What Does It Mean?

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Barring a reversal by recount, it appears that Democrat Doug Jones has defeated Republican Roy Moore in Alabama's special election to fill the Senate vacancy left by Jeff Sessions' appointment as attorney general.

Jones did not win a full six–year term. He was only elected to finish the unexpired portion of Sessions' term. If he chooses to seek a full term, he will have to do so in 2020.

In that regard, he is much like Republican Scott Brown, who won a special election in Massachusetts in 2010 to complete the term of Sen. Edward Kennedy. Kennedy died in office in August 2009, and Brown was elected to serve the last two years of his term.

The dynamics of the elections differ, but the overriding similarity is the fact that both states elected nominees from the parties that had not been successful in those states for a long time. It was especially shocking in Massachusetts, I suppose, since that Senate seat had been held by Kennedys for more than half a century — and Massachusetts had given nearly 62% of its vote to Barack Obama in 2008 — but it is no less shocking in Alabama, where Donald Trump received 62% of the vote in 2016.

Pundits are looking for clues to the political future, just as they did in 2010. I am inclined to reach the same conclusions now as I did then.

In 2010 I wrote the following: "I see no way that yesterday's election will not be a factor in all the other races that will be held this year." I feel that way today — but I have no more of an idea of the extent than I did then.

The circumstances could hardly be more different. A cloud of controversy hung over Moore in the last month of the campaign; the extent to which that contributed to his defeat remains to be determined, but its influence cannot be denied. There was no such cloud hanging over Martha Coakley when she lost to Brown in 2010; apparently she simply took victory for granted. She tried unsuccessfully to correct her shortcomings a few years later when she sought the governor's office and lost to the Republican nominee. Was Coakley the problem? Or was the party the problem?

The same question could be asked about Moore and the special election in Alabama.

As a harbinger of things to come, the Massachusetts election may have given Democrats — who had been anticipating seizing full control of the government after Obama became the first black man to be elected president and they achieved filibuster–proof status in the Senate with the election of Al Franken in Minnesota and Arlen Specter's party switch in Pennsylvania — a glimpse into a grim future.

The Democrats didn't lose control of the Senate in 2010, but they came close. Going into the election, the party held 58 seats (which, when combined with two independents who caucused with them, provided them with their filibuster–proof status) and emerged from it with 51 seats — still a majority but greatly diminished — and fully vulnerable to a Republican filibuster.

The 2010 midterms are not remembered in history for the outcome in the Senate races, though. What is remembered is the fact that Republicans turned a 79–seat deficit in the House into a 49–seat advantage. They have held the majority in the House ever since.

As a harbinger of things that may be yet to come, the Alabama election may have done the same thing for Republicans. The question is whether the GOP will be wise enough to heed its warning.

I don't know if Democrats can be competitive in enough House districts to pull off the kind of wave the Republicans achieved in 2010. Based on what I have seen, they may be fortunate to grab a narrow majority if they claim one at all.

Republicans don't need to lose as many Senate seats in 2018 as Democrats lost in 2010 to lose control of the chamber — and, as I have mentioned before, the historical tide of midterms runs against the party in the White House.

But until Tuesday, the Democrats faced an uphill struggle in trying to capture the Senate. Only one–third of the senators are on the ballot in a given election year — unless a special election has been called because a senator died or resigned before his/her term was completed. In this cycle, the vast majority of senators whose seats are on the ballot in 2018 are Democrats. Of those senators whose seats must be defended in 2018, only one incumbent Republican senator comes from a state that voted for Hillary Clinton whereas 10 incumbent Democrats must face the voters in states that supported Donald Trump.

With their upset victory in Alabama Democrats need only two more seats to claim a majority in the Senate for the last two years of Trump's term. That is more plausible now — but not necessarily more probable.

Regardless of whether Democrats can seize a Senate majority next year, even a short–term one, the Republicans' agenda is in jeopardy. If American politics has made anything clear in the last decade or so, it is that the voters want a change; as Republicans seemed to offer what they wanted, the voters gradually turned over the levers of government to them.

