O, Captain, My Captain

When I was in college, it was my honor to study reporting under a professor who truly lived the adage that journalism is the first draft of history.

His name was Roy Reed, and he once worked for the New York Times; in fact, he was there when the landmark Times v. Sullivan decision was rendered, and he enthralled us in class with stories of that time. He also worked for the Arkansas Gazette before becoming a journalism professor at the University of Arkansas.

He was on the front lines of history in the 20th century.

He covered Orval Faubus at the Gazette. In the Times job he covered the civil rights movement in the South of the 1960s.

I will always remember the stories he told in class about covering marches that were led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. — and how he feared for his life when he and the rest of the reporters came under the hate–filled glares of the whites who watched the marches from the sidewalks of sleepy Southern towns.

The folks at the Times didn't think that was hazardous enough, I suppose, so they sent Roy to Northern Ireland to cover the Protestants and the Catholics.

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After doing that for awhile, life in Fayetteville must have seemed positively placid by comparison. I never saw anyone as completely happy as Roy was when I was enrolled in his class. He had lived a life to which many — myself included — aspired, and he told us all about it — the good, the bad and the ugly. He was paying it forward, as they say today, sharing the things he had learned in a lifetime in the profession with the next generation.

He didn't give away A's in his class. You had to earn them. And it has always been a source of pride for me that I earned an A in Roy's reporting class. It isn't exactly the kind of thing you can put on a resume. But I'm proud of it, and I carry it with me.

Roy had an aneurysm yesterday and died at the age of 87.

As I understand the sequence of events, he lapsed into a coma on Saturday and was kept alive for a time, but life support was removed today and he passed away.

Roy's life was all about communication and information — so it was fitting that it was through social media, which didn't exist when I was in Roy's class but is the method for spreading information in the 21st century, that I learned of his death. There is a Facebook page where my friends and former colleagues post news of interest, and the tributes to Roy have been pouring in over there.

We all have our own memories of Roy. For me, there are too many to count, but one stands out. I was in his class in an election year, and he recruited several of us to do volunteer work at the county courthouse on Election Night. I suppose many, if not all, of us were motivated by the lure of extra credit, but I was genuinely interested in participating in the process on an Election Night — which, in those days, required us to spend most of the evening on the phone taking down vote totals from precincts by hand and passing along the totals to others, who would compile them. When all the precincts had been heard from, the numbers were passed on to the secretary of state's office in Little Rock.

After I graduated from college, I participated in similar work for newspapers on Election Nights to come. Whenever I did I always thought back to that night during my college days. Among other things I owe that to Roy.

He influenced so many of us — and he will never be forgotten.

Palmetto Principles, Part I

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"History is inescapable anywhere," wrote Richard Cohen and James Barnes in their entry on South Carolina in the 2016 edition of The Almanac of American Politics.

They wrote that as their lead–in to a discussion of last year's racially motivated shootings at an historic black church in Charleston — but in a larger context it was about South Carolina's often troubled history that, as often as not, has crossed all kinds of boundaries — not only racial but economic and social as well.

The state's political history, however, has been more progressive than many people outside the South would care to admit — and that really is representative of many Southern states as well. The state's governor is an Indian–American woman — the first woman and the first racial minority to be the state's chief executive. She won with 51% of the vote in 2010; she received 56% of the vote when she sought re–election in 2014. One of the state's U.S. senators is black. He was appointed to replace Jim DeMint who resigned suddenly in 2013, but Tim Scott received 61% of the vote in a special election to fill the last two years of DeMint's term in 2014.

Both are Republicans, though, which reflects, in historical terms, a recent phenomenon in both the state and the region. Democrats were long in the majority in the South, and most officeholders in most Southern states were Democrats, but then Richard Nixon introduced his Southern strategy and put the transformation into motion.

South Carolina and the rest of the South have been trending solidly Republican in presidential politics for decades now. South Carolina was the only Deep South state — with the debatable exception of Florida — to support Nixon over George Wallace in 1968, and it has only voted for one Democrat (Jimmy Carter in 1976) since then.

"The primaries are not so predictable," wrote Cohen and Barnes. "South Carolina was decisive in determining the Republican nomination from 1988 to 2008," in no small part because it was moved to the front of the political calendar, putting it in position to influence the largely Southern "Super Tuesday" that follows. That is precisely what happened in 1988. Vice President George H.W. Bush won by a wide margin in South Carolina, then went on to do rather well on Super Tuesday a few days later.

The first two electoral skirmishes in the 2016 presidential calendar were held in places that have been known more for supporting ill–fated insurgents than realistic candidates for presidential nominations. South Carolina, which holds its Republican primary this Saturday and its Democratic primary on Feb. 27, has become known for frequently endorsing candidates who ultimately won their parties' nominations.

There have been exceptions, of course. On the Republican side, Newt Gingrich defeated eventual nominee Mitt Romney in South Carolina four years ago.

But South Carolina's Republicans had an unbroken streak going from 1980 to 2008, endorsing Ronald Reagan in 1980 (he was unchallenged there when he sought a second term in 1984), George H.W. Bush in 1988 and 1992, Bob Dole in 1996, George W. Bush in 2000 (like Reagan, Bush was unchallenged when he sought his second term in 2004) and John McCain in 2008.

From an historical perspective, it seems to me that winning South Carolina would be more meaningful than a win in New Hampshire or Iowa, even though those earlier clashes offered early momentum and media exposure to the winners.

Not that Donald Trump needs much in the way of exposure. But New Hampshire gave him a little momentum, perhaps a little credibility in his new field — and cut back on some of the momentum and media buzz generated by Ted Cruz in the Iowa caucuses. A second primary win would add to Trump's electoral credibility.

As I say, though, the outcomes in Iowa and New Hampshire have had little influence on the races for the nomination in recent years. It wasn't always that way in New Hampshire. For a long time, conventional wisdom held that, if a candidate did not win the New Hampshire primary, that candidate could not win the election.

Bill Clinton was the first presidential candidate to lose the New Hampshire primary (in 1992) but go on to win the election. Both of his successors did the same thing. George W. Bush lost to McCain in 2000 and Barack Obama lost to Hillary Clinton in 2008. Like President Clinton, both won the New Hampshire primary with no credible opposition when they sought re–election.

Thus, no nonincumbent has been elected president after winning the New Hampshire primary since George H.W. Bush in 1988.

On the other hand, history is loaded with recent examples of eventual presidents–elect who won the South Carolina primary.

So it seems to me that South Carolina is clearly the prize for Republicans. If the state's Republicans endorse a candidate who goes on to win the nomination — and, as I have observed, only Mitt Romney failed to achieve both in the last 36 years — he will probably end up with a convincing win in the Palmetto State in November. After all, Romney defeated Obama by more than 200,000 votes in South Carolina in 2012.

