<\/p>\n
I don’t visit <\/span>South Carolina<\/span> that often, unlike some of my more susceptible fellow I had a full itinerary planned, which included stops in Columbia, Charleston, As luck would have it, I never made it out of a Hooters just across the border.<\/p>\n My first and last stop was Greenville<\/span>, which is really one giant strip mall and the handful of “Did you see the debate the other night?” she asked me.<\/p>\n “Yeah.”<\/p>\n “Who do you think won?” Her look said she was ready to shoot me down and “Uh. Dean held his own.”<\/p>\n “Wrong. There is no \u2018holding your own’ in presidential debates. In fact, there Her strong opinion was respectable, but I wasn’t quite sure if I shared it. I “Kin I help you?”<\/p>\n “Just came over to smoke.”<\/p>\n “You were sittin’ in the smokin’ section.”<\/p>\n “I think wherever you are is the smokin’ section,” I said. Hey, we can’t all “I s’pose so.”<\/p>\n “Who for?”<\/p>\n “Bush.”<\/p>\n “Bush? He’s already in office.”<\/p>\n “He’s runnin’ agin, ain’t he?”<\/p>\n Her accented voice was so beautiful, her body so fine, I didn’t want to believe “Yes, yes he is,” I said. I ordered a Three Wisemen as a little joke to myself Edwards was the favorite. Somehow he’d won a seat in Congress in my state “Do you like Edwards?” I asked Trisha, after taking the shot and a Captain “He’s preddy handsome.”<\/p>\n “I see. Thanks.”<\/p>\n I went back to my table, but the alcohol was piggybacking on the five big mugs I couldn’t leave yet, though. I hadn’t gotten anything answered here. The I sat up in my booth on one knee and leaned over the back to the table behind. “Mornin’,” I said.<\/p>\n “Mornin’.”<\/p>\n “You fellas going to vote today?”<\/p>\n “Yes, sir!” one said excitedly. “For sure going to try to keep that Bush out of “Why’s that.”<\/p>\n “Well,” he said, “You see this uniform?” The dingy gray shirt had bright “No, it doesn’t,” I said. “It’s plain as day that it doesn’t.”<\/p>\n “Shitfire, this boy can read! No, it don’t, because the people that work for The others nodded their heads, cleared their throats, and went “Uh-huh.” I The city engineers had left; they went back to work out on the cold streets, “I’m on the interstate, boring in straight to the center. Columbia<\/span>!”<\/span><\/p>\n “What’s the outlook?”<\/p>\n “Oh, they’re political animals, boss. Probably tear me to shreds, but not “Well…DRIVE FASTER!”<\/p>\n He rung off and I settled back into my booth. Pabst was on special, so I had Dammit. Just when I was in the mood to soar with “Thunder Road<\/span>.” Ah well. As I was choosing my selections, a man walked “Been here for a while, ain’t ya?” he asked in a low voice.<\/p>\n “Yeah, why?”<\/p>\n “Anything wrong?”<\/p>\n I turned to face him. He was an older man, probably fifty-five, with white “You’re askin’ folks about the primary, right?”<\/p>\n “Uh, yeah.”<\/p>\n “Doin’ a story?”<\/p>\n “Kind of.”<\/p>\n “Well, I got an opinion, too.”<\/p>\n “What’s your name?”<\/p>\n “Just call me…Sam.”<\/p>\n “Uncle Sam?” I joked.<\/p>\n “You could say that,” he uttered in all seriousness. “I am a veteran. Inner “Let’s go to my booth,” I said.<\/p>\n He sat across from me and pulled out a pack of cigarettes without a label. “RJR “Sure,” I said, drawing one from the pack. God damn if it wasn’t the finest in Sam kept his gray-eyed gaze on me. “None of these candidates care about you,” “So social change…that’s right out?”<\/p>\n “It doesn’t concern them. The courts and the media…that’s where social change His metaphors and the Blue Ribbon aftermath in my stomach were confusing me. I “But, surely, a democrat would be a little more responsible in this tense “Negotiation? My boy, Vietnam<\/span> was Lyndon Johnson’s idea! Terrorism succeeded in its infancy He slid out of the booth and went out the double glass door, looking over his Sandie came up to me. “My shift is over. Do you want to close out with me?”<\/p>\n “Uh, I’d really like to just have it all on one check. I’m on business, you “Ok,” she said, trustingly. “Cindy will be your waitress now.”<\/p>\n “Have a good one,” I said, and she walked off. I hated the fact that I was The dinner crowd was filing in now, and the TVs were blaring above their “I did,” she said, “but I don’t remember who for.”<\/p>\n I was in the bathroom again without remembering the trip from my table. I stood “Hey, buddy,” it said.<\/p>\n “Me?”<\/p>\n “Yeah, you. You a gambling man?”<\/p>\n “I only gamble with my life.”<\/p>\n “What?”<\/p>\n “I said, \u2018sure.'”<\/p>\n “Well, how’s about the primary? I’m takin’ bets now.”