But the political pendulum is always moving in America. The Republicans' already slim majority in the Senate will shrink in January when Jones is seated, which gives them a few weeks to accomplish whatever they can with the seats they currently hold. Given their track record this year, though, getting anything done seems unlikely.

Voters seem to have developed a rather limited tolerance for political performance in recent years. Nonperformance may fare worse.

Until Tuesday, I had not seen anything in any of the special elections that surprised me. All the House seats that were vacant because their representatives had been appointed to positions in the administration were in red states. Democrats made a lot of noise about being competitive in those districts, but ultimately they lost every special election.

Then in November the first statewide races in the Trump era were held — in New Jersey and Virginia, states that elect their governors in the years immediately following presidential elections. After decades of voting for Republicans, Virginia (where governors are prohibited by law from seeking re–election) has been trending blue. Three of its last four governors have been Democrats, and it has voted Democratic in three consecutive presidential elections. Even though Republicans put up a good front about being competitive in the governor's race, I wasn't surprised when the Democrat won.

Nor was I surprised when the Democrat won in New Jersey. Term–limited Republican incumbent Chris Christie is about as popular as Richard Nixon was just before he resigned the presidency, and the Republican nominee had to carry that toxic baggage. No, I wasn't surprised by the outcome there, either.

But Tuesday's special election in Alabama did surprise me.

I realize that the circumstances had a lot to do with it. The decades–old charges of sexual harassment against Moore appear to have done enough damage to permit Jones to win by about 20,000 votes out of more than 1.3 million cast — even though no charges were substantiated and most were suspect.

Perhaps, as conservative commentator Ann Coulter observes, this outcome opens the door for Rep. Mo Brooks to reclaim the seat for the Republicans in 2020.

That wouldn't be unprecedented. Two years after Brown won Kennedy's seat, he was defeated in a bid for a full six–year term — by Elizabeth Warren, who is now considered a leading contender for the Democrats' next presidential nomination.

I'm not saying Brooks is a future presidential prospect. But in 2020 he would have Trump's coattails to ride in the general election — and that will almost certainly help in Alabama.

The Golden Anniversary of Times v. Sullivan

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When I was studying journalism in college, my professors all spoke of the landmark Supreme Court decision in the New York Times v. Sullivan case, and they did in reverent terms. Rightfully so.

Most of us students knew nothing about it — it had all happened before our time — but, within the context of my own experiences since college, I appreciate it more with each passing year. It reaffirms my faith in the First Amendment.

They told us that perhaps no other Supreme Court decision — certainly no modern–era decision — has been more important to the constitutional guarantees of freedom of speech and the press than the one in the Times v. Sullivan case, and they were right.

(Richard Labunski, for one, asserts without hesitation in the Providence (R.I.) Journal that it is the "most important First Amendment case in the nation's history." I'm inclined to agree.)

I teach journalism in the community college system here, and Sunday's 50th anniversary of the Times v. Sullivan decision makes me wish I could teach a class in communications law. I'm not a lawyer, though, which I suppose would prevent me from teaching such a class, but I think I understand that case well enough that I could discuss it with my students. I'm sure it would be a lively conversation.

Maybe it is enough to know that it is possible for me to tell my students so many other things because of the freedoms that decision affirmed and strengthened.

It probably would be helpful to give a little background information.

Nearly four years earlier, in 1960, the New York Times ran a full–page advertisement that had the appearance of an article but was actually an attempt to raise money for Martin Luther King Jr.'s legal defense against perjury charges in Alabama. In modern lingo, I suppose you would call it an advertorial.

At issue wasn't deception but inaccuracy and defamation. The article in the advertisement described actions that had been taken against civil rights activists in Alabama. Some of the descriptions were accurate, some were not — and some involved the police in Montgomery, Ala.

The article in the advertisement incorrectly reported that Alabama's state police had arrested King seven times; in fact, he had been arrested four times. Montgomery's public safety commissioner, L.B. Sullivan, considered the advertisement defamatory (to him because he supervised the police even though he was not mentioned by name) and demanded a retraction (which was a condition, under state law, for a public official to pursue punitive damages; he could do so if no retraction was forthcoming).

