North -vs- South

It's been another extremely busy week for the team. The brutal schedule is begining to wear us down and moral is at its lowest in a while. Since Florida we have had consecutive work days in Charlotte (2), Durham NC, Wilmington NC, and Greenville SC. Not to complain about a 5 day work week but a quick check of a map will tell the whole story. Wilmington to Greenville for instance is about a 6 hour drive!

That means we set up in the morning, work for 5 hours, break down the site, drive for hours stopping for food and fuel, check into a new hotel and get some sleep then repeat the whole process the next day. Not to mention the fun little quirk of not having somewhere to go right after work to wash up which means we have to hit the interstate while still having that not so fresh feeling. This was especially tough in sunny Florida.

Anyway, enough whining. Let's see if I can come up with a quick little story from the road.

On the drive we sometimes stop in a city along the way just to eat or walk around and see what's what. Asheville, NC was one such place. We had heard that there was a cool little downtown area with things to do and restaurants that catered to the vegetarian types. We discovered these predictions were true and even had the nerve to try a tofish sandwich at a tiny lunch place that served a nice locally brewed beer as well.

As we walked around town in search of a record store not specializing in local blue grass collections we stumbled upon a peculiar scene at a moderately busy intersection. It was more of a curve in the road than an intersection actually, and in the street, standing on a median, was a man holding a confederate flag. We walked a bit closer and eventually stopped directly across the street from him, shamelessly staring as if to be sure our eyes weren't deceiving us. Oh, did I mention that the man holding the confederate flag was a black fella?



I thought perhaps it was a twisted punishment brought down by some local judge to teach a lesson. Boom was sure we had stumbled onto a taping of Chappelle's show. A follow up bit on the black white supremecist possibly. Either way it deserved some further investigation.

I walked across the street and stood by his side. Boom alertly snapped a picture. Suddenly our flag waving friend took notice to my presence.

"Oh I see ya there, tryin to sneak up on me are ya?" It was immediately clear that he was a friendly sort, following most of his sentences up with a short laugh and a warm smile.

"No no, just came over to see what you're up to over here."

"I'm just out here celebratin my southern heritage, as I'm ought to do from time ta time that's all."

"Celebrating your southern heritage?"

"That's right." he said with another smile as a motorist passing by honked and he waved.

"Well....it's a nice day for it." It was the only thing I could think of to say.

"Sho is, is shooo is."

By now Brian had joined me in the conversation. We told him we were only passing through. He asked us where we were from. We nervously told him about our northern roots fully expecting him to pull out a musket and blast an old civil war era cap in our yankee asses.

"Ohhhhh, Connecticut!! Connecticut!! Well, I like ya anyway." The smile was more of a permanent fixture by now. "You boys are staying long enough for the Bele Chere aren chya?"

He was big on selling us on the upcoming street festival, saying we simply couldn't leave.

"It's better than Mardi Gras! They block off all these streets all around."

Then he got serious.

"Watch out for the women though." He used a cautionary tone, like a lifeguard warning of sharks. "Watch out for them women at the Bele Chere, they're loose. They'll get you in some trouble. I'm tellin ya, they're trouble. A guy my age, I'm okay, you guys are in trouble.These woman, they're loose!"

"Okay, let's find a hotel," Brian quipped,"we can use some of that kind of trouble."

He banged on about the festival and how we should stay for it. We said we wished we could but we were on a tight schedule. I asked him for his name and held out my hand to shake. He switched flag pole holding hands to free his right. He looped his left arm around the flagpole and rested it on his shoulder so he could use his left hand to carefully loosen each of the fingers on the knit glove so he could shake. He tugged on each fingertip and eventually took off the glove. He gripped my hand heartily and announced his name.

"H.K. Edgarton." (shake)
"Daniel J. Ludwig." (shake)
"Brian M. Bisaillon" (shake)

I repeated his name so I would never forget it. "H.K. Edgarton."
"That'd be me." said H.K. I sensed that he was as proud of his name as his southern heritage.

"It was nice chatting with you H.K."
"Same here. Say hi to my friends up north for me will ya?"
"Will do my friend, will do."



And that's the story of the proud southern man and his confederate flag. Not the greatest story I suppose but it's significant to me for a couple reasons. For one it reminded me of why I took this job. Things have been rough going lately but moments like this somehow make it all worth while. Going places I would never have visited, seeing people I never would have met. Understanding that the confederate flag may not be a sign of racism or a reminder of slavery to everyone. Understanding that flags are symbol that mean different things to different people. And seeing someone beaming with pride for where they are from. These are the things that I'll remember for years. These are things I don't happen upon in West Hartford center or while working from home.

(This entry is dedicated to my boy Gil in Denver with whom I had a brief phone conversation with today while walking the streets of Columbus, OH. It was a good conversation.)