Defeat in South Carolina need not be decisive. But I guess that depends on how wide the margin is.

Let's take a look at some of the recent polls in South Carolina for clues to what might happen on Saturday:

Today a Public Policy Polling survey of nearly 900 likely primary voters was released that showed Trump with nearly a 2–to–1 lead over Cruz and Marco Rubio. Trump had 35%, and Cruz and Rubio each had 18%. The poll has a 3.3% margin of error.

On Monday, the South Carolina House Republican Caucus released a survey of more than 1,300 likely voters that showed Trump with a better than 2–to–1 lead. In that survey, Trump had 32.65%, Rubio had 14.02%, Cruz had 13.94% and former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush had 13.39%. The margin of error in that survey is 2.83%.

CBS News/YouGov reported the results of a survey on Sunday that, once again, showed Trump with more than a 2–to–1 lead. Trump had 42%, Cruz had 20% and Rubio had 15%.

On Saturday American Research Group reported the results of a survey that had Trump leading by something like 2⅓ to 1. Trump had 35%, Ohio Gov. John Kasich had 15%, Rubio had 14%, Cruz had 12% and Bush had 10%.

Last Friday the Augusta (Ga.) Chronicle reported that its survey had Trump with the narrowest lead of all, 36% to Cruz's 20% and Rubio's 15%.

There are sure to be other surveys in the next few days — and I always remind people that polls are like snapshots, not videos. They give people an idea of what sentiment was like at the time the survey was conducted. But sentiments can change in a matter of days, hours, even minutes.

Right now, the polls suggest that Trump is likely to win by a wide margin. Thus, most of the attention probably will be on who finishes second — and, thus, who may emerge as Trump's main challenger for the nomination. The polls seem to suggest that Cruz is likely to finish second — although it could be Rubio. It might even be Bush, whose father and brother always did well there.

But that really is nothing more than a sideshow because, as I observed earlier, the winner in South Carolina usually goes on to win the nomination. At best the runner–up buys himself some time to compete in upcoming primaries, but in the last three dozen years, only Romney has come back from a second–place finish in South Carolina to win his party's nomination.

It's getting serious now. That's true in both parties, as I will point out in this space next week.

The End of an American Tragedy

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Today is the 150th anniversary of the end of the Civil War — the day that Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant — and I am reminded of my favorite story about that war.

Wilmer McLean's name is not one that most people recognize in conversations about the American Civil War, but he holds a unique place in its story. His farmhouse in Manassas, in northern Virginia, had been the headquarters for Confederate military leadership during the First Battle of Bull Run, the first real battle of the Civil War back in July of 1861, and it had drawn plenty of fire from Union forces.

McLean, a grocer, moved his family south in the spring of 1863. Most of his business dealings were in the southern part of Virginia; I'm sure that played a role in his decision. The presence of the Union army made it hard for him to continue to conduct business in the northern part of the state, but I have no doubt that McLean also wanted to make life easier for his family by putting some distance between them and the fighting.

All of which makes the fact that Lee surrendered to Grant in McLean's home at Appomattox Court House 150 years ago today more than a bit ironic.

Initially, he wasn't too keen on the idea of the surrender taking place in his home, but he agreed and, apparently, retained his sense of humor, observing, "The war began in my front yard and ended in my front parlor."

There aren't many uplifting stories about that war. Inspiring? Yes. Uplifting? Not so much.

One hundred and fifty years ago today, the last real battle of the Civil War was fought. There would be skirmishes here and there, but, by and large, the Battle of Appomattox Court House was the last one. The Confederates were essentially a beaten army before the battle began. They were tired and hungry, inadequately equipped for battle. In the face of Union fire, they had abandoned their capitol, Richmond, Virginia, and retreated. The Union forces — superior in numbers, preparation and equipment — cut off the Confederates' retreat, forcing the battle at Appomattox Court House.

Lee attacked that morning, believing the Union forces to be entirely cavalry, but he soon learned the truth — the cavalry was backed by two corps of infantry — and he was left with no choice but to surrender. The surrender, in McLean's parlor, came that afternoon.

On that day, Grant displayed the kind of wisdom that, unfortunately, he seldom showed in his later actions as president. He permitted the Confederate soldiers to keep their sidearms and horses. None of them would be prosecuted. They could return to their homes, their dignity intact. After all, the Yankees and the Rebs would be compatriots again, just as they were before the war.

As Lee rode away, Grant's men began to celebrate, but Grant sent word that it should stop. "The Confederates were now our countrymen, and we did not want to exult over their downfall," he said later.

I've been hearing and reading about the Civil War all my life, and I have long believed that there were many examples of heroism, sacrifice and courage on both sides of that conflict, but it was a tragedy from which this nation is still trying to recover. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever fully recover from it.

It was a traumatic experience for the people who lived through it and the people who have lived and are living with the cultural consequences.

On this occasion, I suppose it is tempting to suggest that the war never really ended. It's a temptation that some, like David W. Bright of The Atlantic, seem to have found impossible to resist.

The war did end, of course — 150 years ago today. And what I can't help wondering is how different this country could have been — not if there had never been a Civil War (because I believe, as agonizing as it was, the Civil War was necessary to re–define what America stood for), but if Lincoln had not been killed only a few days later or if Grant had displayed the generosity to the South as president that he had shown to the South's soldiers 150 years ago today.

Lincoln, of course, was killed a few days later, and Grant's presidency lacked many of the fine qualities he had shown as general (among them backbone). As a result, those who wanted to punish the South did so in the form of Reconstruction. It is my belief that Reconstruction produced much the same result in this country that post–World War I sanctions on Germany produced in Europe — chiefly, resentment from those who felt oppressed.

I believe that much of the racism and bigotry that has survived for the last century and a half in the South was conceived in Reconstruction. The Jim Crow laws were enacted after Reconstruction had ended but the pain endured. In the Germany of the 1920s, much the same thing happened although the economic sanctions continued.

For the most part, I am inclined to think that a lot of what happened in 19th–century America and 20th–century Europe can be classified as unintended consequences. Oh, sure, I know there were some folks in both places and times whose only desire was to inflict pain on the vanquished — and they succeeded, perhaps beyond their wildest dreams. But I believe most simply wanted to fulfill a code of justice — arbitrary though it may have been.

I would like to believe, anyway, that what came to pass in 19th–century America and 20th–century Europe was not intended — because, if it was, that would be a greater tragedy than the one that preceded it.

The Awkward Southerner

Four years ago, I remember Mitt Romney taking a lot of grief from Southern journalists, both broadcast and print, over his efforts to appear to be one of us.