The Times refused, and Sullivan filed suit against the Times and four black ministers who were mentioned in the advertisement.

At this point, there were hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of libel actions pending against news outlets covering the civil rights movement in the South, which had kind of a paralyzing effect on many members of the press. The fear of legal action prevented many news organizations from being more aggressive in their coverage of civil rights in the South.

Half a million dollars was awarded to Sullivan by a Montgomery jury, and the Times appealed the decision. The appeal made its way to the Supreme Court, which overturned the decision by a 9–0 vote and, in the process, established the standard of actual malice.

The Alabama law was ruled to be unconstitutional because it had no provisions protecting freedom of speech and freedom of the press, which are required by the First and 14th Amendments. The Court also held that, even if such provisions had been made, the evidence did not support the judgment against the Times.

The Court's ruling imposed a new burden on public officials who are plaintiffs in a libel suit — actual malice. There must be proof that the defendant knowingly published false information or acted with "reckless disregard for the truth."

As Justice Hugo Black wrote, it is hard to prove or disprove malice. Well, it might be easier to prove today, what with the digital paper trail that is left through emails, text messages and the like. I don't know. Undoubtedly, that part of the law will be shaped and refined in the years ahead.

That's how it has worked in the last 50 years. Subsequent decisions and Supreme Court appeals have addressed elements of libel law and actual malice. For example, while the original Supreme Court ruling applied only to public officials, it has been extended to include public figures as well.

And it has had implications that went beyond the working press to include commentary, criticism, even satire as well as the definitions of concepts such as privacy, indecency and obscenity.

For advocates of the First Amendment (which should mean all Americans), the real hero in the decision was Justice William Brennan, who wrote about the critical role a free press plays in keeping the public informed and encouraging open debate. Even "caustic debate" is vital in a democracy, Brennan said.

Inevitably, Brennan observed, inaccurate statements will be made, and incomplete reports will be published in a dynamic democracy. Public debate must be "uninhibited, robust and wide open," and it "may well include vehement, caustic and sometimes unpleasantly sharp attacks on government and public officials." Consequently, "breathing space" must be permitted.

The Supreme Court didn't have to hear the case. It always has the option of refusing to hear a case. But the Justices saw the First and 14th Amendment implications in the case, and the ruling that was issued half a century ago safeguards the "unfettered interchange of ideas" that continues to be defined.

The Day a Birmingham Church Was Bombed

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A couple of weeks ago, the nation paused to remember Dr. Martin Luther King's inspiring "I Have a Dream" speech that was given at the Lincoln Memorial in 1963.

That was certainly a great moment — an uplifting moment — in American history. But 2½ weeks later, in the truest sense of Sir Isaac Newton's laws of physics, there was an equal and opposite reaction.

Fifty years ago today, the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala. — which had been used as a meeting place for King and other civil rights leaders (and a gathering place for civil rights rallies) — was bombed during the Sunday School hour. Four black girls were killed. Three were 14 years old, and one was 11.

As much credit as one may be tempted to give King for the legislative and judicial triumphs of the civil rights movement of the '60s, it is my opinion that what happened 50 years ago today was the movement's critical moment.

There were still a few places in America in 1963 — as there are today — that were thought to be safe places to be — home, school, church. To attack one of any of these was to attack all such places in America — and thus it was an affront to nearly all Americans, whether they supported or opposed the civil rights cause, because nearly all Americans have homes (however modest), attend school and/or frequent a house of worship.

Martyrs are often necessary for truly transformational movements to achieve their objectives, and I think it was that way with the civil rights movement. King's speech was a tremendous high for supporters of the movement, but, as such things often do, it seems to me that it may have created a sense of complacency. The momentum of the movement may have stalled.

I don't know. It was before my time.

But, based on what I have read, in books and newspaper accounts, it was far from certain, in the aftermath of King's speech, that the Civil Rights Act would pass. The bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church restored the movement's momentum.

