Are We Living in the New Appalachia?

Dana Blankenhorn has written an interesting piece called "The New Appalachia" in which he argues that the abject poverty we used to associate with Appalachia has shifted to the areas between the mountains and the coast.  From his post:

Appalachia had resisted all attempts to bring it prosperity. Places
last western Virginia, West Virginia, eastern Tennessee and western
North Carolina were as poor as they had ever been. There seemed to be
no solution.

But there was a solution, right around the corner. These are now
"the mountains," that fabled far-away magical land where lowlanders
dream of retiring to. This is now the east’s vacationland, an
alternative to the beach, where rafting and hiking and mountain biking
rule the summers, and skiing the winters. The resort and retirement
economies have transformed these areas into, if not greater prosperity
spheres, at least something resembling the rest of America.

But a new Appalachia has developed in our time. It’s the river
bottoms, the swamplands, the vast middle between the mountains and the
seacoast. Millions of people live there, in grinding lives of poverty
or of faded wealth. And it’s getting worse.

The farm economy that once sustained these areas has collapsed. The
factories that once dotted the landscape have moved overseas. Much of
the land now consists of tree farms, and the people who are left are
steadily losing ground.

The biggest difference between today’s Appalachia and yesterday’s is
more stark, however. It’s the color of the victims. (That’s the point of the chart at left, from the Knight Foundation.)  Because in the
South, the new Appalachia is often the "black belt," land share-cropped
for some generations, then lost to the trees.

This hit home because Winston-Salem and the Piedmont Triad are situated to the east of the mountains and have been hit hard by the meltdown of the furniture and textile industries.  My first inclination was to disagree with Dana’s assertion that this is a disproportionately black phenomenon since at least in this area the hit has been taken be people of all colors, but if you think of it in comparison to Appalachia, which was predominately white, then I guess it makes sense.

The good news here is that the local leadership has been very proactive in trying to convert the local economy from a manufacturing base to a more "intellectual" base of biotechnology and design services.  The success has been mixed but it looks promising for the future.  To me the question that remains is "Will the jobs be filled by re-trained locals or by outsiders who follow the jobs here?".

And Dana’s bigger point about the lowlands is a good one.  While the Piedmont seems to be on the upswing all you have to do is drive to the beach through literally hundreds of dying or dead small towns to realize that your seeing an economic wasteland of immense proportions.

Finally, let’s not forget that the evolution of Appalachia to the "fabled far-away magical land" has not come without some negative effects within the mountain communities.  For instance in this article in the Raleigh News & Observer we see that while local leaders in the western North Carolina mountains welcome the influx of tax dollars and service jobs that come with the development of luxury second-home communities local residents worry about how their going to pay the taxes on their suddenly soaring property valuations.  And of course some people aren’t going to be happy with the influx of carpetbaggers no matter how many jobs it creates.

For the most part, though, I agree with Dana’s post.

Where I’d Like to Position the Missionaries

Something I’ve mentioned on numerous occasions since moving to Winston-Salem is that when I was in the DC area most people would ask me "What do you do?" when they met me but here they ask "What’s your church?".  And it’s not confined to parties or other social situations.  It happens at the grocery store, the barber shop, and just about any other public forum.  It’s also interesting to me that people here will unabashedly share their religious views with total strangers and will invoke religion in discussions of things like schools.  Let’s just say that school prayer is still a hot issue here.

It has never really bothered me that people profess their religion so publicly and it also doesn’t bother me when they ask where I go to church and then invite me to attend theirs.  The public square is as much theirs as it is mine and I’ve always felt that if it made me uncomfortable I could just ignore the question or brush them off.  Although I’ve never done it I’ve had in the back of my head a plan to say "I’ll come if you let me sacrifice a chicken on the altar like I do in my basement".

What does bug me is when members of various churches knock on my door and try to sell me on their church.  This is my sanctuary after all and I don’t like it being invaded.  I understand that most Christians believe it is a necessity to recruit (I don’t know where it is but there’s apparently a passage in the New Testament that invokes people to play Coach K and recruit for Jesus’ team), and as I said before I don’t mind if they use the public square to do it, but when I’m at home I want to be left alone. 