I always felt that was a mistake on Romney's part. I didn't think it cost him the Republican nomination because I never really felt he was in the running for the nomination, anyway. But I felt it was a mistake that cost him some votes in the South.

Folks from outside the South often make fun of Southerners. They think we're stupid and backward — and, OK, some of us are, but the region is not disproportionately so, and we're smart enough to know the real thing when we see it.

I grew up in the South, and I think the thing that probably matters more to Southerners than any other quality in a politician is authenticity. Is he what he seems to be?

Southerners are as susceptible as anyone else to the appeal of those with whom they believe they have the most in common, I suppose, and that would go a long way toward explaining some of their past primary preferences.

(When Jimmy Carter was elected president, I remember thinking that it would be refreshing to have a president who spoke the way most of the people in my world spoke.)

But, in the end, I don't think Southerners particularly care whether the candidate is from the South as long as they get the sense that he is genuine, that he shares their values.

The way some journalists are covering the campaign in the South — Steve Holland of Reuters, for example, writes that Romney "is laying it on as thick as a syrupy Southern drawl as he tries to court the South" — practically sneers "Insincerity!"

But that isn't really fair — either to Romney or Southerners.

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"Morning, y'all," Romney told a campaign rally on Friday in Jackson, Mississippi. "I got started this morning right with a biscuit and some cheesy grits," he joked.

Steve Holland
Reuters

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I'm sure that gets a lot of laughs from Northern elitists, but I prefer Romney's way (and so do many of the people I know) to the condescension of a real elitist who comes here in the heat of the campaign and acts as if he is intimately acquainted with us and our ways.

That was essentially what Romney did in 2008. Most of the Southern states had primaries that year, but Romney exceeded 20% of the vote in only three and exceeded 30% of the vote in only two — although many Southerners would argue that Florida, which was one of those states that gave Romney more than 30% of the vote, didn't qualify then (and doesn't qualify now) as truly Southern because so many of its residents migrated there from other regions of the country.

But, in 2012, Romney is not trying to come across as the long–lost prodigal son. He acknowledges that his roots are elsewhere. If Romney seems disingenuous to non–Southerners for joking about eating biscuits and cheesy grits for breakfast, it's different with Southerners.

"I realize it's a bit of an away game," Romney said in Alabama the other day, and Southerners are OK with that. We know the rest of the country doesn't eat grits and that it will usually eat biscuits (or cornbread) only if nothing else is available (or it has something else wedged in the middle, like a sausage patty) — so we get the joke when a candidate from someplace else makes a point of telling us that he ate those foods. We know he doesn't eat that every day.

(Actually, in my experience, cheese is added to grits mostly to make the dish more palatable to non–Southerners. A real Southerner will eat grits with a little salt and a little butter — and come back for more. Cheese adds a little flavor, but it isn't essential.)

It's a regional point of pride, kind of like a Philly cheesesteak. It isn't to everyone's taste, and we don't expect a candidate to pledge to eat nothing else if we give him our votes. We just like to know a candidate is willing to try it when he's asking us for our support.

Let me tell you a true story.

It was a tradition at the school where I began my college career to hold a goat roast every spring. It was mostly an excuse to have a big keg party where local bands would play for hours, but one of the features was the roasting of an actual goat, and the meat was served between two slices of white bread.

I think you could add ketchup or mustard or mayo if you wished, but I don't really remember which, if any, condiments were available.

The admission price entitled one to partake of the food being offered, and attendees had the option of eating more mainstream fare if they wished — but most people opted to eat goat. My memory is that it didn't really have much flavor, and it wouldn't be my choice for a meal, but I ate it, anyway.

It was expected.

Local food specialties and politics go hand in hand in the South. I went to catfish fries and all sorts of similar gatherings when I lived in Arkansas. The food is part of the event, and guests are expected to at least try it — and, once they do, folks will sit back and listen to what they have to say.

A savvy politician will try it and, even if he doesn't like it, he will fake it.

That isn't being dishonest — or even disingenuous.

It's being a smart politician.

Georgia On My Mind

I have this friend who lives in Atlanta. I would describe him as a devoted supporter of Barack Obama.

He says he has been disappointed and frustrated with Obama at times, but it often seems to me that he finds ways to justify or excuse those policies that he says have been disappointing and frustrating. This also leads, at times, to overly optimistic electoral expectations.

At one time, we were living parallel lives. We were pursuing our master's degrees in journalism at the University of North Texas, we were working full time at the same newspaper, and we were working part time as graduate assistants in UNT's editing lab.

Frequently, we were enrolled in the same classes. I used to tease him that I saw more of him than his wife or children did.

We got to know each other pretty well, and we found that we had a lot in common. We both considered ourselves Democrats, and we shared much the same world view.

Anyway, that friend and I went our separate ways eventually. He got his degree, and I got mine. He went on to get his doctorate at another school. I got a job teaching journalism. We had our different life experiences, as friends do.

To an extent, we've moved in different directions. He still considers himself a Democrat; I consider myself an independent. I guess his philosophy hasn't changed much; perhaps mine has, although I don't think of it that way.

But even if it is true, I don't look at it as a bad thing — more like what Joni Mitchell described in "Both Sides Now."

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"But now old friends are acting strange,
They shake their heads,
They say I've changed.
Something's lost
But something's gained
In living every day."

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Life has taken my friend to Atlanta, as I say — where, I presumed, he would obtain unique insights into the voting behavior of people in Georgia.

Maybe he has, but I'm inclined to think they are colored by his personal political perceptions, not necessarily by reality.

In 2008, he told me that Obama would win Georgia for two reasons — the black population of Georgia (roughly 30% of the total) would vote heavily for him (which it did, I suppose) and the presence of Libertarian — and Georgia native — Bob Barr on the ballot.

Barr, he said, would siphon off enough votes from John McCain to hand the state to the Democrats. He didn't.

More than 3.9 million people voted in Georgia in November 2008. About 28,000 of them voted for Barr.

That didn't really surprise me. Georgia has never struck me as being unusually susceptible to quixotic third–party candidacies.

When such a third–party candidate has caught fire elsewhere, in the region or the country at large — i.e., Ross Perot in '92 or George Wallace in '68 — Georgia has jumped right in there.

But, otherwise, third–party candidates have been non–factors in Georgia. Maybe the concept of a two–party system is too deeply ingrained in Georgians.

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As someone who has lived in the South all his life, that sort of seems to me to be true of the South in general, and the percentages from the last election in which a third–party candidate played a prominent role — 1992 — support that.

