Gone with the Wind!

Gone with the Wind

Imagine if you can, three rustic old-timers sitting around a glowing pot-bellied stove shortly before the Great War, men in the twilight of their years with fading memories of a glorious South before the Civil War.

George is whittling on a piece of cast-iron hickory that never seems to get shorter, Herbert munches happily on soda crackers and hoop cheese, while Elmer carefully stokes his ancient pipe, his cataract eyes critically watching a young sales lady extolling the virtues of a new line of ladies' boots.

You hear the mad howling of a frigid wind each time the cow bell on the door dings to admit another weary customer, a half frozen relic enters who is magnetically drawn to the cherry-red stove where he immediately opens the door and adds another piece of seasoned oak to the roaring fire within.

As the clock ticks a lonely rhythm, the whispering of the old men reaches to the far corners of the room as they unconsciously raise their voices to accommodate ears worn deaf by time.

George talks of the new fan-dangled 'lectrick butter churn and how he avows it will never replace a good woman. Herbert; spraying chunks of cracker, lashes out at the new Audie-Mo-Bill, and how it scared his two mules, Pete and Repeat so badly they wouldn't work for days.

Elmer still has his half-blind eyes glued on the young saleslady at the store counter. With a regretful sigh, he laments the evil of the times as the young woman raises her skirt to show the fine workmanship of the line of boots she is trying to sell.

"Might near seen to her knee," Elmer clucks. "Why, when we was young no lady would dare half the things these young people take for granted today. Times are a gettin' evil I say."

With a sympathetic nod of agreement, the other white crowned men turn to witness this open and blatant desecration of standard moral values.

"What we need," George slowly whines, "Is some way to let this generation know or somebody to teach them the greatness of past generations."

"Yup!" The newcomer Floyd chirps in, his backside roasting near the glowing stove, melting snow dripping from his great coat and forming a spreading puddle on the dusty floor. "Kids need to learn them things. My Paw said that if we don't learn from the past we's a gonna repeat it. There's a lot of truth in them words."

The small group slowly bob their heads up and down in approval of this choice bit of wisdom, each glancing down at the aging floor in search of guidance and understanding.

Their quiet reflection is once again interrupted by the harsh dinging of the old cowbell as another half-frozen wanderer enters the old store.

Nods of welcome are reverently given as Master Floyd, the town's School Master, is automatically drawn to the warmth of the popping stove, his tall lanky frame and carriage resembling the stately appearance and graceful rhythm of an aging stork.

Within a matter of minutes the new arrival is given the details of the serious dilemma the group is pondering and they eagerly await his sage opinion.

"Odd that you should be thinking on the subject of remembering the past," Master Floyd surprisingly answers, reaching into the bulging interior of his ancient and threadbare overcoat. From within he brings forth a thick shining new book, the pages neat and crisp, the smell of fresh ink and paper quickly permeating the area.

"Came in the mail today," Master Floyd notes with a wide grin, holding the book up for all to see. "I think this is the best way to remember and hold on to the values that our ancestors held so dear and what our young warriors have died to preserve. It's also a wonderful way for old timers like us to tell youngsters about what life was like... way back when."

As the aging group reverently passes the book around their intimate circle, the title of the book is caught and reflected in the ancient mirror behind the counter where the pretty young sales lady stands. The title is: "Southern history that time forgot."

“This first article demonstrates how our history is disappearing.” Master Floyd started to read.

So much Southern history is being rewritten it is becoming difficult to distinguish simple fact from pure fiction.

Southern pride and patriotism have been classified as racism, southern music identified with arrogance, and Confederate organizations listed as hate groups.

The brave battle flag under which thousands of Southern patriots fought and suffered and died has been attacked as the ultimate symbol of aggression and injustice.

Today, any Southern politician who embraces any organization dedicated simply to the preservation of Southern culture, is automatically labeled a racist by the liberal press, and even the unofficial national anthem of the South is quickly becoming vilified as a song of racism.

A French national once stated that when he heard the song "Dixie" playing in the movies and watched Confederate soldiers marching by with their battle flag billowing in the wind, he instantly thought of Nazi butchers goose-stepping through the streets of Paris.

Has so much anti Southern propaganda flooded overseas that the South has been relegated to the role of racist butchers?

As for the name "Dixie" it has been around longer than many realize. In all likelihood it is a hybrid French/American word born along the Mississippi River, although some identify it with the old Mason/Dixon line that separated the North from the South. Either way it became a universally recognized name for the South long before the Civil War.

Should you delve deeper into history you may find that it most likely originated in New Orleans. The French dominated financial firms of New Orleans had, as one of their bank notes, a $10 bill that had in its corner the French word "Dix," or ten.

Naturally, the frontiersmen, rivermen, and bayou bushwhackers of the time dubbed these notes as "dixies" and the Mississippi delta region as the land of the Dixie or "Dixieland."

As for the song "Dixie," history is not clear on who actually wrote it, but the song as we know it today made its debut around 1859, although the tune is believed to have been around for generations before that debut.

What began as a minstrel show tune changed its meaning on February 18, 1861, when Jeff Davis was inaugurated as president of the Independent Confederacy.

As a small band slowly marched through the capitol of Montgomery under the direction of Herman Arnold, a German music teacher, the band struck up his version of, "I wish I was in Dixieland." The song was an overnight sensation; even Union President Abraham Lincoln loved it.

On April 8, 1865, shortly before his assassination, President Lincoln was returning on the federal steamer, the River Queen, after a tour of a Union Army Camp near Richmond Virginia. A Federal Army Band was on board and he asked the director if he knew "Dixie."

"It has always been a favorite of mine," stated Lincoln. “And, since it is now federal property, we have the right to enjoy it. Also, the Rebels are now free to hear it and play it whenever they choose."

With all the wonderful American history that is associated with this great song why must our society deride a tune that has meant so much to so many for so long? Nowhere in the lyrics of this great old is there anything about hate, race or slavery.

The War of Northern Aggression, or the War for Southern Independence never happened because the South lost. There was the War of the Rebellion, according to the Union victors, and the victors always write history - according to Tacitus.

In the foreseeable future, will Southern culture and heritage, and all the great songs and symbols that portray it, be banned from the memory of humankind as history is slowly rewritten? Is the sacred memory of the Sons of the South who died in search of freedom to be forever tarnished with false slogans of fascism?

Are we now slipping back into the days of "reconstruction" when; under the tyrannical and watchful eyes of the Union Occupation Forces, many dared not speak of Southern pride?
Are members of the Southern press afraid to embrace their Southern heritage because we fear being labeled racist?