Quick side note: Whenever I hear people talk about the part of the Bible where they’re instructed to go out and recruit I always wonder why they assume it means for their particular church?  I mean if I’m Christian then I’m Christian, so what does it matter where I go to church?  Two words: collection plate.

A notable exception is the Mormons.  Yes this is very inconsistent but there’s a personal reason.  When I was a kid my family was Mormon and at an early age I was being prepared for the day that I would go on my mission.  I started saving money at around 8 years old, but when my parents got divorced we left the church so I never got much past saving $20 for the bike I was going to ride for God.  To this day I’m still on the books with the Mormons and they periodically send the boys in white shirts to my house to say hi.  It’s easy for me to see myself in their shoes so I’m inclined to be sympathetic.  And because they’re so young it’s also easy for me to steer them away from selling to talking basketball over a glass of water that they’re always thankful for, which means it’s almost always a pleasant 15 minutes.

The other churches tend to send little blue haired ladies who are not easily swayed from their topic.  They’re also stubborn and doctrinaire and exactly the kind of people I don’t much want to hang with, but because they’re little blue haired ladies I’m incapable of brushing them off. It would be too much like brushing off my grandmother.  I think if they sent someone younger I’d be able to invoke my chicken sacrifice ploy, but I just can’t do it with the blue hairs.

So I’ve started to think about how I can cut them off at the pass, as it were.  Some ideas include:

  • Putting a Buddha on the front porch.
  • Keeping a turban by the front door that I can don before opening the door.  They wouldn’t know a Sikh from a Shitzu, but they’d know that whatever I was I wasn’t Christian.  It’d probably scare ’em to death and I’m willing to bet they’d set a record for the 100 yard dash in the 80+ division.
  • Put a statue of the Virgin Mary on the front porch and a sign on the front door that says "We’re Catholic and One of Us Used to be Mormon".  This has the advantage of being true and thoroughly confusing.  What could they possibly say?

For the record we’ve been attending the Moravian church down the road for the last several months.  They’re great people, they never once knocked on our door and they spend an inordinate amount of time eating chicken pie and drinking coffee.  Exactly the kind of people I want to hang with.

In anticipation of those of you who I’m sure I’ve offended let me say this: I’ve spent a lot of time in various churches including Mormon, Presbytarian for a couple of months, Unitarian for one service, Baptist with some of my cousins, Lutheran High School for three years, Lutheran College for one year, Catholic for much of my adulthood, Methodist for several services and now Moravian.  There is much more similarity than difference between them, and almost all of the difference is in what I’ll call ceremony.  From what I can tell the doctrinal differences are more important to the church leaders than their congregations so where I choose to spend my time is based more on the people of the church than the doctrine.  That probably best explains my peturbation at being evangelized (I feel like a Verizon customer being cold-called by Cingular) and my inclination to be attracted to the Moravians’ honey-pot practice of "Food and Fellowship."

Cool NC State Parks Site

Of the "web 2.0" developments I think that the coolest is the explosion of "mashups" that resulted from companies like Google opening up their API (whatever that is) and letting any Joe Citizen develop a widget or service incorporating its service.  A great example is this mashup of data on North Carolina state parks and Google Maps.  If you click on any of the bubbles it will pop up a window with a weather forecast from Yahoo, a link to pictures tagged with the name of the park on Flickr , and a link to the park’s own website.  Simple, but effective.

Orni…,uh, Ornithol…, Aw Heck, Just Call it Birdshit

One of my lasting memories of childhood is my mother freaking out around birds.  Any birds, big or small, caused her to melt into a stuttering, jittery mess if they got within arms length of her.  Her condition resulted from a childhood run-in she had with a rabid chicken on some family member’s farm (I think that’s the story) and she’d never been able stand them after that.

When I was in college I was living in an apartment with a couple of guys, including my longtime roommate Fig (cool story: Fig moved to Winston-Salem two years before I did and we now see him and his family more than we ever used to in DC).  He worked at a pet store and then at the Fairfax County Animal Shelter and would often bring home the animals that were considered hopelessly ill and try to nurse them back to health.  One of those animals was a large, white thing that I think was a cockatoo. Whatever it was it had a condition that caused it to lose its feathers over time, resulting in a constantly decaying state of plumage and an attitude more surly than a 13 year old girl deprived of a cell phone (I know where of I speak).  It lived on a pedestal placed on our only table which was located at the central most point in our apartment. That meant you couldn’t go anywhere in the apartment without the thing hissing or trying to fling poop at you.  Thankfully it couldn’t go anywhere due to its bald state and you were safe if you stayed about a foot outside the perimeter of the table.