According to "The Almanac of American Politics 1994," states in the South Atlantic region of the country (Florida, Georgia, Virginia and the Carolinas) gave a much smaller share of their vote to Perot (16%) than almost any other region. The states in the Mississippi Valley — Alabama, Arkansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi and Tennessee — gave the smallest (11%).

In other words, even in a year in which the third–party candidate was bringing millions of previously politically inactive voters into the process, the South resisted the temptation to abandon the two–party arrangement.

The authors of the 1994 "Almanac," Michael Barone and Grant Ujifusa, used the numbers from the 1992 election to make the case for their observation of the "phenomenon" of straight–ticket voting that year. And I suppose it was a compelling argument for those who sought to explain what had happened that year.

Their analysis always struck me as being somewhat short–sighted, focused as it was on a single election.

See, I never really bought the idea that it was an isolated phenomenon. I have long believed that straight–ticket voting is a reality of American politics, particularly Southern politics. It was true in 1992. I believe it will be true in 2012 — and that the numbers from 2010 and recent presidential elections clearly suggest that the Democrats will lose every Southern state next year.

I know it was always a reality in Arkansas — but that was due, in large part, to the fact that there was really only one political party in Arkansas when I was growing up. The Democrats had a near monopoly on political power in Arkansas — and most of the South — in those days.

But that was really a different Democratic Party. As I have noted before, the politicians who led the Democratic Party in those days probably had much more in common philosophically with today's Republicans.

Eventually, in fact, many of them switched their party affiliations, but it took some time. The Southern Democrats of a generation or two back were trained at their mother's knees to be wary of Republicans.

Republicans were damn yankees, and the transition was a long time coming and really achieved incrementally. Southerners were voting for Republicans for president long before they started voting for Republicans for state and local offices.

The GOP, they were told, had inflicted Reconstruction on the South after the Civil War — and had been responsible for the poverty and misery that afflicted most who lived there, white and black, ever since. It was an article of faith, and so, with the exceptions of a few isolated pockets, most places in the South were run by Democrats for decades.

Many people mistakenly believe the South began moving away from the Democrats to the Republicans in 1980, when Reagan conservatives joined forces with Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority, but, in hindsight, that was really more symbolic of the completion of the shift than its beginning. It was in 1980 that the Moral Majority served as the bridge for the last holdouts, the Christian evangelicals, who seemed, prior to that time, to exist outside politics — at least as an interest group or voting bloc.

The real breaking point came in the 1960s, in the midst of the civil rights conflict, campus unrest and general social upheaval. Even Lyndon Johnson, the architect of the Great Society, acknowledged that his greatest legislative triumphs, the ones that guaranteed voting rights and civil rights to all Americans, likely had handed the South to the opposition for a generation or more.

His words have truly been prophetic. Of the 11 elections that have been held since Johnson won by historic proportions in 1964, the Democratic nominee has lost every Southern state in six of them — and has only come close to sweeping the region once (in 1976) even though the party has nominated Southerners for president five times.

Most Southern states have voted for the Republican nominee for president even in years when Republicans were struggling elsewhere ... even in years when native Southerners were on the Democrats' national ticket.

I have always had mixed feelings about the fierce loyalty of Southerners. I have often felt it was more a point of pride, of not wanting to admit when one has been wrong, than a point of principle.

When Southerners give their hearts to someone, it is usually for life. Likewise, when the South gives its allegiance to a person or a political party, it is a long–term commitment — in spite of the behavior of some philandering politicians.

Giving up on a relationship — be it social or political — is a last resort for most Southerners. It is what you do when all else has failed.

(Regarding the dissolution of social/legal relationships, I have always suspected that attitude has more to do with the regional stigma about divorce that still persists, to an extent, today and the reluctance of many Southerners to legally admit a mistake was made than any theological concerns about promises made to a higher power.)

That's probably the main reason why it was so surprising when Obama won the states of Virginia and North Carolina in 2008. Virginia hadn't voted for a Democrat since LBJ's day. North Carolina voted for Jimmy Carter in 1976 but had been in the Republican column ever since.

For those states to vote for a Democrat after regularly voting for Republicans for years was an admission that could not have been easy for many of the voters in those states to make.

Numerically, it seems to have come a little easier to Virginians, who supported the Obama–Biden ticket by nearly 250,00 votes out of more than 3.7 million cast. North Carolinians, on the other hand, barely voted for Obama, giving him a winning margin of less than 15,000 votes out of 4.3 million.

I'm not really sure what this means for 2012. I mean, the 2008 results can't be explained strictly in racial terms, can they? The white share of the population is about the same in both states (64.8% in Virginia, 65.3% in North Carolina), and the black populations are comparable as well (19.0% in Virginia, 21.2% in North Carolina).

If anything, one would expect that a higher black population (along with half a million more participants) would produce a higher margin for Obama in North Carolina than Virginia — but the opposite was true.

What can be said with certainty is that both states voted Republican — heavily — in the 2010 congressional midterms.

• North Carolina re–elected Republican Sen. Richard Burr with 55% of the vote. That's pretty high for North Carolina. Statewide races frequently are much closer.
  
  North Carolina Republicans also captured a House seat from the Democrats.


• Virginia elected Republican Gov. Bob McDonnell in the off–year election of 2009, providing perhaps the first glimpse of what was to come.
  
  Neither of the state's senators was on the ballot in 2010, but Democratic Sen. Jim Webb, who defeated George Allen in the 2006 midterm election, announced earlier this year that he would not seek a second term. Ostensibly, his reason is that he wants to return to the private sector, but I can't help wondering if he has concluded that he caught lightning in a bottle six years ago and cannot duplicate the feat in 2012.
  
  Virginia Republicans grabbed three House seats from Democrats in 2010.

It was less surprising that Florida voted for Obama in 2008.

That's understandable. For quite awhile, Florida has been a melting pot for retirees from all over the nation so its politics tends to be quite different from just about any other Southern state. Until the advent of air conditioning, Florida was mostly a backwater kind of place with a population to match, but in recent decades, the only thing that has truly been Southern about Florida is its geographic location.

In many ways, its diverse population bears watching as an election year unfolds. It may be the closest thing to a political barometer, a cross–section of the American public, that one is likely to find.

The scene of an excruciating recount in 2000, Florida has now been on the winning side in 11 of the previous 12 elections — and conditions in 2008 were probably more favorable for the out–of–power party than at any other time that I can remember.

More than perhaps any other state in the region, Florida's vote seems likely to be influenced by prevailing conditions in November 2012. Obama won the state with 51% of the vote in 2008, but, again, few solid conclusions can be reached based on the racial composition of the electorate. Whites represent a smaller share of the population in Florida (about 58%) than in in Virginia or North Carolina.

