True confession: when I was a kid, I looked forward to election day almost as much as Christmas. So in case you haven’t seen the signs along the highway, let me welcome you to election season!
Growing up in Carroll’s General Merchandise in Bryant, Alabama, we didn’t see many celebrities. Occasionally, a Chattanooga radio star like Earl Freudenberg would stop in to ask directions to a gospel singing, but most of our traffic consisted of regular customers. So when someone wearing a suit and tie would come in, passing out cards, that was a big deal.
To this day, I get excited. I enjoy the controversy, the charges, the counter-charges. The Tennessee 3rd District Congressional race is as entertaining as any reality TV show. Just look at what the past couple of campaigns have given us: millionaires, ice cream, family dynasties, accusations of tire-slashing and secretly recorded conversations. Who needs “House of Cards” when you’ve got Chuck, Weston and Scottie?
Thursday night, I moderated a debate between the Hamilton County Commission candidates in District 7. Nice people, every one of them. Young, old, black, white, male and female. No one’s been elected yet, but they’re already carrying on a grand local tradition. Each and every one of them is totally supportive of new school buildings for ancient CSLA and overcrowded East Hamilton Middle, both in or near District 7. But would they vote for a tax increase to build them? Uh….no. “But I’ll find a way!” For those keeping track, that didn’t work out too well earlier in the week.
I admire anyone who runs though, I always have. My parents were amused by my fascination with the local politicians. In our store, we kept a bulletin board with the various cards they brought in, and I was always disappointed if a candidate visited during the school day, when I wasn’t there. One of the first politicians I met was Sheriff C.T. Dean, who would pass out “Junior Sheriff” badges to kids like me. I bet I still have mine somewhere, just in case I have to be like Gomer Pyle, and make a “citizen’s ar-ray-est.”
Some of the candidates were outgoing and friendly, others were shy. I would try to pry information out of them, about themselves and their competitors. I remember asking one man why he was a better choice for a top county post than his opponent. He said, “Lord have mercy, that ol’ boy can barely read and write, we don’t want him spending the county’s money!” (By the way, “that ol’ boy” did win the election, and somehow Jackson County survived.)
In Bryant, we were proud of hosting the final political rally each election season. Our little community in the northeastern corner of the state reserved the Saturday night before the election, and we always filled the school gym. Even statewide candidates would make the long trip to Bryant, because the audience was far more than just politicians and their families. It was our big annual social event, and the Ruritan Club made extra cash selling snacks and drinks.
I enjoyed studying the different types of speeches. Some of the candidates were polished speakers, while others either had stage fright or just couldn’t string together a few coherent sentences. More than once, I suspected a candidate had consumed a little alcohol prior to the event, trying to work up enough courage to face the big Bryant crowd.
One of my favorite memories is from the 1970 campaign, when Sheriff W.R. (Bob) Collins was seeking a second term. Collins was the personification of the term “low-key.” Unlike the cigar-chomping southern sheriffs seen in that era’s TV shows, Collins was soft-spoken. At that year’s rally, Collins’ opponent was fired up as he took the stage, criticizing the sheriff, who sat behind him, solemn and expressionless. Collins’ challenger told the crowd how he would clean up crime, weed out the bootleggers, and increase neighborhood patrols. This went on for a while, until the bell rang signaling the end of his three-minute time limit.
It was then Sheriff Collins’ turn to speak. I remember thinking, “How will he respond to all those attacks? I’ll bet he’s going to have a lot to say after the way than man talked about him!”
I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sheriff Collins got up and said, “Folks, you know me, and I hope you’ll go to the polls on Tuesday and re-elect me for another term.” That was it. He sat down. I was amazed. He didn’t even say his name! Of course, he won by a landslide, and won a few more terms after that. Who says you need a long campaign speech?
This reminds me of an often-told political story. A congressman was at a political rally, giving his stump speech, which he finished to thunderous applause. He closed by saying, “Now go out and vote for me on Tuesday!” An elderly man jumped up from his seat, and yelled, “Not me! Not me! I wouldn’t vote for you if you were St. Peter himself!” The congressman looked him right in the eye and replied, “No sir, you wouldn’t. Because if I was St. Peter, you wouldn’t be living in my district!”
