The Virginia Problem

 

Virginia was readmitted to the Union on January 26, 1870, closing a chapter on the Civil War and Reconstruction, and opening the guerilla warfare between Virginia and Yankees that continues to this day.

 

After four days behind Virginia’s lines visiting a granddaughter, I’m able to report on the main Virginia strategy for the South To Rise Again. Having failed to kill sufficient Yankees with bullets and bombs, they are resorting to politeness and charm.

 

It is insidious and evil and effective. Consider:

 

Having spent my adult life in Chicago, New York City and New York-suburban Summit, New Jersey, I have the typical Yankee driver’s reflex upon seeing a pedestrian enter a crosswalk – accelerate. When I walk, the same background instincts teach me to avoid crosswalks and instead cross mid-block, walking aggressively into traffic at a steady pace.

 

It is a calming and natural a part of life, and occasionally death when either motorist or pedestrian lose their timing and verve.

 

But go to Virginia, say Harrisonburg, and even think you might consider crossing the street and cars immediately stop in both directions. And they do this with evil intent whether or not you are in a crosswalk, some of the drivers adding insult to injury by smiling and wishing you well.

 

Yes, and in broad daylight, too, so brazen are they in their politeness.

 

Their evil is present in their speech as well, and I’m not talking about the accent, with which men, women and children of all ages flog innocent vowels in endless torment. That’s just your ordinary everyday evil.

 

It’s the forms of address that strike Yankee ears with supreme evil intent. If you are male and not noticeably dead, your name is Sir. You may insist that your name is Larry, or Jim or John, but the only response you’ll generate is “Yes, Sir.” Women are subjected to the same cruelty, but in their case the verbal bludgeon is Ma’am.

 

Try to befriend a Virginian by explaining that to Yankee sensibilities, “Sir” and “Ma’am” are reserved for judges, parole officers and cops you’re trying to talk out of a speeding ticket. You can conclude the mini-lecture by saying “…so just call me Larry, please.”

 

“Yes Sir, Mr. Larry!” is their inevitable cruel rejoinder.

 

For women, the title of torment is “Miss,” as in “Yes Ma’am, Miss Sally,” even though it’s clear to anyone with eyes that whatever old Sally may have missed in life, it wasn’t her opportunities caloric or carnal.

 

 

There are many, many more forms of abuse that visiting Yankees must endure in Virginia, including inquiries about your health made by persons who aren’t peddling life insurance or hoping for a lead on an apartment that might soon be vacant. Those details, while gruesome, all contribute to the force of the overall attack.

 

And the core of that attack is the hope that after days of being subjected to this assault of politeness and charm, you are corrupted by it and carry it back to your home in the North, with often lethal result.

 

New York City doesn’t keep statistics on how many pedestrian fatalities had recently visited Virginia. Nor does the NYPD tally how many otherwise unprovoked assaults were triggered by a flagrant “Yes Ma’am.”

 

But just spend some time in the Old Dominion and ask yourself (politely) if they were all really accidents.

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