But the black vote in Florida is also smaller (around 15%).

In fact, half again as many Floridians are Hispanic (more than 22%), and, while those voters will be affected by economic conditions like anyone else, they may also be sensitive to immigration issues and particularly responsive to proposed solutions to those problems.

There may well be compelling reasons for Hispanic voters to feel overly encouraged or discouraged by U.S. immigration policy under Obama.

What can be said of voting behavior in Florida in 2010 is that Florida's voters made a right turn.

Republicans seized four House seats from Democrats, elected one of the original tea partiers to the U.S. Senate and replaced an outgoing Republican governor with another Republican governor.

There has been persistent talk, in fact, that the senator — Marco Rubio — will be the GOP running mate, no matter who the presidential nominee turns out to be.

And if that turns out to be true, the party really will be over in Florida ...

... and elsewhere in the South.

A Season of Loss

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"To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

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The last couple of years have amounted to one long season of loss. Frankly, it's wearing me down.

I've been through this kind of thing before, although not quite as extensively as lately. It's been getting to the point where I'm almost hesitant to check my e–mail for fear there will be word that someone else I know has died.

Let me backtrack a little here. I was raised in the South.

And, if you were raised in the South, there are times when — regardless of what your personal religious beliefs may be — a quotation from the Bible is the only appropriate answer to the complicated question of why bad things happen to good people.

For me today, the above quote from Ecclesiastes — which was more popularly known when I was a boy as a line from a song by the Byrds — is the one that keeps coming to mind.

Yesterday, I received an e–mail from one of my high school classmates reporting that the son of another classmate had been killed in a car accident.

I have written of this classmate before, most recently last February after his father, a man known as "Justice Jim" Johnson, committed suicide.

Justice Jim, as I mentioned at that time, was something of a notorious segregationist politician when I was a child. He also lived just down the road from my family, and I spent many afternoons playing with his twin sons, who were my age.

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I found this undated photo of David's twin brother
Danny (left) with their father, Justice Jim (right),
and Danny's daughter at some sort of school dinner.

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Few people outside my own family have known me as long as David Johnson and his twin brother, Danny. When their father killed himself about five months ago, I found myself frequently thinking about my childhood and pondering the bizarre twists and turns of life — the randomness of it all.

I reflected a great deal on myself as a child, and I pondered what I might tell that child if I could go back in time and talk to him. But the well was dry. What could I tell him? I know I had no idea what the future held. Not even a clue. No one does, really, even those whose lives seem to have been pre–ordained. What wisdom would I share with him that might make his life easier?

I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, of course, what I wanted to study in college and all that. But, in spite of my plans and expectations, life has, at times, taken me in totally unexpected directions. It is at such times, I suppose, that I am reminded of how little I really do control.

"Life is what happens to you," said John Lennon, "while you're busy making other plans."

That's OK, I guess. I'm a journalist, by training, experience and inclination, and it can be difficult for a journalist to be in the dark, to not know all the facts, but journalists learn to live with imperfections like that. However, in the last couple of years, it seems like darn near everything is out of control. And there are many times when that is a little too imperfect for me.

I don't know the details of the accident that took the life of David's son, but to be 21 years old and (presumably) healthy and then to die in a car accident seems — to me, anyway — to be perhaps the most random way a person could die.

And the pain of losing your father and your child within a matter of months is something I cannot begin to imagine.

I've never been a fan of Garth Brooks, but he might be on to something when he sings that our lives are better left to chance.

Is there anything good to be found in this? I'd like to think so — for my friend's sake — and for my own peace of mind as well.

As I say, I've experienced seasons of loss in my life, and the one through which I have been living lately often seems as if it will never end. Such seasons have come and gone. In short order, bad times have been followed by good times in the natural ebb and flow of the human existence.

But lately the bad times seem to last longer than they did, and the good times are fewer and farther between. Is that just a normal function of aging?

Or has it been worse in the last couple of years because everything else seems to be so screwed up? You know what I mean — the avalanche effect.

I don't know why the Ecclesiastes quotation keeps running through my mind — unless it is because of the dual message it offers. Yes, it acknowledges that time is short — that, in the words of another popular song, it's later than you think.

But, rather than urge readers to enjoy themselves, Ecclesiastes offers the assurance that there is an appointed time for everything. In hindsight, that time may seem very short, and you may be denied the satisfaction of seeing your goal(s) fulfilled. But if one has faith, it seems to me, one must believe that, in some way, every life — no matter how brief it may be — makes a contribution.

My faith isn't always as strong as I'd like it to be, but I would like to believe that.

Sweet Home Alabama

They held their primaries in Alabama this week, and I'm a little bewildered.

A black man named Artur Davis, who has represented west Alabama's Seventh District in the U.S. House since 2003, ran for governor and was handily beaten by the state's agriculture commissioner, a white man named Ron Sparks.

Unofficially, Sparks received 62% of the vote in what the Birmingham News called "one of the more remarkable upsets in Alabama primary history."

Huh?

I grew up in the South, but I have never lived in Alabama. In fact, I have seldom even been in Alabama. And — no offense intended to the congressman — I had never heard of Artur Davis until a few days before Christmas, when his colleague, Parker Griffith, switched from the Democratic Party to the Republican Party.

Obviously, my credentials as an Alabama insider are seriously lacking. Actually, I would characterize them as nonexistent.

In the course of researching my blog article on that decision, I learned about Davis' campaign and discovered that he had been saying that Griffith's decision "repudiates the hard work of many Democrats who sustained him."

I saw nothing at the time that indicated whether Davis or Sparks was in front in the governor's race. I knew nothing of their political philosophies (I have since learned that Davis is, based mostly on his congressional voting record, a centrist, but I still know very little about Sparks' views). And I will readily admit that my gut reaction was based on what I have seen and heard about Alabama and the Deep South all my life.

My gut reaction last December was that Davis would lose — eventually. I didn't know if he would lose the Democratic primary, because most blacks in America are Democrats and Alabama (like most Southern states) has a fairly large black population.

It was possible, I reasoned, that the Democratic Party in Alabama — the same Democratic Party that nominated George Wallace for governor four times — might nominate Davis.

That's the same George Wallace who was remembered in a PBS documentary by a black lawyer for being "the most liberal judge that I had ever practiced law in front of," but, after losing the 1958 gubernatorial nomination to a Ku Klux Klan–backed opponent, ambition may have gotten the better of him, and he vowed never to be "outseged" again.

After being sworn in as governor the first time in January 1963, he famously proclaimed, "Segregation now! Segregation tomorrow! Segregation forever!" Accurate or not, that came to summarize Wallace in the minds of most Americans — a defiant, stand–in–the–schoolhouse–door racist.

