Chapter 8

HOW YER DURIN’

June 1962, Columbia

“Thank-you, everyone, thank-you!” Carter said, waving from the front steps of the old library.

He smiled one more time, and then turned to enter the old brick building, with Margot right next to him. Once they started walking, she said, “That was fine, just fine. You just forgot to stop and pause at the beginning of the second paragraph.”

“Oh, you’re right! Darn it. Right after The Good Life,” Carter said vexed. “I was so caught up in the moment — thank-you, yes, thank-you.” He said, shaking the hands of his security detail inside the lobby of the main entrance. “But that was quite the crowd out there! How many were there, did Jimmy get a final count from the State Highway Patrol?”

“They estimated it at between five and seven thousand,” she said, as they continued walking out to the back of the library, into the formal garden where a private reception was awaiting them with invited guests. She saw and waved over Carter’s widowed mother, Miss Idella, and the extended family that had been watching Carter’s announcement speech from upstairs in the old library.

“Darling, that was a wonderful speech!” Idella raved as she came and gave him a big hug and kiss. “I just can’t believe that you are finally here, running for governor! Your father would be so proud of you!”

Carter didn’t say anything, but smiled back and gave his mother a big hug. Afterwards, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. Since his father’s passing a dozen years earlier, Carter had often wondered whether he would have been proud of him in this enormous effort to get elected governor, and to fight for justice for the poor, the forgotten, both black and white.

“Carolyn! There you are!” Carter said as he saw the campaign photographer Margot had just hired. “Could you take a photo of me with my momma, please?”

A quick couple of flashes of her camera and then he begged her patience, leaving his mother with his brother, as he moved on to greet other guests.

Margot had arranged for the private reception to have not only an open bar with champagne, but also a full liquor selection for various local dignitaries and special guests whom Margot was targeting for their endorsement. She had the entire Columbia city council, mayor, and State House legislative delegation from Richland County already with their support, but lacked the endorsement of the out-going governor, Fritz Hollings. As a strong supporter of President Kennedy and a staunch Democrat, he was relatively liberal in comparison to the party’s nominated candidate, the archconservative state senator Harry Thompkins. Margot had extended an invitation to Hollings’ chief of staff to invite them to the private reception with the hope that just perhaps Hollings would do the honorable thing, and endorse Ridge despite being the Republican candidate.

The garden gate door opened, and in walked Hollings with his chief of staff. “Governor, and Mr. Sanders, so nice of you to join us this afternoon!” she said, giving them the bisou cosmopolitan kiss on their cheeks. It was that kind of intimate familiarity that immediately brought down the defensive walls of many a Southern gentleman, and soon the three of them were standing in a corner, sipping champagne and exchanging stories. At one of the preparatory meetings for the announcement, Margot had informed Carolyn to only take photos of Governor Hollings from a safe distance, but to take his photo nevertheless; one never knew if it would be needed down the road. Noticing their arrival, Carter came over.

“Governor! Thank-you so much for coming by this afternoon!” he said, shaking his hand, and greeted Hollings’ chief of staff, Mr. Sanders.

“Well, it’s a lovely afternoon to officially launch your campaign, Carter,” Hollings said. His Charleston accent was so thick that all of the Rs were pushed to the side of the mouth like an olive pit from a martini garnish.

“I was just talking with the Governor, Mr. Ridge, and he’d like to discuss with you the timing of his official endorsement,” Sanders said. Margot shot a glance at Carter with a look of thank god, and grabbed his hand in support. “Assuming that you wouldn’t mind a loyal Democrat backing you publicly.”

Carter lifted his champagne glass, “That would be fantastic! Cheers, to Governor Hollings, and to the future of this fair state!”

Hollings grabbed Carter’s wrist, then said, “No, son. To Carter Ridge, the future governor of this fair state!”

“Cheers!” they all said.

“What about Senator Thurmond? Have you lined up an endorsement from him?” Hollings asked.

“Well, it is still being negotiated, quite frankly,” Carter said. “He and Thompkins have a past, and ideologically they aren’t that far apart on many issues. I have a meeting set up with him at Galanos this weekend. It could go either way, to be honest. But having you endorse me is just the kind of momentum that we’ll need after Thompkins has garnered attention with his primary victory.”

“Would you like me to give the Senator a call?” Hollings asked.

“If it would help, yes, of course. But I think he is just waiting to see what the political lay of the land is.”

“Well, you just let me know, I’ll help in any way I can,” Hollings said.

This being a political reception, Hollings’ scanned the crowd, perhaps looking for any familiar faces that he needed to meet and greet, and seeing one of his fundraisers at the hors d’oeuvres table, he promptly excused himself.

