A Heartland Visit Finds Classic American Values
November 1, 2005
by Joseph P. Tartaro
Executive Editor
Several years ago, as I was leaving Trenton, NJ, the capital of the Garden State, I traveled a road that crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania on my way to the Philadelphia airport. Before I had driven very far southward in Pennsylvania, I was greeted by a large billboard that welcomed me to Pennsylvania with the statement that “This Is Where America Begins.”
I have made that trip several times and I have always wondered at who first authorized that sign with its clearly political statement. I’m sure that even some of the people who reside in New Jersey get the message clearly.
Dealing with the politicians and other officials in one of the most anti-gun states in the Union is just one of the indicators of how different the social and political environment of states like New Jersey, New York and Massachusetts is from that of Indiana, Missouri and Oklahoma.
It isn’t just the Red State-Blue State thing, although the differences are sometimes reflected in voting patterns. But Republicans in the three eastern states are as likely to be as liberal and close to the Democratic Party platform as the Democrats. In the heartland, it is fairly easy to find Democrats who are as conservative, or even more conservative, than Republicans.
But social attitude and voting patterns are only one measurement of the differences. But there is a definite geographical aspect to the different interests and values that are reflected in politics. One can even see it within a state.
For example, the people of western and southern Illinois have different views, lifestyles and values than the majority of the people in Chicago and the North Shore suburbs. In New York state, for example, the people who live in northern, central and western New York are generally quite different from their fellows in New York City and surrounding suburban counties.
Of course there are economic differences, occupational differences, and other factors that contribute to the way people of one region of state differ from their fellow citizens in the same state, or in another part of the country.
Guns are just one of the measurements, but an important one. In spite of the strange views sometimes expressed in Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, most Pennsylvanians are much more at home with firearms ownership, hunting and basic self-reliance issues. In neighboring New York or New Jersey, especially in the cities, that is not the case. Mention guns for self-protection in those areas, or guns for recreational shooting, and you are likely to send neighbors into a panic.
In the heartland, including most of Pennsylvania, or even Upstate New York, that is not the case.
All of these musings are linked to a four-day trip my wife and I took to Missouri a few days ago. While we flew into St. Louis, it was with the plan to rent a car and drive south into what locals there call the “Bootheel” of the state. Our ultimate destination was Bloomfield, and we would be staying in Sikeston, MO.
The purpose of the trip was not just relaxation, although that was certainly part of it. We were attending a reunion of the military newspaper Stars & Stripes staffers, some of whom had served in World War II through to those with more current service. And it wasn’t just a reunion of the Stars & Stripes Association but a time to inaugurate the opening of the expanded Stars & Stripes Museum and Library, high on a ridge in Bloomfield.
The reason the museum and library are located in such a small community, fairly well removed from the beaten paths that tourists are wont to take, is that the military newspaper was started in Bloomfield in 1861 by some Union troops from Illinois. (It was continued during the Civil War by troops from other states.)
Most people who are familiar with Stars & Stripes might believe that it was started in World War I or even World War II, but that was not the case, although the history of the paper between the 1860s and 1917 is largely non-existent.
However, in an area of Missouri that was a hotbed of Confederate sympathies in the middle of the 19th century, Union troops were supposed to keep the rebels under control, and quite a few small skirmishes were fought there, but no large battles, even though Gen. Grant was put in command of the Army of the Mississippi for a while.
Except for the ridge that rises oddly from the mostly flat farm land, southeast Missouri is not a travel book destination. However, it should be.
The Stars & Stripes Museum and Library, located adjacent to the Missouri State Veterans Cemetery, is just one of many attractions. It is well worth a visit to anyone interested in military history from the Civil War to the current battles in Iraq and Afghanistan. Veterans particularly will find it instructive, as will students of history and people for whom patriotism is still cherished.
I’ll go into more detail about the museum and library in some future article, with photos. But what struck me about this experience is how so-called small town people with a vision and plan can make a state and outside institutions participate in seeing a dream take shape.
Especially warming was participation of local high school students, boys and girls who helped make the dedication ceremonies a memorable event by providing music, reenactments, service and friendship to strangers from across the country that ranged in age from their 30s to a few pushing 90. (Author and CBS commentator Andy Rooney, a World War II Stars & Stripes war correspondent, who spoke at the banquet, was not the oldest person in attendance.)
The area is dotted with cotton, rice, soybean, wheat and other row crops. In fact, the cotton fields spread both sides of the main roads and sometimes edge up close to large commercial buildings. The cotton harvest was in progress as we visited and I can tell you that cotton is mostly picked by machine these days.
The weather for our visit could not have been better. It was cool in the evenings, but daytime temperatures were in the high 70s and low 80s. The skies were clear and bright, and so were the people.
In the heartland, everyone seems to offer a friendly, smiling greeting to everyone else they meet. It’s “Hello,” and “Howdy” or “Nice Day” to every person coming from the opposite direction.
The young people of southeast Missouri displayed remarkable manners, almost as fine as their elders. And the people who own and operate the huge farms don’t dress in high fashion during the day; nor do they hang out at fancy private clubs. They wear the same clothes as the shopkeepers and school teachers and they eat in the same places, being friendly with each other as well as strangers.
Best of all, when our car was one of four vehicles that hit something hard on I-270 at 70 miles-per-hour as we returned to St. Louis for our flight home, the people of the heartland were as helpful as if they had been characters in a John Wayne movie.
I blew only one tire, the van ahead of me also had one flat. A lady in another car had two tires blown on the passenger side. No one was injured. The Missouri highway patrol was there in minutes.
More importantly, the Missouri Department of Transportation truck that pulled up behind us had a young man as friendly as any down South who changed my tire and that of the van driver ahead of me in minutes, without charge.
That’s the kind of heartland helpfulness you won’t find in most of New Jersey, New York or Massachusetts.
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