Sympathetic Americans were probably tempted to believe, after seeing King's speech, that the movement's triumphs were coming at an historically rapid clip, which may have led many to assume that supporting civil rights and voting rights legislation were no–brainers — while unsympathetic Americans may have felt a sense of urgency to stop what was perceived as a threat to a way of life.

In the aftermath of the bombing, many newspapers in the North lamented that they hadn't taken the movement as seriously as they should have. The Milwaukee Sentinel, for one, wrote in an editorial that "the hour is late and the situation is critical."

The bombing had the effect of ratcheting up sympathy and support for civil rights. On July 2, 1964, the Civil Rights Act was enacted, winning congressional approval by better than 2–to–1 margins in both the House and Senate.

It probably wouldn't surprise many 21st–century observers to know that most of the opposition in both chambers came from Southerners.

But it might surprise those observers to know that most of those Southerners were Democrats.

And it might also surprise those observers to know that, outside the South, nearly as many Republicans as Democrats supported the passage of the Civil Rights Act.

George Wallace: No Middle Ground

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"There's some people who've gone over the state and said, 'Well, George Wallace has talked too strong about segregation.' Now let me ask you this: how in the name of common sense can you be too strong about it? You're either for it, or you're against it. There's not any middle ground as I know of."

George Wallace
1962

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There are many people who, regardless of almost anything else they ever did or will do, will forever be linked to the American civil rights movement.

Some made only brief contributions to the movement's history; others were a part of the conversation for years.

George Wallace, who died 15 years ago today, was one of the latter.

Earlier this year, MSNBC's Chris Hayes asserted that Wallace had been a Republican. Hayes and I don't always see eye to eye on issues, but ordinarily we do agree on historical facts. This time? Well, I'm sorry, but he had his facts wrong.

His was an understandable assumption, I suppose. Most Southern states have been solidly Republican for many years, and Wallace probably would be a Republican if he was living and running for office.

(Wallace's son and namesake was elected state treasurer in Alabama as a Democrat, but he switched to the Republican Party a decade later and was elected to the Alabama Public Service Commission.)

But George Wallace's time was the middle of the 20th century. Most successful Southern politicians were still Democrats, as they had been for more than a century.

If that sounds strange to 21st–century ears, remember that it was a time that was significantly different from today. In those days, both parties had liberals, conservatives and moderates. The parties are far more polarized today.

(I noticed in yesterday's Dallas Morning News that editor Sharon Grigsby wrote about "sorority racism" at the University of Alabama.

(With a black man in the White House for nearly five years now, it's been fashionable to toss around the accusation of racism at anyone who so much as disagrees with the president. I grew weary of that long ago. But that doesn't mean that I deny the existence of racism. I just think there are more important battles to fight than the ones that have been waged.

(This sorority thing falls in that category. I appreciate, as does Grigsby, the work that went into the Alabama student newspaper's article that exposed sorority racism on campus, but if the exclusive nature of the Greek system is the most egregious offense that one can find on the 'Bama campus, things are a lot better than they used to be.)

Wallace was probably best known for seeking the presidency as the nominee of his own political party, the American Independent Party, in 1968. Well, Wallace wasn't actually the founder of the party. That was Bill Shearer, a right–wing political activist who, along with his wife, founded the party to give Wallace, by that time the former governor of Alabama (existing state law prevented him from seeking re–election in 1966), a platform from which to campaign for the presidency.

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But his political story actually began some 30 years earlier when, as a 19–year–old, he contributed to his grandfather's campaign for probate judge. Seven years later, he was appointed one of Alabama's assistant attorneys general. About a year after that, he was elected to the Alabama House of Representatives.

Ironically, considering the tone of his later political career, he was considered a moderate on racial issues in those days. But he shifted his politics after losing the Democratic nomination for governor to an avowed segregationist in 1958.

"I was outniggered," Wallace reportedly told Seymore Trammell, his 1958 campaign director, "and ... I will never be outniggered again."