With Carter’s formal announcement, the campaign was off to a fast start. Based on their drill-down surveys in Laurens County, Lou Harris and his team determined that the key to winning would be to rack up a large margin of the vote in the three urban areas of the state, where the most educated and liberal-minded voters lived. In the rest of the state, Carter was to focus on those “aspirational” or “malleable middle” housewives, as Betty the data guru called them. These women would likely be drawn to Carter’s message of investing in the future, were attracted to modernity, and averse to the confrontation that the reactionary right was fomenting regarding segregation. If Carter’s athletic, youthful good looks could be thrown into the mix, all the better.

The analysis also revealed two potential weaknesses. The first was the perception by many that Carter was too liberal. While the focus of his message was on the material benefits that The Good Life would bring to everyone due to state investment in infrastructure and the arts, he also was clearly in favor of full civil rights for the Negro. Closely linked to this vulnerability, the second problem was that the polling revealed Carter’s difficulty as a campaigner to connect with those rural, small-town voters, many of whom made up that contingent of swing voters he needed to win. He felt most at home speaking in front of college-educated managers, professionals, and interested citizens who read the news and formed their opinions based on a vigorous debate of the issues. In such settings, Carter could speak in full paragraphs, detailing what he believed in and why, and working the audience into an active response of nods and smiles of recognition that here, at last, was someone who was like them, someone who was ready to meet the challenges of tomorrow. But in front of the common “folks,” as Margot called them, Carter struggled.

The fix for the first weakness seemed to be working. Since the Citadel cadets had joined his campaign earlier in the month, their presence had buoyed Carter when he traveled to more conservative audiences. The four-year state school had a long tradition in South Carolina; for many, the cadets of the Citadel were symbols of the proud, genteel heritage of the conservative Old South.

The solution to the second problem, however, happened by chance. He had been paired up with a local country music act at a country barbeque picnic in Gaffney, and when it came time for Carter to make his now improvised, index-card-free, stump speech, he slipped into the local vernacular and asked “How Yer Durin’?” The crowd laughed and erupted in applause and shouts of “good!” which provided a perfect segue for him to start talking about The Good Life.

When Carter told Margot about how well it was received that evening over dinner back at Galanos, the two of them began thinking about permanently having a musical act open for Carter at his events. By the time they had finished their coffee and ‘Nilla Wafer Vanilla Cream Pie dessert, they had sketched out a portable country front-porch that would be pulled on a trailer, allowing Carter to have a more “down home” connection with his audience, and it would also double as a small stage for the music act to perform.

Additionally, Margot approached the management of one of the biggest country music acts in Nashville, and one day she excitedly hung up her phone at her desk in the old library and walked over to the team conference table.

“I just got off of the phone with Maybelle Carter,” she announced as she found a spot to sit on the edge of the table next to Carter’s speechwriter.

“And Maybelle Carter is who again?” Carter asked, looking up at her.

“Maybelle Carter, or Mother Maybelle as she is called, is the matriarch of the country music group, The Carter Family,” she said.

“The Carter Family?” Carter asked.

“I like them,” the speechwriter said. “They’re perfect for Mr. Ridge. Plus, the tie-in with his name is a stroke of genius, Miss Margot.”

Margot smiled back at him, and with a flourish of her arms like a magician pulling a hare out of a top hat, said, “Ta-dah!”

Things began moving quickly, with the implementation of a statewide media campaign centered on The Good Life program. Margot hired an animation firm in Hollywood to put together a thirty-second commercial, showing in rapid succession cartoon figures of families: they were working, eating at the family dinner table, playing sports, fishing, and going to church. She was adamant that the cartoon characters be both white and black. The accompanying music was fast-paced, with a lot of brass and hints of jazz. For the voice-over she hired a woman actor who had a seductive, cultivated, Southern accent, which she used to great effect oozing the tag-line: “The Good Life. Vote Carter Ridge. Governor.” The Good Life. Vote CAHR-Ta Ridge. GUV-na.

She had designed the campaign paraphernalia around the two themes. The primary message was always linking Carter with The Good Life. The radio ads and television commercials were the primary media for getting out this theme. But the secondary theme, the friendly, down-home “How Yer Durin’,” soon gained traction both within the campaign and for the public.

The day after Carter’s formal announcement of his run for governor, Jimmy came over to the main table in the old library and cleared his throat, “Sir, I thought you should see this...”

He handed Carter a flyer. Carter read it, and then handed it to Margot.

“From the Thompkins campaign? They got those out awfully quick, I must have them worried,” he said.

“Vote for the Negro-loving candidate, Carter Ridge!” Margot read out loud. “Well, he went straight to the point, I gotta give him that!”