<\/p>\n “What are the odds?”<\/p>\n “Edwards pays out two to one, so does Kerry. Dean is four points, and if you “Is there a trifecta bet?”<\/p>\n “I’m taking \u2018em all, buddy.”<\/p>\n “Give me twenty on Edwards-Kerry-Dean.”<\/p>\n “Your name?”<\/p>\n “Captain America<\/span>.”<\/span><\/p>\n “All right, Cap, I’ll find you afterward…win or lose.” There was a flush and he I got back and found food sitting on my table. I guess I had ordered it at some “Who are you?” the father asked.<\/p>\n “Excuse me?”<\/p>\n “Why are you eating our food?”<\/p>\n “I’m sorry, I just…I thought this was my booth.”<\/p>\n “He’s probably homeless, dear,” said Mother. “Call for the manager!”<\/p>\n “How could you possibly think this was your table?” Father asked.<\/p>\n “Well, I thought…I thought I ordered food and this looked like my order and…” “That’s my coloring book!” Sister yelled. Upon further inspection, it was, “Forget about the coloring book!” Father said. He was getting more upset by the Sure enough, right beside me in the booth was a small carrier with a bundle of “Jesus!” I said. “What kind of sick fucks leave a baby unattended in a “But\u2014but\u2014!” Mother was whimpering.<\/p>\n “You should be grateful,” I said, beer-batter crumbs flying out of my mouth, “We put quarters in the jukebox!” Brother said, oblivious to the panic around “Regardless, it was downright irresponsible, and I would chide you some more if “Okay, you’ve had your fun,” Father said and grabbed my arm and pulled me out “Goodbye, Angel,” I said to the baby. “Don’t forget to Rock the Vote!” I blew When I woke up, I was at the bar, my head propped up by several “Girls of “Thanks,” I said. Now the miracle had occurred. It was best not to overstay my “This is for my tab,” I said.<\/p>\n “This is going to just barely cover it,” she said. “What about a tip?”<\/p>\n “A tip? Stay off the roads. I’m driving home!”<\/p>\n With that, I danced out the doors and into the cold Carolina<\/span> air. My notebook was gone, my clothes were soiled, but I
\ntarheels who border jump to get lottery tickets bi-weekly. <\/span>North Carolina<\/span>, as the bigamist said, is my home, and I likes it just
\nfine. Don’t get me wrong, <\/span>South
\nCarolina<\/span> has some
\nnice places, but they’re way down towards the <\/span>Georgia<\/span> side; in the upstate all you got is heat and patchwork
\nasphalt and empty mills. It’s because of these closed down mills and factories
\nthat South Carolina Democrats are ready to beat down the doors of the White
\nHouse with Palmetto trunks, and when Big Primary Tuesday came around, I decided
\nthat I’d have to cross over and see what was Happening. That, and Nacho
\npromised a bonus check if I would cover a primary. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nHilton Head, and a few of the more notable small towns, all of which could be
\nvisited within a day, I was sure of it. I was going to wring <\/span>South Carolina<\/span> dry of all political commentary on all the issues:
\npoverty, racism, gay rights, the budget, and maybe even Our Little War. I was
\nseeking the Hard Core, here, past the rings of the ages and the heartwood. Deep
\ninto schizo-my-parents-dictated-my-political-beliefs territory. Deep into
\nreactive and proactive psyches. Deep into the heart of the Palmetto state. <\/span><\/p>\n
\ntall bank buildings called “downtown”. It’s relatively close to the NC border,
\nand a lot of radio stations are based there providing the upstate with fresh
\n“there’s-a-rock-in-my-pants” jokes. It was very early\u2014around <\/span>7:30 am<\/span>\u2014when I arrived, so I stopped in at Hooters for some
\ncoffee. It is a little known fact that Hooters has some of the best coffee in
\nthe world, and after my girl Sandie had brought me a cup or two I was on my
\nmark. Another little known fact about Hooters is that no one goes there for
\nbreakfast because they don’t have a breakfast menu. I took advantage of the
\nrelative emptiness of the restaurant to interview Sandie about politics over my
\nbucket of hot wings. Turns out she was studying pre-law at the community
\ncollege with hopes of heading to USC in two years. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nexplain why.<\/p>\n
\nis no winning. Each of the candidates could claim to have won on different
\nlevels: Sharpton with his wit, Kucinich with his impressive boldness, Kerry
\nwith the sympathy…but no one wins. You just survive. Which is why Kerry is
\ngoing to win the nomination. He already survived Vietnam<\/span>.”<\/span><\/p>\n
