Evocations and Provocations: States of Mind on Flags

O Say can you see that last capitol of the Confederacy
Git your foot off my damn neck and
Don't you tread on me. . . .

Reflections

A recent drive from Atlanta to a high school reunion in Danville, Virginia, prompted thoughts of its history in light of the storms over the Confederate flag which have swirled around South Carolina and now brew, with less intensity, in Georgia. Danville was home until departure for college in Atlanta, never to be hometown again. Thoughts arose about the reputation it had earned during the Civil Rights Movement. From the vantage point of maturity, latter-day thoughts of "Ole Virginny" have caused some consternation about myopia in younger eyes. The minor turbulence that beset that town was nothing compared to events at the seat of the Movement, Atlanta, adopted as hometown upon marriage there in 1960. Vistas for a new perspective of Danville came from much farther, freshly aroused by thoughts of the year 1959-1960, spent in England on a study-abroad scholarship. Ironically, an acquaintance, while attending Exeter University for a full year after a summer program at London University, with two white females from Averett College in Danville presented the stark canker of segregation: the only African-American (not our nomenclature then) student at the university, and one of a small group of Americans, takes classes with students with whom she could not in Virginia. Thus in 2000, the irony is compounded by the significance of the venue for the reunion of students from the one black high school in town: the new field house at Averett, on its satellite campus. That high school had been converted into a middle school with the advent of "integration" in 1967.

Bright lights, Big city: Burned by Sherman, Reborn like the Phoenix; all ain't never been peaches and cream on the Peachtrees . . .

Indeed, much about Danville became striking when viewed from an Atlanta perspective. Yes, a first acquaintance with Atlanta in the late 1950s highlighted overt reminders of the Confederacy, but not surprisingly, for this was the deep South, though not quite "down the river." The location for examinations for drivers licenses was on Confederate Avenue. Thomas Watson's statue stood proudly, then as now, on the beautifully manicured lawn of the Georgia State Capitol, only much later to be the center of mild protest for his activist role in the Leo Frank lynching case. The proximity of Stone Mountain was a monumental reminder not only of the heroes of the Confederacy but more recently of the home of James Venable, the then-venerated leader of the Klan. And all things associated with Margaret Mitchell and her historical romance Gone with the Wind were becoming sacred, for the movie was still a big hit during the late 1950s, and Tara was more than a mythic abode for some. In fact, Butterfly McQueen, dear Prissy--of "I declare, Miss Scarlett, I don't know nothin' 'bout birthing no babies" fame--was trying to make a living in Atlanta, but not as an actress. Yes, a foray back to Danville brought fresh perspectives on the town on the Dan River.

O Danny Boy--mired in the silt
Dammed at the mills that grind oh so slowly
Flow gently, spoiled Dan

Now, reflections on the historical marker--observed many years before but practically ignored on the grounds of the public library--became more than a historical foray. The library occupied a building a block or so from the white high school many black kids had to pass as they walked several miles to the by-gone John Mercer Langston High School, which was now hosting the reunion. (No school buses served Langston students and many a minor fight occurred when black students refused to yield the sidewalk if boisterous white ones tried to claim it all.) The marker noted that the building housing the library had served as the last capitol of the confederacy. Brick walkways...