'The Heart of A Southerner'

When you think about it, everybody is from somewhere. Many people may call a large city such as Los Angeles or even New York home. Some people hail from small towns like Chickasha, Oklahoma, Phoenix City Alabama or Siler City, North Carolina. America’s cities and towns are home to the many wonderful people that I have met. And by the way, I am from somewhere too. That somewhere is Virginia. To be more exact, I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. For the first eighteen years of my life, Richmond was all I really knew. Perhaps not geographically, but surely ideologically, Richmond is the heart of the Deep South. As the former capital of the Confederacy, southern charm can still be felt throughout the city. Some people have viewed this charm as a sign of weakness. Books and movies have depicted us as easygoing, slow talking nincompoops. In reality, people in my hometown and throughout the south have more than demonstrated their intelligence, strength and resilience. Being a southerner is not just a way of life; it is a state of mind. It is the ability to understand the value of a hard days work, yet take life’s set backs as opportunities rather than as defeats. It is the ability to enjoy a beautiful day in the middle of the week or to make ice cream from freshly fallen snow. Second only to God, family is the most important thing to any self respecting Southerner. Family is celebrated nowhere better than at the dinner table. I can still recall the smell of my grandmother’s fried chicken, home made dinner rolls, macaroni and cheese and a host of freshly prepared vegetables as my family gathered each Sunday for dinner. Our family stretched far beyond the immediate family. When I got into trouble as a little boy, I would have to answer not only to my mother, but to my grandparents as well. Adults throughout the neighborhood prided themselves as sentinels for other families. The importance of family was further unveiled by the many in attendance after a loved one died. Young and old alike traveled from near and far to pay their respects. After the funeral, everyone would gather to talk, reminisce and of course, eat.

Perched on the banks of the James River, Richmond once served as a viable economic hub for the entire region. To that end, one of this country’s premier corporations still maintains its headquarters in Richmond. That company is Phillip Morris. Although they have recently changed their name, to most Richmonders, they will always be known as Phillip Morris. Arguably, they are an almost recession proof company. Phillip Morris manufactures cigarettes, highly addicting, produced from tobacco. To the socially responsible, a company whose primary product may accelerate death is very unsettling. We tend to take a slightly more liberal approach. Surely we don’t advocate social irresponsibility. But Richmonders understand how important a landmark institution is to the city. It seems that everyone knows someone who works for this Fortune 500 giant. My brother-in-law is on the verge of celebrating a thirty-year career with Phillip Morris. More importantly, Richmond is Phillip Morris and vice-versa. The city draws so much of its strength and character from the company. Phillip Morris’s ability to survive major wars, a worldwide depression and even this current economic upheaval, gives Richmonders the hope that they too may persevere to bluer skies.

Don’t think for one second that Richmond is just another big smoke stack. Nothing could be further from the truth. Richmond is a beautiful city. Lacking a big city skyline, my hometown more than makes up for it with its delightfully charming neighborhoods. Whether studying Patrick Henry’s famous words at St. John’s Church in Chimarazo, shopping the quaint little shops in The Fan or picnicking on the grounds of the Capital, Richmond is as relaxing as it is beautiful. There are wonderful neighborhoods, parks and museums all around the city. But there is only one street that matters to blue blood Richmonders. Monument Avenue is lined with classically designed homes that display the artisan craft of a day and time gone by. The blossoming dogwoods hint of warmer weather and perhaps simpler times. The pride of the street is the oversized bronze statues of Civil War heroes such as Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. These sculptures are not only large; they were designed with such detail that they appear to come alive. I have often felt that I might be trampled by one of the giant casts. The city and street suffered a black eye as the debate to add the statue of hometown hero Arthur Ashes, the first black man to win at Wimbledon, polarized the city. After all the passionate debates were concluded, arguably the most famous son of Richmond was immortalized on one the most famous avenues in the South.

The idea that I could call some other city home never really occurred to me. It has been nearly three decades since I have lived in Richmond, yet it has never left me. Whether attending the annual Armstrong vs. Walker football game or just running through Bryant Park, I always felt like I was from somewhere so unique than the rest of world. As I grew away from home, of course I realized that my hometown was no more different or special than anywhere else. By no means did this discovery cause me to love Richmond any less. If anything, it allowed me to broaden my horizon and enjoy the stories and memories that other people had of their hometown. It also offered me the opportunity to uncover Richmond in ways that I never imagined. I now have a much better understanding of the city’s history and of the people who built it. I am so proud of the accomplishments of anyone hailing from Richmond. Virginia and the South can proudly say it produced the first elected black Governor. I can say, not only was Douglas Wilder the first elected black Governor, he is a Richmond native who graduated high school with my mother.