\nwas still in charge of the situation, however, so I sent her off for more
\nwings, coffee, and onion peels. While she was distracted, I headed over to the
\nbar where Trisha was wiping down everything without much passion.<\/p>\n
\nhave campaign advisers telling us what to say at all times. She smiled a polite
\nsmile, but started to turn away. Quick action was needed. “Are you going to
\nvote today?”<\/p>\n
\nthe words coming out of her mouth, but I had to.<\/p>\n
\nand in honor of the three contenders in the SC race: Sen. John Kerry, Gov.
\nHoward Dean, Sen. John Edwards.<\/p>\n
\nwithout any experience; just a pretty face, an honest voice, and a true trial
\nattorney’s bank account. Despite his youth, Edwards was of the Old School. All
\nyou needed, like the man said, was a shoeshine and a smile, and Edwards rode
\nhis pearly whites and some Jesse Helms backlash into the Capitol<\/span>
\n<\/span>Building<\/span>. The question was, could he do it again? This time, of
\ncourse, the stakes are much higher. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nchaser.<\/p>\n
\nof coffee I’d already had, and I stumbled twice. When I got back to my booth, I
\nsaw that Chris Matthews was on the TV already yelling at everyone. Next to the
\nticker was the time: 10:07<\/span>.
\nJesus! I’d already missed my next destination, and the time allotted for my
\nthird, New Guilford, was coming up fast!<\/span><\/p>\n
\nwaitresses obviously lived in their own world; I had to get something from the
\nproletariat who were starting to drift in for early lunches. Yes, the blue
\ncollars. They could help me.<\/p>\n
\nThere were a few city engineers gathered around some menus.<\/p>\n
\nthe White House again!”<\/p>\n
\nfluorescent orange bands around the torso. “City of Greenville<\/span>” was embroidered in cursive above his left nipple. “This
\nshouldn’t say no \u2018City of <\/span>Greenville<\/span>.’ This should say \u2018Worth-Tex Industries.’ Does it say
\n\u2018Worth-Tex Industries?”<\/span><\/p>\n
\nWorth-Tex Industries now all speak Mandarin Chinese! Now what we need is a boy
\nin the White House, or La Casa Blanca, as Reyes here would say”\u2014here he clapped
\na fellow engineer on the shoulder, a dark Mexican who grinned yellow\u2014”who’s
\ngonna keep jobs here. Who’s gonna protect our GNP, who’s gonna, goddammit, let
\nme stop weedeatin’ and drilling concrete for this hell’s water excuse for a
\ncity.”<\/p>\n
\ndecided to join them for lunch (since I had just had wings for breakfast, I
\ndecided to go light and only got half of a meatloaf sandwich and a cup of
\npotato soup). We discussed NAFTA, taxes, and other economic issues, and I felt
\nthat I had enough material that I could leave. I imagined the heading: “High
\nEconomics at Hooters”. Unfortunately, I had money problems a bit closer to
\nhome…due to my frenzied preparation early this morning and my excitement to get
\nonto the road, I had grabbed a pair of pants out of the laundry basket and
\npulled them on quickly, completely forgetting that I had laid out a pair with
\nmy wallet inside them on my chair the night before. As a result, I couldn’t pay
\nmy bill. Luckily, I realized this before I had called for my bill, and now I
\nhad two courses of action. I could try to slip out with minimum damage done to
\nthe Hooters establishment, or I would have to stay and eat and drink until some
\nkind of opportunity presented itself for me to make some quick cash. Since the
\ndining room was still far from crowded, I decided to stay. If worse came to
\nworse, I could slip out during the frenzy that would occur during the Gamecocks
\nbasketball game that night. The only problem was that the game wasn’t scheduled
\nuntil 9:00pm<\/span>…almost 10 hours from now. Could I really hold out that
\nlong? <\/span><\/p>\n
\nsweeping excess salt off the roads after the big ice storm. In the bathroom, I
\nread the sports page while my bladder relieved itself of coffee and whiskey. I
\nwas getting jittery; I needed to calm down. Beer would be the ticket, and lots
\nof it. The Mellow Gold. Of course, if I was going to stay here, I was going to
\nhave to get some more material for the Big Boss. Nacho was calling my cell
\nevery hour on the hour, “WHERE ARE YOU?”<\/p>\n
\nbefore I fax in the story.”<\/p>\n
\nordered two buckets, and I watched the ice melt while the liquid soaked through
\nmy body like a rag. Now thaaaaaaaat’s nice,<\/em> I thought. A nice Southern
\nafternoon. I begged Trisha the bartender for a dollar to put into the jukebox.