(Such a pivotal moment in a politician's life story always sounded like satire to me — sort of like Scarlett O'Hara in "Gone With the Wind.")

He gained national notoriety in 1963, when he pledged, in his inaugural address, to "toss the gauntlet before the feet of tyranny" as a tireless advocate of segregation. About six months later, he made what was largely a symbolic gesture when he made his "stand in the schoolhouse door" in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent black students from enrolling at the University of Alabama.

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As I say, the value of the stand in the schoolhouse door was largely symbolic. There was Wallace, small of stature, trying to stand up to the big guys who were assaulting the beliefs and values of his state. He lost, but he was able to take credit for the attempt to defend the little guy.

"There was always a grand sense of persecution among the Wallace workers," wrote political historian Theodore H. White of the 1968 campaign, "a nearly religious faith that everyone was against them but the people, and that the saving of white America from the pointy–heads was a cause greater than politics."

And in the cauldron that was 1968, there was a time when Wallace was a serious contender for the presidency. Like Ross Perot in 1992, though, Wallace did best in the national polls when he said the least. But it simply wasn't in Wallace's nature to remain silent.

Thus, it was probably inevitable that he tumbled in the polls the more he opened his mouth.

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"Why does the Air Force need expensive new bombers? Have the people we've been bombing over the years been complaining?"

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His rhetoric was incendiary, and, ultimately, it appealed to only a small minority of American voters — too small even to force the race into the House of Representatives, where Wallace hoped to play kingmaker.

Nevertheless, his campaign was the most successful third–party effort in nearly 60 years; forty–five years later, he is still the last third–party candidate to win at least one state (he won five — Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Louisiana and Mississippi — worth 45 electoral votes).

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His national ambitions were dealt a permanent blow in 1972 when he was shot while campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination, and he was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Wallace tried to win the nomination again in 1976, but by that time, another Southern politician, Jimmy Carter, had overtaken him in his regional base. Wallace's day had ended.

My memory is that, at the conclusion of the 1976 primary season, Wallace gracefully accepted the voters' verdict and told the nominee–to–be that he would support him in the general election campaign.

"It must have been one of the most difficult conversations Wallace had ever had to conduct, this telephone call to the man who had dashed his own presidential hopes and replaced him as the South's political hero," wrote Jules Witcover and Jack Germond in their book about the 1976 presidential campaign, "Marathon."

Wallace returned to Alabama. In 1982, after apologizing to the black voters of Alabama for his racist past, Wallace won his final term as governor. When that term ended in January 1987, he retired from public life.

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"I tried to talk about good roads and good schools and all these things that have been part of my career, and nobody listened. And then I began talking about niggers, and they stomped the floor."

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I guess that was the great irony of George Wallace.

Nationally, I guess he was the poster child for bigotry and intolerance, but, in his judicial career before he ran for governor, Wallace was known as a liberal judge who treated everyone the same, regardless of race.

Wallace was an enigma in life, and he remains one 15 years after his death.

The Self-Absorbed Saga of Shea Allen

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I think the thing that really bothers me about Shea Allen is her attitude.

That is a tough thing for me to say because journalism is my love. Well, I guess my love is really writing, but it led me into journalism as my college major and most of my professional activity.

And, believe me, I have known some reporters — some were colleagues, some were competitors — who had really atrocious attitudes.

But I would hire any one of them over Shea Allen, the former reporter for WAAY–TV in Huntsville, Ala.

Allen is an admittedly cute young thing, and, apparently, she had a pretty good following in the Huntsville viewing area, too, but she became an ex–reporter after her "tell–all" blog was — shall we say? — exposed.

Aww, that's way too easy.

It's dishonest, too, because Allen teased her readers with a confession about going bra–less during a broadcast, but the only thing she exposed was a misunderstanding of the First Amendment. When I was in college, my journalism professors always reminded me that there were limits to free speech. It is important to act responsibly. "You can't stand up in a crowded theater and yell, 'Fire!' " they would say.

And, in a figurative sort of way, that's what Allen has been doing.