And, more than 10 years later, Wallace lamented, after endorsing Jimmy Carter (the symbol of the "new" South) for president, that "I had to do things — say things — to get elected in Alabama that made it impossible for me to ever be president."

Well, Wallace (along with just about all of the American politicians who built state and national careers on the tragedy of racial conflicts) has been dead for many years now. But the attitudes that he and others exploited for their own political gain were generations in the making and cannot be completely erased in a single election.

Still, there is no doubt the parties have moved farther to each extreme. Wallace's son and namesake is a Republican now, and I wouldn't be surprised if most of the descendants of the Alabamians who elected the elder Wallace governor so many times now regard themselves as Republicans, too. Thus, it wouldn't shock me at all if Alabama's Democrats are more liberal than their ancestors.

So I couldn't conclude that Alabama's Democrats would not nominate a black man for governor — but, ultimately, I believed his candidacy was doomed. I found no reason to believe, as some people apparently did after Davis was elected in 2002 to represent a newly created district that is more than 60% black, that he was a rising star in Alabama politics. And, yes, I suppose that was not politically correct in the modern sense because I presumed his lack of statewide star quality was a racial thing.

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Oh, yes, a lot of things have changed in the South, and, for all I know, Davis was doing much better in the polls at some point than he did when the voters cast their ballots this week. But maybe this was one of those Bradley effect deals, where poll respondents said they would vote for the black guy but, at the moment of truth, just couldn't do it.

OK, Davis lost the party primary. But if he had not lost the party nomination, I'm inclined to think he would have lost the general election — when the more conservative Alabamians will participate along with the left–leaners.

But, as I study accounts of the final weeks of the campaign, I wonder if maybe Alabama's Democrats actually gave the nation some reassurance that the state has progressed farther than most had dared to dream.

Maybe it was mostly about race. Maybe it was a case of the so–called Bradley effect.

But, maybe, it was something as simple and as basic as the adage so memorably expressed by Tip O'Neill: "All politics is local."

A couple of weeks ago, the Tuscaloosa News quoted a political science professor as saying that there was a significant difference in the candidates' approaches. Davis, he said, appeared to be structuring his campaign with the general election voters in mind while Sparks was focused on the party's voters, the ones he had to persuade to win the nomination.

Now, to put it bluntly, it is never a good idea to run as if you have already won the preliminary and you're mostly positioning yourself for the general election campaign. It seems like a recipe for disaster for any politician — never mind the politician's race, gender, age, religion, etc.

Maybe, to paraphrase Michael Jackson, it don't matter if you're black or white — as long as you tell 'em what they want to hear. Perhaps Democratic voters didn't want to hear Davis defend his vote against health care reform, which might have played well in November. Perhaps they were more impressed by the facts that the state's black leaders and the teachers and other groups that appeal to today's Democrats endorsed Sparks.

Anyway, I believe race did play a part in what happened. Maybe its influence was very subtle. In spite of all the talk of a post–racial America, it seems to me that such change is coming more slowly in the South than it is in other regions. At some point, I hope the South can overcome its racist legacy, but it will require a certain amount of tolerance and understanding on the part of the rest of America.

There seems to be a one–size–fits–all mentality outside the South about black politicians. Since Obama's election in 2008, the conventional wisdom appears to be that it is all a matter of strategy — especially if you read Jeff Zeleny's article on the Alabama primaries in the New York Times: "[T]he decisive defeat of Artur Davis ... illustrates the limits of trying to replicate the strategy that helped carry President Obama to office," he writes.

That strikes me as being willfully ignorant of certain facts — one of which is that there is nothing of the sort to replicate in Alabama. Two years ago, more than three–fifths of Alabama voters voted for John McCain.

I don't know if Davis openly sought to emulate Obama's national triumph in a Deep South state or if that objective was a presumption by some in the outside media, but, if that was the strategy, it leads me to ask a simple question: Why?

Blacks have seldom won statewide races in America — and almost never in the South. And it is worth remembering that most Southern states did not vote for Obama, either. It may be hard for people in other regions to understand, but even with the sizable black populations in this region, Obama has never been especially popular here.

And maybe that is, to a certain extent, the product of racial conflict.

Because, you see, another fact that has been conveniently ignored is that, in 2008, the results in Alabama clearly were polarized by race. Whites, who account for nearly 69% of the state's population, voted heavily for McCain; blacks voted heavily for Obama.

The same thing happened in other Southern states, too. It just wasn't as pronounced as it was in Alabama.

And, yet, as I say, Davis' voting record was a centrist one. Alabama Democrats who wanted to win a governor's race for the first time in the 21st century should have been tempted to nominate Davis — and, yet, most of them picked his white opponent.

You can reach a racist conclusion based on that information if you wish. And, human nature being what it is, there may always be those voters who make choices based on irrelevant factors like race or gender or age or religion. Politicians don't get to choose what the voters get to use to make electoral decisions.

But maybe the message from most of Alabama's Democrats wasn't that a black man had been rejected by the voters (although there is no getting around the fact that a black man did lose the primary).

Maybe the message was that voters have evolved so much in this country that a black Democrat can be defeated in his party's primary because his views did not reflect the voters' — not because he was black.

Isn't that what Martin Luther King was talking about when he spoke of being judged not by the color of one's skin but the content of one's character?

Song of the South

On this day in 1865, the South surrendered to the North, bringing the Civil War to an end.

Well, that's the way it reads in the history books. It's too bad that most history textbooks don't seem to tell the most inspiring part of the story.

As Robert E. Lee rode to Appomattox Court House to meet with Union Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, he couldn't know what his fate would be. He was a rebel, and military tradition called for executing rebels.

In fact, as he left his troops, Lee said that he expected to be Grant's prisoner before the day was out, but he stoically rode to his rendezvous, presumably hoping that Grant would be merciful, prepared to sacrifice himself for his men. What he didn't know was that Grant had discussed this possibility with Lincoln, who wanted to welcome the South back to the Union with open arms. And, when Grant and Lee sat down to discuss the terms, Lee was pleasantly surprised to learn that Grant would insist only that the Confederate soldiers promise not to take up arms against the United States again, and they could return to their homes.

It was an incredibly generous gesture, virtually unheard of in the 19th century. A relieved Lee was only too eager to agree to the terms and told Grant they would have a "happy effect" on his men — as indeed they did. But less than a week later, Lincoln was dead, and the Northerners who were in control of the government gave in to the desire to punish the South in the form of Reconstruction. And that contributed to the rise of the Ku Klux Klan and the implementation of the Jim Crow laws.