\nI had no cash, I explained, but I would be sure to tell Sandie to charge me
\nextra when I paid with my credit card. Honest Injun. She took one out of her
\ntip jar and handed it to me with one condition, “No Springsteen.”<\/p>\n
\nup behind me. <\/span><\/p>\n
\nstubble. “No. Everything’s peachy-peach,” I said.<\/p>\n
\nBeltline all the way. I’ve worked in many positions in many of the white marble
\nhalls of DC for thirty years. I retired early on kickbacks and pork barrel
\nline-item residual checks. They all but bought me off. I know<\/em> things.”<\/p>\n
\nPrivate Stock,” he said. “Finest tobacco in the world, direct from the old boys
\nthemselves. A private favor. Have one?”<\/p>\n
\nthe world. He had credibility in my eyes now. “Tell me what you know.”<\/p>\n
\nhe said. “They want change, sure, but not your kind of change. They don’t care
\nabout Boys Club basketball tournaments, keeping drugs off the streets, or the
\nelderly. If they could, they’d ship all the elderly to Canada<\/span> or <\/span>Belize<\/span>. All they care about is power. The presidency, now, is
\nless of a commander-in-chief position than it used to be. Now it’s more
\ncomparable to that of a supply officer in a large company. Requisitions are
\nsent in, and the president decides who gets what, who needs what. Of course,
\nthese decisions are based on a system of favors, judgment is bent like hot
\nsteel by the deal-making hammer. <\/span>Iraq<\/span> got what they did because they’d given up on our system.
\nThey didn’t care to deal anymore. So we locked them out.”<\/span><\/p>\n
\ncomes from. It’s one of the few things that works from the bottom up. All the
\npresident has to do is sign things, appoint key people…and it’s all good old
\nboy favoritism. This campaign for president, on all fronts, is about getting a
\nnew man in. Doesn’t matter who. Nine vs. one is good odds. They’ve covered all
\nthe bases; it’s like a goddamn Real World cast on the ballot: you got your military
\nman, your smart man, your fringe man, your nigger, your Jew…something for
\neveryone. What they want is turnout, my friend. Get enough people excited early
\non, and it can build into a cresting wave that crashes on November 2nd, washes
\nout the Republicans no matter which candidate gets thrown on shore.”<\/p>\n
\nretreated, as the drunk do, to something familiar inside myself: political
\noptimism.<\/p>\n
\ntime,” I said. “Surely we could return to a time of negotiation with other
\ncountries, start tearing down the wall of isolationism…”<\/p>\n
\nbecause of Carter’s milquetoast demeanor! These things, this Big Ideas, are
\nbeyond even the President of the <\/span>United States<\/span>‘ control. His may be the highest office in the world,
\nbut it still has its limits. One human’s mind can only comprehend so much; one
\nman’s body can only sign and decree and shake so many hands…beyond that,
\nthere’s emptiness that is filled, rapidly, by others with guns, fundamentalism,
\nmoney, or even heart. I’ve said enough. Now I have to leave you.”<\/span><\/p>\n
\nshoulder in the parking lot before walking around the corner.<\/p>\n
\nsee, and it would help with the expense report. I promise I’ll leave you a big
\ntip.”<\/p>\n
\ngoing to leave her high and dry, but she had two assets that I did not, and
\nthey would take her far in this world.<\/p>\n
\nchatter. The early reports had the South Carolina<\/span> race close between Edwards and Kerry. I had the new
\ngirl, Cindy, bring me a pitcher of the black stuff. Wholesome Guinness grain to
\noutweigh the pale aftertaste of the metallic Pabst. When she returned I asked
\nher if she had voted.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nstaring at the sports page again and a nervous sense of foreboding was
\npreventing me from completing my task. From the next stall over came a voice.<\/p>\n
\nwant a big bet, Kucinich is 29 to one.”<\/p>\n
\nwas out of the bathroom before I could turn around.<\/p>\n