And I think she is guilty of bad judgment — spectacularly bad judgment. As a journalist, I'm willing to accept a certain amount of bad judgment as being inevitable. But this goes beyond inevitability.

(Her undergarment revelation reminded me of an on–campus incident when I was teaching journalism at the University of Oklahoma. The student newspaper staff, for whom I served as the unofficial adviser, was notified that an unidentified coed had been seen sitting on the steps of a building. She had been wearing a short dress and, apparently, nothing underneath.

(The newspaper, which published daily, ran a story about it, and the next day, traffic was nonstop for hours around the building, which normally sat on one of the quieter streets in town. I never heard if that coed returned to that building, but, apparently, quite a few of the young men on campus not only hoped she would but also hoped they would catch a glimpse of her — in the flesh, you might say.)

"I've vowed to always fight for the right of free expression," Allen wrote. "It's allowed, no matter what the profession."

Yes, Americans are entitled to freedom of speech, and I encourage that. There are many things that I want to write about, and I like the flexibility that the digital world gives me. I write more than one blog because there are so many things of interest to me, but Allen's blogging isn't a commentary on the important issues of the day or an homage to something she enjoys or someone she admires. It is high–tech exhibitionism.

And, while her brand of exhibitionism isn't against the law, it generally isn't acceptable behavior, either, especially when one shares one's heretofore secret tricks of the trade.

Actually, it isn't even exhibitionism. It's more like digital teasing. Using a blog to appeal to people's baser instincts rather than educate or enlighten strikes me as being no more of a contribution to the greater good than the text messages Anthony Weiner keeps sending.

And I find that especially egregious when the blogger is in the public eye — such as someone who is on the news every night.

After reading Allen's post, one realizes that, deep down, she's shallow. I mean, come on, this is a fight for "the right of free expression?"

She revealed, for example, that she is best at her job when she has no script to read "and no idea what I'm talking about."

I don't know. Maybe she was trying to be funny. Or maybe she likes that crawling–along–the–edge–of–a–knife feeling she gets from winging it and thinks she excels under those conditions. Personally, I preferred being better prepared when I went out on an assignment as a reporter.

It probably wasn't a reassuring feeling for her employers when they read that, though — nor, I'm sure, was it reassuring for them to read that Allen's best story ideas came from people "who secretly have a crush on me." (Can you say "stalker?")

Or that she "hate[s] the right side of my face." OK, most of the people I have known have had some kind of self–image issues, but few have felt the need to announce them to the world. Unless they wanted to encourage a cameraman to shoot their good side.

(Speaking of which, she also wrote that she had "mastered the ability to contort my body into a position that makes me appear much skinner (sic) in front of the camera than I actually am." I can't say that her weight appears to be a problem — but if you're a self–absorbed narcissist, I suppose it could be.)

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If I had been in the position to decide whether she would remain at WAAY, I guess I could live with most of the things she wrote in her blog, even the confessions about doing a broadcast without a bra (borderline sleazy but mostly harmless) or winging it in some of her reports. I could probably even live with the knowledge that she has "taken naps in the news car."

Or that "[h]appy, fluffy, rainbow stories about good things make me depressed." I've never worked in broadcasting, but I assume the general rule there is about the same as it always was in newspaper newsrooms. Reporters write about what they're told to write about, and the boss doesn't particularly give a damn whether they like their assignments or not.

But there are a couple of items on her list that I just can't get around.

Professionally, it bothers me when she writes, "If you ramble and I deem you unnecessary for my story, I'll stop recording but let you think otherwise."

I believe that a reporter is entitled to have his/her own opinion, but most judgments are better left to the reader/viewer to make. A reporter should be neutral, a fly on the wall. I can understand if Allen has felt, on occasion, as if a source was wasting her time, but arbitrarily cutting off the recording is too judgmental for my taste — even if the source is unaware. A reporter is the eyes and ears of the community. That community is not served when the reporter chooses to be deaf and blind.

I understand about reaching conclusions on a source before the interview is done, but even if the source is rambling, he/she might still say something that is worthy of inclusion. (Perhaps that should be "especially if the source is rambling ...")

