My sins creep up on me, sent by the Devil, and beset me by surprise. I know not what to do. A month ago, in Fredericksburg, Virginia, I sat on the banks of the Rappahannock River, upon which as a stripling I had canoed and fished, and reflected on how much I liked the South. I knew I should not. At least I am told that I should not, chiefly by people who would make a hoe seem a pinnacle of intellect, but these are the bedrock of Yankee society, and I must respect them.
Besides, I fear that meridional leanings are in my blood. Yes, alas. I am tainted. I am Frederick Venable Reed. Charles Scott Venable was on Lee’s staff, and Andrew Reid Venable of the staff of Jeb Stuart. We have never looked fondly on Federal intrusion. So there I am.
And yet, much as I loved the peace and light of the riverbank in that Southern town, much as I treasured a boyhood of BB guns and bare feet and dogs with no licences and people who talked slow and suppple as the Good Lord intended, I had to concede the sins of the South. Even today, the dark stains remain. The signs are everywhere.
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3 comments:
Excellent article. Fred Reed has mastered satire.
"Thus these eruptions of racial desperation have occurred all across Dixie: in Detroit, Ferguson, Los Angeles, Brooklyn, Washington DC, Watts, St. Louis, Cincinnati."
My favorite line.
This was some great reading and some good stuff. God Bless the South!!
I grew up must of my childhood in the South and I will always be a Southerner. I refuse to live any where further North than the Mason Dixon line.
In the north younger people address the older people they know by their first name. Those raised in a Southern Culture,. Weather they live in a rural area or a major city address the older people as Mr. Jones or Mr. Bill. This is not a white thing or a black thing. It is a good thing that does not know colour.
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