We live in an age that slices our identities into ever finer slices. Are you this - or are you, that - or are you somewhere between? Group identity is usually less telling than individual identity. Some people are decent. Some people aren’t.
That said, there is one big cultural divide of identity that isn’t taken seriously enough; the schism between city ways and country ways. Old TV sit-coms like The Beverly Hillbillies and Green Acres depict the burlesque version.
The sit-coms exaggerate but get the general idea about right.
The gap is wide.
Race, religion and politics don’t even come close.
The gulf produces surprises. County-bred-Black-Catholic- Republicans are cultural cousins to Country-bred-White-Pentecostal-Democrats. Their differences aren’t as great as their bond of shared country ways.
They understand each other better than they understand anyone bred to the city.
The same sense of cultural understanding is true of city folks. The schism between city folks and country folks extends to all places and all times. It’s a universal difference.
Cities offer advantages that country doesn’t. Country offer advantages that city doesn’t. It isn’t a matter of better or worse. It’s the comfort of shared understanding that matters.
Aesop’s fable: The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse tells it charmingly. Town Mouse and Country Mouse are cousins. They take turns visiting each other. Town Mouse shows-off all the glories of town life. Country Mouse shows-off all the comforts of country life. They each return home convinced their life is better than the other.
There’s no place like home!
Not everyone stays at home. Some people aren’t quite city and aren’t quite country either. They’re somewhere between; not necessarily by choice. Maybe they were children when their parents moved. Maybe they themselves moved when young adults in search of opportunity.
Maybe it was for some other reason.
In any case they’re a little out-of-place in both worlds, not altogether at home in either city or country. They’re cultural vagabonds, bums of an uncertain road, one day chardonnay and lobster, next day cornbread and beans. One day, George Jones, next day Shostakovich.
Neither here, nor there.
Maybe that sounds better than being either one or the other.
Maybe it is.
I am such a person. In some ways it seems like the best of both worlds. In other ways it sometimes feels like being homeless.
There is a song that captures the feeling better than any other I’ve ever heard. I heard it on the radio in 1980.
I thought it was about me.
I imagine many others thought the song was about them. We all imagined truly. The song was titled: Good ole Boys Like Me. It was written by Bob McDill and sung by Don Williams.
It’s a Country song of three verses intersected by a chorus. The lyrics are filled with artful complications worth verse-by-verse commentary.
The chorus is sung between each verse but it’s such a good summery I’m going to treat it as the last verse.
The first verse establishes origin and culture. It’s a mixture of southern, and universal country understandings. Key words touch deep emotions and memories.
When I was a kid Uncle Remus put me to bed
With a picture of Stonewall Jackson above my head
Then daddy came in to kiss his little man goodnight
With gin on his breath and a Bible in his hand
He talked about honor and things I should know
Then he'd stagger a little as he went out the door
I know all about Uncle Remus. The city-born have only vague recollection from Disney’s cartoon version.
They learned no lessons from Uncle Remus.
For northern city-born, and for city-born in general, Stonewall Jackson is completely associated with slavery. For southerners and for country folks in general he is more associated with honor. Valor in battle is respected in country culture whether by friend or foe.
Valor in battle for city culture is more likely regarded as reckless stupidity.
Daddy’s and family are very important to growing-up in the country; Less so in cities. And if daddy has gin on his breath, he also has a bible in his hand. He may stagger and fail but he still wants you to know what is wise and true. Biblical faith is bedrock in the country.
Biblical faith in cities is only one of many personal choices possible.
Nothing makes a sound in the night like the wind does
But you ain't afraid if you're washed in the blood like I was
The smell of cape jasmine through the window screen
John R. and the Wolfman kept me up company
By the light of the radio by my bed
With Thomas Wolfe whispering in my head
Wind and blackness of night are more noticed by county folk than by city folk. Ambient light in cities ensures that the night is never entirely black. Travelers from city to country are often astonished by how black the night can be. It can be scary, but not if you’re “washed in the blood like
I was”.
The few city folks who pay any attention to plants are probably growing them on their windowsills or in their backyard. Plants dominate the country. Their names and smells are familiar to all. Cape jasmine is a gardenia-like white flower that is most fragrant at dusk.
John R. and the Wolfman were nighttime DJ’s that broadcast strangely compelling music to simple country boys who never suspected there was any music but country music.
The radio brought the sounds of the city to the country. Like an electronic Pied-Piper the radio persuaded many a country boy to seek the bright lights of the city.
Thomas Wolfe did the same with his writing. When I read his book I had already been reading widely. I’d already lost my innocence. Some country boys like the author of Good Ole Boys Like Me were first introduced to the world of literature, and literary sophistication
by Tom Wolfe’s great novel: You Can’t Go Home Again.
I didn’t how true his title was until much later.
When I was in school I ran with the kid down the street
And I watched him burn himself up on bourbon and speed
But I was smarter than most and I could choose
Learned to talk like the man on the six o'clock news
When I was eighteen, Lord, I hit the road
But it really doesn't matter how far I go
“The kid down the street” represents the familiar culture. “burn himself up” recognizes the sad reality that familiar culture isn’t always the best culture. Maybe I could “choose” my own culture if I learned to “talk like the man on the six o’clock news”. Then the wide world
will be open to me. Then I can go as far as I want to go.
But . . .
(Chorus)
I can still hear the soft Southern winds
in the live oak tree
And those Williams boys they still mean a lot to me
Hank and Tennessee
I guess we're all gonna be what we're gonna be
So what do you do with good ole boys like me
No matter how far I go the “winds” of my childhood still call to me. Those “Williams boys” “Hank and Tennessee” will always mean a lot to me.
I thought of both Hank Williams, and, Tennessee Williams as mentors - nearly opposite mentors - they split my sensibilities.
The simple lyrics of You’re Cheating Heart will always sing plainly to my soul. A Streetcar Named Desire will forever rattle sophisticated complications through my brain.
I guess I’m “gonna be” what I’m gonna be.
There’re many “good ole boys like me, neither city nor country but somewhere between.
I’m happy enough being somewhere between.
I think it’s a blessing.