Needless to say once the bird from hell moved in Mom stopped visiting, but not until she’d stopped by before I could warn her about our new roommate.  She walked in, was hissed at, let out a kind of cry/whelp, blanched whiter than our bald bird, turned around and didn’t come back until it moved out. Note: "moved out" is a euphemism for "croaked".

All this is a long preface to the true topic of this post which is the amazing change Mom made a couple of years ago when she met her leading man, the estimable Dr. Bert Dickas, retired professor of geology and avid bird watcher.  In the years since they met she’s joined him on numerous birding expeditions and can now tell a pigeon from an emu.  She’s gone so far as to fly to a Caribbean destination with the express purpose of tromping through the jungle looking for exotic birds rather than basking on a beach.  Even more impressive is that he’s talked her into driving to destinations not on either of the coasts, heretofore known as "the other America", to watch migrating birds.  Never underestimate the power of love.

I thought of this after reading about the website of Cornell University’s Lab of Ornithology. I’m sure Bert will find it interesting and maybe Mom might even take a look at it.  Me?  I’m going to see if they have anything on surly, balding cockatoos.

How to Insure You Spend the New Year on Your Back

Want to make sure you don’t overdo it during the holidays?  Here’s a step-by-step procedure that worked for me this year:

  1. A couple of days after Christmas do something that tweaks your lower back.
  2. Spend two days lying on the floor with a heating pad.
  3. Recover just in time to travel to visit family for the weekend.
  4. Make sure someone in the family is contagious with a stomach bug.
  5. Catch the bug.
  6. Return home.
  7. 24 hours after returning notice a strange rumbling in your belly.
  8. Spend 48 hours counting the stripes in the wallpaper in your bathroom since you pretty much live there full time.
  9. Lose 8 pounds!
  10. Have your back tighten up just as you’re feeling better from the stomach bug and spend another night on the floor.

Happy new year!

Kids, Don’t be “The Answer”

I’ve lately been wondering why I’ve always loved sports, not just playing them but also watching them. I’m not terribly enamored of professional or college sports industries, but I truly love watching the action.  Still I wonder why I, as a grown man, continue to enjoy watching boys and girls, young men and young women, play a game.  I used to assume it was because sports were one of the few places in the world where the winner was always apparent (college football being the notable exception) and where the "better man" on any given day prevailed.  I thought it was the last place in our complicated society where the simplicity of winning, the triumph of hard work combined with amazing talent, was displayed.  How naive.

Now I’m coming to believe that sports are a never ending parable.  My favorite recurring theme is that of the promising young talent who never comes to realize his potential, and of course his polar opposite in the grinder who has a base level of talent but works his ass off to realize his full potential. In the NBA the former gets the shoe contract at 22 and is out of the league at 28, and the latter plays for 10 years, never gets the shoe contract and is beloved by his teammates.  But as with many parables this is an oversimplification.

Take the example of Allen "The Answer" Iverson.  He’s a remarkable talent, a scoring machine and a fearless competitor on the court.  He’s also a malcontent, an inefficient shooter and a ball hog.  I’d argue that the only reason he scores 30+ points a game is that he takes an unbelievable number of shots, and that if he truly wanted to reach his full potential he’d learn how to be a point guard who leads the league in assists while averaging 20 points a game.  He’s just too quick and too good a ball handler not to be a great point guard, but instead he puts on a one-on-one clinic every night, hoists 25 shots a game and leads the league in points scored and teammates-as-spectators.

Now Iverson is playing for the Denver Nuggets after wearing out his welcome in Philadelphia.  Denver already has a great scorer in Carmelo Anthony and the sports prognosticators are all wondering if the two of them can share the ball.  Hopefully they can, but the only way it will happen is if Iverson finally reaches his full potential as a basketball player.  He needs to transform himself into a true point guard.  He’s still one of the quickest guys in the league and if he decided to he could put an incredible amount of pressure on any team in the league by breaking down their defense with his dribble and then distributing the ball to his open teammates. 