Realistically, I suppose, a kind of a civil war raged on for another century. Most of the casualties were blacks, who continued to live a second–class existence, segregated from whites in schools, restaurants and all public facilities and transportation, systematically denied basic privileges, like the right to vote. Those who dared to resist were quickly silenced.

I grew up in the South — in Arkansas. Today, many people speak of the landmark moments in the civil rights movement as if they were the dates when things changed. They were the dates when things started to change where I lived. Central High School in nearby Little Rock was integrated in the late 1950s; segregation went on for many more years in Arkansas' country towns. The schools in my hometown remained segregated for several years. I have vague memories of segregated water fountains and bathrooms. I don't remember when the theatre in my hometown was desegregated, but I do remember going to the movies with my parents and seeing black patrons being ushered in to a separate section of the balcony.

I remember seeing Confederate flags — not on public buildings but just about everywhere else — on homes, in yards, flying from car antennas, draped across the rear windows of pickup trucks. Folks took pride in their heritage — not necessarily what it sometimes stood for.

"Separate but equal" was always more of a concept than a reality in the South. There were isolated pockets, communities that sincerely tried to make sure that schools and other public facilities were of the same quality. But, mostly, it was something white Southerners told themselves and each other to justify separating the races, to assure themselves that blacks were not being denied anything that whites had, they were just being denied the company of whites.

That, of course, was absurd.

I've been thinking about this in the aftermath of Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell's decision to declare April "Confederate History Month." McDonnell's failure to mention slavery in his proclamation provoked quite a public outcry, prompting him to relent, apologize for his "omission" and add the following to the language of his proclamation:

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"WHEREAS, it is important for all Virginians to understand that the institution of slavery led to this war and was an evil and inhumane practice that deprived people of their God–given inalienable rights and all Virginians are thankful for its permanent eradication from our borders, and the study of this time period should reflect upon and learn from this painful part of our history ..."

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Revisionist historians, perhaps overly influenced by the modern political correctness movement and the manner in which certain words and phrases (like Confederacy and states' rights) have become code for racism and bigotry, view the 19th century through 20th– and 21st–century lenses. They believe the Civil War was always about slavery — more to the point, they believe it was about ending slavery.

But, like most armed conflicts, it began as one thing and ended up being about something else. Isn't that what happened in Iraq? America invaded in 2003, intent upon ridding both the region and the world of the threat of Iraqi "weapons of mass destruction." When the alleged stockpiles of such weapons were not found, attention turned to liberating the Iraqi people.

If you have a conversation today with someone who supported the invasion of Iraq and continues to support the war there, you will not talk about vials of anthrax but rather about the liberation of an oppressed people. Is it good that oppressed people have been liberated? Of course, it is. But is that why the troops invaded Iraq to begin with? No.

I'm not saying McDonnell shouldn't have adjusted his proclamation to refer to slavery. He should have. Nor am I saying that slavery was not "an evil and inhumane practice." Clearly, it was.

I'm just saying it was not necessarily seen in the same light in the 19th century as it is today. Even Abraham Lincoln, who is rightfully remembered in history as the Great Emancipator, was far more concerned, upon entering the presidency, with preserving the Union than he was with ending slavery. In fact, I wrote about this on the occasion of his 200th birthday last year.

I don't have a problem with setting aside a month to remember the history of the South. I think McDonnell's mistake was in the name. "Confederate History Month" brings to mind images of slaves, the Stars and Bars, rebellion. The war is part of its history — there is no escaping that — but I don't really feel it is necessary to draw more attention to that than to the other part of its history. "Southern History Month" makes more sense — and would let everyone participate.

Sort of like the difference between having a "German History Month" and a "Nazi History Month."

I've spent nearly all of my life in the South, and I know there are things that are unique to this region, people who have made valuable contributions to the betterment of mankind. I know that there are fascinating stories from Southern history that people outside the region seldom know.

And, as for the Confederate part, I know that most of the men who fought for the Confederacy did not own slaves. You can try to hang the "racist" label on them all you want, but, if you could ask them, I doubt that many would say they were fighting to preserve slavery. They would say they were defending their homes, their families, their friends.

The Civil War was a tragedy for this nation, but the men who fought in it often displayed true heroism and self–sacrifice. Their sacrifices should be remembered and honored.

But the month need not be limited to the Confederacy. That ignores the contributions of too many generations of Southerners.

The Patriotism of Robert E. Lee

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He has been called the greatest general ever produced in America, even though he was on the losing side in the greatest military conflict of his life.

Today is the 203rd birthday of Robert E. Lee. And, while history does remember him as the commander of the losing side in the Civil War, he easily could have led the winning forces. He was approached about being the general of the Union troops, but he would not fight against Virginia, his home state, after it seceded.

So he commanded the Army of Northern Virginia. But did you know that he never wore the insignia of a Confederate general? He only wore the three stars worn by a Confederate colonel, which was equal to the last rank he had achieved in the U.S. Army.

Lee was a patriot, and, like Abraham Lincoln, he wished to keep the Union intact. "I can anticipate no greater calamity for the country than a dissolution of the Union," he wrote in a letter to his son.

Yes, Lee was a patriot. But he was somewhat soft–spoken by today's standards. Much of what he said was expressed in letters, like one he wrote to one of his generals several months after Lee surrendered. "True patriotism sometimes requires of men to act exactly contrary, at one period, to that which it does at another, and the motive which impels them — the desire to do right — is precisely the same."

Lee's desire to do right led him to say, "We must forgive our enemies. I can truly say that not a day has passed since the war began that I have not prayed for them."

When the war was over, a woman spoke to him of her hatred of the North. He replied, "Madam, don't bring up your sons to detest the United States government. Recollect that we form one country now. Abandon all these local animosities, and make your sons Americans."

And, on one occasion several years after the war, Lee responded, after hearing Ulysses S. Grant insulted by a faculty member at what is now Washington & Lee University, "Sir, if you ever presume again to speak disrespectfully of General Grant in my presence, either you or I will sever his connection with this university."

There are people who believe his love for and devotion to his home state trumped his instincts about slavery. Some attempt to apply 20th and 21st century standards to a 19th century man.

It is true that, before the war began, Lee had freed the slaves his wife had inherited. But a letter he wrote to his wife five years before the outbreak of the war can be interpreted in several ways:

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"In this enlightened age, there are few I believe, but what will acknowledge, that slavery as an institution, is a moral and political evil in any country. It is useless to expatiate on its disadvantages. I think it however a greater evil to the white man than to the black race, and while my feelings are strongly enlisted in behalf of the latter, my sympathies are more strong for the former. The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in Africa, morally, socially and physically. The painful discipline they are undergoing, is necessary for their instruction as a race, and I hope will prepare and lead them to better things. How long their subjugation may be necessary is known and ordered by a wise merciful Providence."