But the revelation about Allen that I find most troubling is this: "I'm frightened of old people and I refuse to do stories involving them or the places they reside."

OK, I get that our culture is obsessed with young people, and older people are looked upon as disposable. You can see it everywhere you look, and it's been that way as long as I can remember — the young are the face of everything.

But when I was growing up, there was still a healthy respect for older people, their lifetimes of experience, their accumulated wisdom. That seems to have disappeared at some point; now, older Americans are largely regarded as a nuisance. Why? I don't know, but I see it as a waste of a valuable resource.

Our politically correct (not to mention charged) culture is quick to pass judgment on racial comments that were made decades ago without bothering to find out the context in which they were made, but little is said about discrimination against older Americans, whether it is in the workplace or anywhere else.

I would consider it refreshing if Allen lost her job not because her breasts were roaming freely inside her blouse one day but because she so blithely dismissed one of the largest and most dependable segments of her station's audience.

Other than the increasing likelihood of dying soon, older people are reliable in just about every good way imaginable — including loyalty to local news shows. They vote, and they buy things.

Young people are more fickle, and that is definitely an age–related trait. Shea Allen and the rest of her generation don't realize it yet, but one day (much sooner, in fact, than they suspect) they will be part of that older dmographic, and they will want to be appreciated for what they have learned in their lives.

Right now, I'm inclined to think Shea Allen hasn't learned a lot.

I've heard some people spinning stories that Allen was fired because she is a woman. I'm not saying there wasn't an element of that involved. Perhaps there was. I have no knowledge either way.

But I do know she was a popular on–air personality, and broadcasters simply don't terminate popular on–air personalities without legitimate cause. I have to wonder if WAAY was concerned about losing older viewers. Maybe there were complaints. More than one–third of Huntsville's population is 45 or older (nearly 30% are between 25 and 44), and TV reporters — being as visible as they are — are representatives of their employers.

If Allen doesn't appreciate her older viewers, she can't be an effective representative. Hopefully, WAAY will replace her with someone who can appreciate older viewers — and won't be afraid of them.

And if Allen does get another broadcasting job, I hope she will enter it having learned something from this experience.

While social media is a great tool for writers, you really need to be careful about posting too much personal information — or too many incendiary opinions.

That's an important lesson for anyone who dabbles in the digital world to learn — but it is particularly important for young writers whose antennae aren't quite as sharp as older folks whose professional lives predate the dawn of the internet.

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?

Off You Go

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There was a time in my life when I watched Frasier faithfully, every week.

My interest sort of waned for awhile, and I missed some really good episodes, but I've gotten caught up through DVDs and syndicated reruns.

Anyway, I've been noticing something recently that I never really noticed before. If someone wrote an article about it that I missed during my hiatus, I'd like to read it because, to my knowledge, no one has ever discussed it.

I'm talking about Frasier's propensity for saying "Off you go" as a way of dismissing his conversation partner(s). I'm not sure if it qualifies as a genuine signature phrase, though.

When I think of signature phrases that have been associated with certain TV characters, I think of Archie Bunker saying "Stifle!" or J.J. saying "Dyn–O–Mite!" I think of Fred Sanford clutching his heart and acting like he was having a heart attack, then saying to the spirit of his late wife, "Hear that, Elizabeth? I'm coming to join you, honey!" I think of Walter Cronkite signing off his news broadcasts with "And that's the way it is ..."

I'm not sure what the cutoff point is, but I'm pretty sure Frasier didn't say "Off you go" frequently enough for it to qualify as his signature phrase. But he sure did say it a lot.

And, clearly, someone else did notice that Frasier used that phrase quite a bit. I was able to find the attached video compilation with no trouble at all.

Anyway, for some reason, Frasier's phrase popped into my head when I heard today that Alabama Rep. Parker Griffith is jumping from the Democrats to the Republicans.

And I've been wondering what, if anything, it means.

