The Flyover Commonwealth

Except for the lack of coasts, Pennsylvania is a microcosm of the entire country

During the 1992 presidential election cycle, James Carville famously described Pennsylvania as “Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in between.” I’ve lived in a borough of that commonwealth for twenty years, and I can’t take issue. I have yet to visit Alabama, but I get what he’s saying. 

As if to press the point albeit with far less tact, I once overheard my borough councilor refer to that swath between Philly and Pittsburgh as full of “stinky rural people,” — right in council chambers! Already at odds with some of the policies of my local government, I found that remark horribly elitist and proof of its hypocrisy.

Then I shared a coffee with that council member. 

Chuck had just stepped down from Council and suggested we meet. We warmed seats for almost three hours discussing the state of our borough and beyond. Chuck probably had five-to-ten years on me and was about as liberal as they come, but in a familiar old-school way. It’s safe to say that we disagreed on many things, but our broader values overlapped on the importance of transparency and integrity — two things lacking in Borough Hall. 

Chuck turned out to be unexpectedly candid and forthright about his experiences as a council member. While he served on that board, he and I rarely spoke to each other, and because of our lack of direct communication, I assumed he held the same regard for me as the council member that publicly stated he pitied my family. But when Chuck arrived at the cafe and sat down, from the get-go, I just knew that we would share a memorable time — and we did. 

Still, I had to ask him about that remark. Chuck explained that he came from that area. He was one of those stinky rural people, until he got out, went to college and established a career in the big city. I explained to him that I walked a similar path, but I did not look back on my friends and neighbors with such derision. 

“I don’t agree with them either,” I said, “but I understand why they feel that way. I completely get it.” 

When the jobs went overseas and the government promised to retrain workers for new jobs in data entry, they felt robbed of their futures. They would not have the lives of their parents and grandparents. When that happens, desperation sets in. When they don’t feel heard or valued, they feel cornered.

I do see this problem getting some coverage, but it often lacks sympathy or just scratches the surface. I know that in flyover country, people worry about this constantly, but big media is not headquartered in Des Moines, and “CBS Sunday Morning” stopped running “Postcards from Nebraska” in 2001. 

I could ride out there in my own camper, until I realize I already live in a microcosm of the entire country. We have plenty of our own area to flyover. Most states do. I only have to drive forty minutes west or north of my Philly burb to reach rurality as red as any red state, which is what I did this week. 

With the sun out and spring in the air, I retraced some steps along some backroads between Philly and Reading. At lunch time, I stopped on a hunch at a roadside cafe, squeezing into a seat at the end of a counter and a little too close to a speaker playing country music (the new stuff). Just next to me sat Ian, a fit, silver-haired semi-retiree, wearing a baseball cap embroidered with “2A” on its front. While enthusiastically spooning in my cold-curing, homemade chicken noodle soup, Ian introduced himself, stood up to go use the men’s room, and asked me if I’d watch his phone and keys. 

“You look like someone I can trust,” he said with a broad smile.

When he came back, we had a nice long chat about the restaurant, the owner, the help, and even some restaurants near where I live almost an hour away, all while my masterpiece of a reuben sat on my plate. Ian spent fifteen years in law enforcement, and then became a professional driver, chauffeuring celebrities and CEOs. In his semi-retirement, he still has the gig and still has important clientele. “I’m picking up an autistic child from school and bringing him home.”

My new best friend told me he’s there every day, so I plan to get back soon and chat some more. 

Some might think I’m overreaching here, but I can’t see how we survive as a country unless these conversations happen more often. And we can’t just let them happen. We must seek them out.

As they say, never underestimate the power of soup. 

State of the Blog

It’s been two months since I first started RBN. That’s right. It’s now an acronym! So, I’m going to just put this out there.

How am I doing? I’m having fun with it. I’ve been giving this more than a little thought, and you know what would really kick this thing into gear? A sponsor, of course! Or a benefactor! I want to do this full-time. I want to produce words, photos, video — you name it. I want to present a side of our society not seen elsewhere but that I think more people want. 

Well, I want to do all that and my woodworking. 

If there is anyone out there who likes what they read here and has a good head for business, get in touch. Let’s make a plan and see if we can finally bring about the American renaissance by audaciously writing nice things about ourselves. 

Can’t hurt to ask. I think this idea is worthy.