Column of Critical Thinking, Border Crossing, and Noblesse Oblige
A few weeks ago, in late March, Alabama’s Senate Pro Tem Del Marsh and twenty-two other co-sponsors introduced and passed Senate Bill 119, which would end Alabama’s involvement with Common Core. These nationally aligned standards for K–12 education were adopted voluntarily in Alabama, after being designed by an assemblage of leaders from 48 states (not by the federal government as some people may believe). The process of developing the standards began in late 2007, and after the final product was released in the summer of 2010, Alabama was on board.
As with any large-scale national initiative, there have been massive misconceptions about what Common Core is and does; this passage from a 2018 blog article in Education Week says a lot:
Nearly from the beginning, though, the initiative faced a landmine of incorrect assumptions and half truths, ranging from those rooted in a misreading of the standards (students won’t read fiction anymore!) to the truly bizarre (schools are scanning children’s irises!)
However, cooler heads prevailed, and most states, the District of Columbia, and a few US territories adopted the Common Care standards as the basis for their own state standards.
[image error]Adopting the Common Core standards and adapting them into our state’s College and Career Ready Standards meant that Alabama was among a majority of states who embraced this progressive effort. But maybe not anymore. Just as Alabama is one of thirteen states that did not expand Medicaid, one of eight states with no lottery, and one of seven states that allows straight-ticket voting, this bill would have us entering another dubious minority: one of ten states that doesn’t use Common Core standards. The House is now taking up the bill, so we’ll know soon whether Alabama will take another step into further isolation, departing the mainstream of American culture in yet another way.
The repeal of Common Core is a bad idea, because the standards aren’t the problem. The percentage of Alabama students requiring remedial course courses in college dropped from 34.6% to 28% since the standards were implemented. The main problem is funding. Another is a teacher shortage, which has been caused by years of turmoil in the state’s school system. Personally, I’d prefer if we keep the aspect that’s working and fix the actual problems instead.
“Dirty Boots: A Column of Critical Thinking, Border Crossing, and Noblesse Oblige” posts will be published regularly on Tuesday afternoons.
To read recent posts, click the date below:
Or to find and read earlier posts, click here for a full list.