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Journalist Douglas Freeman wrote, in 1934, that Southerners of faith in the 19th century, like Lee, "believed that slavery existed because God willed it and they thought it would end when God so ruled. The time and the means were not theirs to decide, conscious though they were of the ill–effects of Negro slavery on both races."

Nevertheless, it is true that, after the war, Lee spoke of his "willingness that blacks should be educated." It would, he said, "be better for the blacks and for the whites," but it was nearly a century before Southern schools were integrated.

It is beyond dispute, as far as I can see, that Lee believed in education. "The education of a man is never completed," he said, "until he dies."

It would hardly be fair to expect anyone from the 19th century to live up to the standards that prevailed a century or two later. Even so, some have applied those standards to Lee's contemporaries, like Abraham Lincoln, as I observed nearly a year ago on the eve of the bicentennial of Lincoln's birth.

Presumably, through the application of similar logic, some people who have never lived in the South have harbored a prejudice against all white Southerners — because of slavery, because of the Civil War, because of the Ku Klux Klan, because of racist politicians, because of racism in general.

But not all white Alabamians were George Wallace, not all white Arkansans were Orval Faubus, not all white Georgians were Lester Maddox. The Wallaces, Faubuses and Maddoxes made it harder for progressive Southerners to be visible, but they were there. I know because I saw them.

It is important to remember — the day after Martin Luther King Day, the day of Massachusetts' special election to choose Ted Kennedy's Senate successor — that no region of this country has a monopoly on racism. School busing, as a means to achieve school desegregation, is maybe the best example.

When I was growing up, my hometown in Arkansas was much smaller than it is today. In those days, it was a rural community with many families, including mine, living outside the city limits. The likelihood of any family living outside the city limits had little to do with race. It was more of an economic thing, in both a positive and negative sense. There were places where lower–income families lived, and there were areas where middle– and higher–income families, in which the parents were better educated and had better jobs, bought land and built homes.

School segregation existed in my hometown before I enrolled in first grade, but integration was in effect by the time I did so I have no first–hand memory of segregated schools. There was never a time when there were no blacks in school with me. And there was never a time — at least that I can recall — when anyone, white or black, resisted school integration in my hometown.

But I do have a first–hand memory of riding school buses. As far–flung as the families were in my hometown, everyone except those who lived a short distance from school rode the bus. It was a normal, everyday experience for me.

It was, therefore, stunning for me — and, I presume, others my age, although I don't remember speaking at length with any of my friends about it — when places like Boston erupted in race riots over school busing. I couldn't really comprehend the issues that were involved. All I could see was adults getting into fights over something that I saw as a fact of life.

Well, it's tough enough to do the right thing in your own time. Never mind what the folks 100 or 150 years from now will think.

Lee himself seemed to comprehend that simple fact.

"After it is all over, as stupid a fellow as I am can see that mistakes were made," he said. "I notice, however, that my mistakes are never told me until it is too late."

More Endorsements

If the polls are to be believed (and there are plenty of reasons to be skeptical about that), what happens in the South on Election Day may not matter.

But if it turns out that the race is close, this item I'm about to mention could have a lot of significance.

Anyway ...

In 2004, there weren't many Southern newspapers that endorsed John Kerry's campaign for the presidency against President George W. Bush.

Whether that played a major role in Bush's sweep of the South, I don't know. But Bush received 58% of the vote in the South — a far higher share than he received anywhere else.

John McCain has not received the endorsement of many newspapers that endorsed John Kerry in 2004 — while Barack Obama has been endorsed by several newspapers that backed Bush last time.

But, recently, McCain has picked up the endorsements of four Southern newspapers that supported Kerry.

For the most part, I would classify these publications as small, community newspapers. Nearly all of them have circulations that are well below 100,000 — and the one exception just barely cracks that barrier.

Thus, it is far from certain that these newspapers have much influence — or even, for that matter, exposure — with the voting public. Of course, in the internet age, a newspaper's endorsement has the potential to reach far beyond its physical audience.

But it can be revealing to read what these papers have to say about the presidential race:

• The Bradenton Herald in Florida (circulation 48,618) tells its readers:
  
  "We commend Obama for making history by becoming the first African American to stand before the country as his party’s nominee for president. He has waged a worthy campaign, one focused on the theme of change. We heartily agree that change is paramount, but we hold fundamental philosophical differences with his plans for the nation. And we do not believe that a candidate full of promise and hope but lacking in experience can lead the country through these troubled and demanding times."


• The Jackson Sun in Tennessee (circulation 32,121) also has generous words for McCain's opponent.
  
  "We don't doubt that McCain's opponent, Sen. Barack Obama, is a man of great intelligence, political potential and an exciting candidate," writes the Sun. "But right now, given the nation's challenges, we need the proven leadership of John McCain. He is the right candidate at the right time."


• The Corpus Christi Caller-Times in Texas (circulation 53,368) says the "outstanding" candidacies of both nominees is "a refreshing change in presidential elections."
  
  "This is a choice between a candidate of great promise and a candidate who is a proven commodity," the paper says. Like the others, it states a preference for the "proven commodity."


• The Daily Press of Newport News, Va. (circulation 103,308) likewise favors McCain's experience.
  
  But the Daily Press brings up another point.
  
  "When the bright light of electoral politics revealed some unappealing associates — including the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, former Weatherman radical William Ayers, a corrupt Chicago political machine and convicted felon Tony Rezko — Obama's modus operandi has been to deny, then defend and eventually distance himself from political embarrassments."

How much will these endorsements influence the outcome in these states?

Well, my guess is that the Caller-Times' endorsement won't have much effect in Texas, where a preference for McCain among the voters seems certain — even though some of the larger newspapers (i.e., the Houston Chronicle and the Austin American-Statesman) that endorsed Bush in 2004 have endorsed Obama.

Tennessee, as a border Southern state, may not be influenced much by the Sun's editorial. Voters there may be more likely to be influenced by three larger newspapers — in Memphis, Nashville and Chattanooga — that have endorsed Obama — if those voters are likely to be influenced by a newspaper's endorsement at all.

Like the Sun, all three of those newspapers favored Kerry in 2004, but Tennessee voted for Bush. I have rarely heard anyone say that Tennessee would be in play in November — and I haven't heard it at all since the conventions.

The other two endorsements, however, came in states (Florida and Virginia) that have been described as "swing" states that the Obama camp believed it had a reasonable chance to win.

It's still possible that Obama could win in Florida and/or Virginia.

But he'll have to do so in spite of large military populations in both states — and that's a demographic group that has demonstrated a consistent loyalty to Republican candidates over the years.