The young
man didn’t appear to be the least bit shy speaking to the journalist.
“Yes, you
can call me a white-supremacist. I don’t owe no man an apology for what I
believe. These statues not only honor the leaders. They remind us of the cause
they fought for. They represent the very soul of what we as a nation sought out
to become, and what we were prepared to do to see that dream realized. Those
men are who I am, we are, who we were, and who we will again be someday. That’s
my heritage people want to tear down.”
***
“What do you
think, Stoney?”
“I think
that’s the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard, A.P.”
“Were we as bullheaded
as this young fellow?”
“Course we
were, but we were soldiers doing what soldiers do. This man don’t speak for me.
Nor you, I ’spect.”
“I guess, if
I were pressed, I’d have to admit that those of us that did the fighting were
the soul of the south like that fella said, but that south don’t exist anymore.
That war was fought, fought hard, but it was lost. You...me...we all moved on,
but I don’t know what this fellow is trying to accomplish. Seems to me, he
might not know himself what it is.”
“These
statues were a bad idea when they went up and they’re an even worse idea now...and
you know how much I believed in what we were fighting for, but sometimes, a
soldier has to lay down his gun and move on. We did our part, and when the time
came, we laid down our guns, but these statues won’t let us move on.”
“I believe
you might have a point, Stoney.”
“I know I have a point. Look around you. We don't have nothing to do with this new south.The new south has moved on, but we're stuck back in the old south like rotten meat that should have been thrown away, not years ago, but decades ago. Yet, we haven't aged a day...riding the same dang horses, brandishing the same dang swords. I don't know about you, but oxidized green is not my color."
“I reckon,
if we were to get right down to the crux of the matter, statue or no statue,
we’re no more a part of the today’s south than the iron in those statues are
part of the iron ranges they came from. The ranges are dead. We’re dead. The
south that that fellow is braggin’ up is dead.”
“I, for one,
am tired being tied to this hunk of transformed iron ore.”
“So what do
you think we can do about it?”
“I’ll tell
you what I’d like to do about it. I’d like to get away from here. I’m tired of
people spitten’ on me and those horseless carriages spewing those God-awful
fumes around that would suck the life right out of me if I wasn’t already
lifeless. I never even knew you could paint something without a paint brush and
I sure don’t like what they’re painting on me.”
“So where do
you think we should go? Who’d have us?”
“Well, I don’t
care where they stick these statues. As for where we go, I’ll tell you where I
think we should go. I want to be back with my men.”
“In the cemeteries?”
“Hell, yes,
in the cemeteries. The ghosts of our men have been languishing around for
decades looking down on barely readable gravestones in remote, long-forgotten
battlefields while we sit here in the middle of Monument Avenue in all our grandeur.
They’re where they are because of us, and we’re where we are because of them.
“We sent them to their deaths fighting for a lost cause, and we’ve gotten all the glory. I think it’s high time we get back to our men.”
“Well, I
reckon there’s enough cemeteries to choose from. Any idea where you’d like to
go?”
“I think I’d
like to visit the boys over in Spotsylvania. They gave me everything a general
could ask for. Maybe it’s time I drop in on them. How about you?”
“I might
head down to University Cemetery in Charlottesville. You know, I was born just
up the road in Culpeper...mighty pretty country. I should have gone back there
years ago.”
“Better late
than never. See yeah, A.P.”
“Take care, Stoney.
It was an honor serving with you.”