Thinking about Iverson reminds me of conversations I used to have with my Mom when I was in high school.  School came pretty easily to me and I could bring home an A-B report card without breaking too much of a sweat.  I was a perennial "B Honor Roll" kid and what I got from Mom was, "Should have been an A Honor Roll, and it would have been if you’d studied harder."  That was usually followed by, "Being smart isn’t enough, you also have to work hard."  The rest of my life has been spent figuring out how right she was. You see I might have been considered pretty smart in high school, but in college I was average at best and my lack of a work ethic took its toll the first couple of years.  It was only when I learned to crack the books throughout the semester, not just before mid-terms and finals, that my GPA started going north of 3.0.

Now as a father I have the opportunity to see the "talent/work ethic" mix at play.  All three of my kids are very bright, all have an immense amount of talent, and all have a varying degree of work ethic.  One seems to have been born with a burning desire to achieve at the highest level and has the straight A report cards to prove it.  The other two seem to have been born with immense imaginations that have them living in an alternative universe about 50% of the time.  The only reason they don’t come home with straight C report cards (or worse) is a fear of the parental wrath that would ensue.  Our straight A kid has no more "natural talent" than our other two, unless you consider an innate work ethic as a talent (it might very well be), but because she works harder she accomplishes more than her siblings at this point.

Now some might argue that measuring my kids’ accomplishments by their grades isn’t fair.  After all there’s more to life than grades.  That’s true and again I think Iverson’s story provides a powerful lesson.  If school is the "game" and grades are a form of keeping score then they matter for that very reason.  But as is the case with Iverson,  how you play is as important as how much you score.

Iverson is famous for a press conference he had during a tiff he was having with his coach about practice.  He hated practicing and repeatedly pointed out that he couldn’t believe he was being held accountable for missing practice.  He figured that if he showed up with his "warrior" mentality for each and every game then practice was irrelevant.  This is a pretty common argument among the talented (I’m so good I don’t need to practice), but in basketball practice is the homework.  It’s where you hone and perfect your teamwork and it’s where you prepare for the big "test".  Talent can get you only so far, and without practice you’re going to encounter a situation for which you aren’t prepared and which no amount of talent will overcome.  His coach understood this and rightly insisted that Iverson practice with the rest of his team, and show up on time for that matter. Eventually Iverson’s intransigence became too much for the team and they put him on the shelf until they could find someone willing to take him.

For my kids the lesson here is that while good grades are important, it’s just as important how they go about getting them.  The reason that my daughter is realizing more of her potential than her brothers at this point is because she’s smart and she "practices".  When my sons "practice" they invariably succeed as well as their sister, but they have to be reminded to "practice" much more often than their sister.  If and when they learn that they need to "practice" without being hounded by their parents then they’ll be in great shape.  Until then I’ll ride them like a rented mule, or to keep on message I’ll be their version of Larry Brown.

Ho Frickin’ Ho

Call me a Scrooge if you will but I’ve never been much of a "Yippee it’s Christmas!" guy.  Not sure why that is, but it has always been the case.  Luckily for the last 15 years I’ve been balanced out by my wife who usually gets into the spirit about 2-3 weeks before Christmas.  That means our tree is usually begrudgingly wrestled into place by yours truly 5-8 working days before Christmas.  If I’m feeling generous I’ll also do the lights and then the kids and Celeste will take care of decking it out as they listen to cheesy Christmas songs while I find something useful to do around the house, like watching a football game.

This year’s been different because Celeste hasn’t been infected with the spirit of the season either.  I’m not sure if it’s stress from work, the unseasonably warm weather, or the lack of peace on Earth but for whatever reason it’s been a very businesslike holiday season in our house, which means there hasn’t been a push to get the tree up this year.  Thankfully our kids are now old enough to take matters into their own hands and the result is that my oldest, Michael, wrestled the tree into place as I was working in my office last night.  By the time I wound things up at seven I came down the stairs to find the tree up and fully decorated.

Do I feel guilty?  Heck no! I’m elated that I didn’t have to do my normal back breaking, cursing routine as I tried for the 85th time to get the tree to stand up straight.  How festive is that anyway?  Now that I know that I’m not needed for the tree torture I think I might actually start looking forward to Christmas a little sooner.