\npoint. I was happy to see it, but it sure seemed like an excessive spread: a
\nfried chicken basket, a plate with three scoops of slaw, two orders of onion
\nrings, and a small bucket of raw oysters. I began to eat ravenously; I drowned
\nthe 24-hour news networks out with my chomping. Before I got too far, though, I
\nwas interrupted when a family of four surrounded me.<\/p>\n
\nthings were getting hazy now. Maybe I hadn’t ordered. Maybe this was the wrong
\ntable. Perhaps I should reason with them. But wait…wasn’t that my notebook?
\n“This is my notebook!” I cried.<\/p>\n
\nindeed, a Yu-Gi-Oh! Coloring book.<\/p>\n
\nminute, possibly because I was still cramming French fries and oysters into my
\nmouth with alternating hands. “What about the baby? Didn’t you see the baby?!”<\/p>\n
\njoy sleeping inside.<\/p>\n
\nHooters!? You should all be ashamed of yourselves! I could have stolen it, and
\nthen you’d have another Elizabeth Smart on your hands!”<\/p>\n
\n“that I decided to stop here and guard this precious child while you were away
\ndoing God knows what!”<\/p>\n
\nhim. He was toe-tapping to Paul Simon.<\/p>\n
\nthis infant wasn’t such a lamb to care for. Such a darling, such a sweet pea\u2014”<\/p>\n
\nof the booth. “Just get lost.”<\/p>\n
\nit kisses, and Father shoved me some more. I started to laugh insanely as if
\nhis jabs tickled me then lost my balance and fell to the floor. Time to get
\nsome space between me and the madness. I rolled on the floor down the aisle
\nbetween tables, knocking my head against chairs and cowboy boots. When I hit a
\nwall, I curled reflexively into a ball and closed my eyes tight. People were
\nyelling in an uppity way and political pundits were shouting from the
\ntelevision about Confederate flags and double-anal\/double-vaginal intercourse
\nand its place in our society. I tried to sing to drown them out, “And if I can
\ncall you Betty, then Betty you can call meee Al!” but the intensity required
\nwore my diaphragm out. It gave up, my lungs imploded, and everything, as the
\nman says, went black.<\/p>\n
\nHooters” calendars. Cheers were ringing out; my first sense told me that it was
\nthe USC game, but in a moment of true clarity I remembered that the game wasn’t
\nuntil Wednesday. I’d been wrong all along about that. Instead, the cheers were
\ncoming from men around me. The results were finalized and being broadcast.
\nEdwards defeated Kerry defeated Dean. The golden boy from the South might have
\na chance at that Casa Blanca. Glasses were chiming all around, and it seemed
\nthat I had not been charged any penalty time for the fiasco with the family.
\nQuite the opposite, people kept buying rounds and I was only too happy to
\naccept. A seedy-looking man approached me, but he, too, had a smile on his
\nface. He pulled out a roll of hundreds and peeled two off. “For you, Captain America<\/span>.”<\/span><\/p>\n
\nwelcome. I tracked down Cindy the waitress.<\/p>\n
\nstill had my keys. After several attempts, I got the key into the ignition and
\ncircled the parking lot for a good ten minutes looking for the exit. Without so
\nmuch as a care in the world I went to search for the interstate, thinking of
\nEisenhower and how much he’d done for this country.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[57,352],"tags":[68,353],"class_list":["post-2501","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cass","category-gsarchive","tag-cassander","tag-gs-archive-2004-2008"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2501","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2501"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2501\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2767,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2501\/revisions\/2767"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2501"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2501"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2501"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}