In my experience, many elected officials switch parties because the party to which they belong is perceived to be on its way down and the other party is perceived to be on its way up. It's a politically expedient move. Consequently, I wonder: Is that the case in America today? After two election cycles that brought them a great deal of success, is this a preview of more losses to come for Democrats in 2010?

I've been saying for several months now that I believe Republicans will make gains in Congress next year — in part because the Democrats have picked off most of the low–hanging political fruit in the last two elections, in part because midterm elections almost always go against the party in power.

Politics may be more polarized in America today than it has been in most of my life so I find it hard to imagine mass defections from one party to the other. If you're a Democrat, you probably don't have much in common with Republicans and vice versa. There isn't much gray area.

But you have to understand a few things about the nature of politics in the South. For a long time, much of party preference in the South had its roots in the 19th century. Republicans engineered Reconstruction, and generations of Southerners held that against them. Democrats, on the other hand, advocated states' rights, which came to be seen as code for racial segregation.

Increasingly in the 20th century, there were progressive Democrats in the South, but the big–name Southern politicians were old–school Democrats, whose views were frequently seen as out of step with Democrats in the rest of the country. When Lyndon Johnson and the Democrats in Congress pushed through civil rights and voting rights legislation in the mid–1960s, Southern Democrats began turning to the Republican Party.

Today, I wonder if many Southern Democratic office–holders don't have more in common philosophically with the Republicans, and that may be part of the reason for Griffith's switch — although I wouldn't rule out political expedience. The freshman congressman narrowly won his House seat as a Democrat last year while John McCain carried the district with 61% of the vote.

Griffith was one of three Democrats to have voted against the health care bill, the stimulus measure and the cap–and–trade bill. My guess is that he is simply more comfortable in the Republican tent than he is in the Democratic tent.

But how comfortable will the residents of Griffith's district be with his conversion? That, I suppose, remains to be seen. Only once — for two years during Reconstruction — has a Republican, John Callis (at left), represented northeastern Alabama in the House, a portion of which is in the modern Fifth District that elected Griffith last year, even though the voters of the Fifth have supported Republican presidential nominees since 1980.

One of Griffith's Democratic colleagues from Alabama, Rep. Artur Davis, who is running for governor, told the Huntsville Times that he thinks Griffith's move is "ironic," considering how he was hammered by the Republicans last year, and warned that "his decision repudiates the hard work of many Democrats who sustained him."

We shall see if he can hold on to his seat as a Republican.

A Deadly Week

It's only Wednesday, and it's already been a deadly week.

And it's left many people looking for rational answers for irrational acts.

The week began with the fatal shooting of a Baptist minister during Sunday church service in Maryville, Ill. Terry J. Sedlacek, the 27-year-old man who has been charged with the shooting, may have planned to shoot himself, but the gun jammed. He pulled out a knife and used it on church members who sought to subdue him. In the process, he suffered knife wounds, possibly in an attempt to kill himself.

It has been suggested that, previously, Sedlacek exhibited erratic behavior that has been attributed to Lyme disease, but an expert in Lyme disease at Yale said, "Lyme disease doesn't cause people to shoot people."

Then, on Tuesday, Michael McLendon, 28, shot and killed 10 people, including his mother and other members of his family, in southern Alabama. Then he turned the weapon on himself.

McLendon apparently quit his job last week, but there has been no indication that I am aware of that it had any bearing on his actions yesterday.

And, today, in Winnenden, Germany, 17-year-old Tim Kretschmer shot and killed at least 15 people at a school where he once was a student.

At this writing, authorities are still sorting through the carnage in Germany, and more victims may yet die, but the rapid response of the police "means they prevented further escalation of events," said the region's interior minister.

There really isn't much more to say in the aftermath of these events. Those who favor gun control and those who oppose it will find ways to spin these tragedies to support their positions.

I just hope the survivors find peace and comfort wherever they can — even though it is hard to think of anything comforting to say about shootings that kill a minister during a Sunday worship service or a mother in her own home or grandparents sitting on their porch or more than a dozen young people in classrooms with pens in their hands.

That will be the unenviable task of those who must conduct the funeral services.