Or not.  As Esbee pointed out people start getting surly around this time of year and I still have shopping to do.  Bah, humbug. 

Jeff James

One of my closest friends throughout my life has been my cousin Jeff James.  I’m only three months older than he is which means we’ve been hanging out for close to 40 years.  Even though we’ve lived hundreds of miles apart most of that time we’ve been to the beach together many times (one trip when we were about 20 was particularly memorable for reasons I won’t go into to protect both of our careers), and hung out at his house or mine whenever we could.  When I moved to Winston-Salem a couple of years ago I was looking forward to seeing much more of my extended family, and in particular my two cousins closest in age to me, Jeff and Wendy.  Unfortunately I haven’t seen as much of Jeff as I’d have liked but there’s a very good reason for that, and it requires a little background.

When we first got out of high school in the mid-80s all of us went to college.  After a couple of years Jeff decided that school wasn’t for him so he dropped out and went to work.  He was married pretty soon after leaving school and he and his lovely wife Debbie had their daughter Courtney not long afterwards.  So while I was doing the fraternity party thing Jeff was working and starting a family.

A few years ago Jeff decided that he was ready to try school again.  He enrolled at High Point University and effectively lost the concept of free time.  He’s been in school year-round since then, taking a couple of classes each term, all while working full time at BB&T, fulfilling his role as husband and father (Courtney’s a senior in high school this year) and playing in a band. 

Last week Jeff finished his final class and he will be graduating with honors.  If my memory serves me correctly, which isn’t guaranteed due in large part to my brain-frying fraternity activities 20 years ago, Jeff had only one grade below an "A" so his GPA is probably higher than I can count.  To say it is an impressive accomplishment would be doing Jeff an extreme disservice.

Getting through college when you’re 21, have no real responsibilities outside of school and have the energy that comes with being young and not yet beaten into submission by your children, is what I would consider a moderately impressive accomplishment.  Doing it when you’re working full time, haven’t cracked a book in over 15 years and have all the responsibilities that come with being married with children is an accomplishment that few of us can claim.  To do it and graduate with honors is simply one of the great achievements I’ve ever witnessed.

We had a little celebration for Jeff after our family Christmas gathering last Saturday and Debbie threw a surprise party for him on Sunday so that he could celebrate with some of his co-workers and friends.  It was great to see his efforts and accomplishments celebrated, and I hope he realized how proud everyone was of him and how pleased everyone was for him. 

Jeff has always been a great guy, kind and level headed, loyal to his family and friends, always there when needed.  He made some tremendous sacrifices to get his degree (so did Debbie and Courtney by the way) and my hope is that he will realize great rewards for that sacrifice.  He’s certainly earned them.

Nothing I write can do Jeff justice, so just let me end this by saying that I can’t remember ever feeling greater pride in a friend and I’m grateful that I’ve had 40 years to be graced by his presence in my life.  Now that he’s done with school I hope we’ll all be graced by his presence a whole lot more. 

In other words, it’s time to party big guy!

Blackmail Pics Part Deux

Jonflame
In an effort to beat my cousins to the punch I’m going to show you what I meant by my predisposition to pastels in college.  On top of that I looked like I was about 12 when I was in college.  How the hell did I ever get a date?

Here’s another fairly bad picture of me to be found online:
Jonatconvergebig_1

It was during my "I wonder what I’d look like if I put on 15 pounds in six months and crop my hair" phase and was taken at ConvergeSouth in 05.  I look like some kind of deranged Chia pet. BTW, I’m the one on the left.  I wouldn’t want poor Roch to be cursed with anyone thinking he’s me.

Blackmail Pics

JodyrussjasonwendychrismariaSee that picture to the left (click on it to bigify it if you want)?  Those are in order from left: my cousin Jody, my brother Russ, my cousin Jason, my cousin Wendy, my cousin Chris and sitting in the front is my cousin Maria.  I’m guessing the picture was taken in the early 80s (ya think?).

Love the hair!

You might wonder if I’m worried about retribution, but with a self portrait like this I’m not sure there’s anything they can do to me.  Oh wait, there are those pictures of me in college when I had a real predisposition to pastel colored shirts.

This could get ugly.