“A few students are handing them out over by the women’s quad,” Jimmy said.

“God bless,” Carter said, smiling and shaking his head. “By the way, is there anyway I can be juxtaposed with Thompkins at one of these campaign events? I’d love to be there to come out after one of his fire and brimstone speeches.”

“Sure, we can make that happen, but preferably in front of a welcoming crowd. Let me check with the librarians’ association for tonight, if Thompkins is scheduled to speak to them as well,” Margot said.

That evening Carter was greeted by the general-secretary of the South Carolina State Library Convention at the side entrance of the Township Auditorium, and escorted backstage to await his introduction. The nasally, angry diatribe of Thompkins echoed through the hall, as he worked up to his conclusion, an appeal to those “guardians of civilization” to join his cause in reversing the tide of modernity, of decadence, and of socialism. He was given polite applause, and then exited off-stage.

“Quite the speech, Harry, best of luck in your campaign,” Carter said, coming over to shake his hand.

“Thank-you, thank-you, Carter,” Harry said, smiling, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. “Don’t take it too personally, though, all of that jibber-jabber. It’s just politics.”

“Oh, I don’t take your speeches seriously, don’t worry about that, Harry,” Carter said. “I take mine seriously, however.”

“Well, I suspect you do,” Thompkins winked. “Now, you have a good night, and good luck to you, too.”

After being introduced by Mrs. Nelson, the librarians’ association president, Carter came out to thunderous applause. He smiled and nodded, saying thank-you to them all. Once the assembly settled back down, he began his speech.

“The ancient poet Horace said that Greece, once captured by the Romans, made a captive of her wild conqueror, and introduced the arts to rustic Latium. So too, perversely, did South Carolina, once defeated in the Confederacy, make a captive of the Union, and introduced Jim Crow to America.”

He then spoke at length about the parasitic nature of Jim Crow, how it effectively limited the potential for not just the one-third of the population that was Negro, but also served as a moral anesthetic for the white majority, numbing them to injustice, to cruelty, to ignorance. By focusing the white majority on subjugating the Negro, they were blind to the subjugation they were under on a daily basis, from the lack of quality education, of decrepit public institutions, to the lack of job security, of adequate health care. But at least they could comfort themselves with the fact that they weren’t the lowly Negro.

The audience sat in rapt attention, many nodding in agreement, some taking notes. As he spoke, he focused on the crowd, looking into their eyes and conveying that he was one of them, concerned about the state of affairs, but optimistic about the future.

“If Rome indeed perfected Greek culture,” he continued. “And today America has perfected Rome. Oh how I hope for a future in which a new South Carolina will have truly perfected America. A reborn culture that elevates us all in our pursuit of learning, which celebrates the possibilities of tomorrow and is not confined to the limits of yesterday. I yearn for a South Carolina that can be a light in this evening of our discontent, having reconciled one with the other, and is united in building a better society, The Good Life.”

He then laid out the basic program for The Good Life, of an enormous investment in education, of infrastructure, and reconstituting the state government as a force for positive change instead of as a brake on progress. He told the story of the many people he had met in the past months and years, of the poor sharecroppers, the bone-weary textile mill worker, the mothers and fathers concerned about the direction of the country, the concerned teachers, and the universal message they all had was one of hope.

“Dum Spiro, Spero. It is our state’s motto. As I breathe, I hope. I think we all must hope. Indeed, it is integral to being a Christian that we have hope. And I hope you will join me in this project, this idea that we can have The Good Life, for all of us. Thank-you all for inviting me here tonight.”

The crowd rose and gave him a standing ovation, cheering. He waved from the dais, and Mrs. Nelson came to his side, practically yelling in his ear over the din of the several hundred below, “Mr. Ridge, please, go down and greet them, they would love to meet you.”

So he stepped down the stairs and waded into the crowd, shaking hands, trying to be polite but at the same time uncomfortable in the slight crush of the moment. His cadets descended into the gentle mob of librarians, and helped to provide a bit of a buffer for him to interact with them. Once he reached the auditorium doors, he turned to the cadets and half-jokingly said, “Thank-you, gentlemen, that’s exactly why I need you with me!”

They laughed, and assured him they had his back.

“Well, that was your first official event in state gubernatorial politics,” he said as he slid into the car. “I hope all of them go as well.”

“Spero,” joked the cadet seated in the front seat.

The next day, Carter and Margot met with the Lou Harris team at the conference table in the old library to hear the results of the overnight polling they had done following his announcement. The preliminary results were promising, with a name recognition now over 80% among registered voters, and an overall favorability of 64%, with only 21% strongly opposed to him. The drill-down data in Laurens County would have to wait for a few more days, since the survey questions there were longer. As it stood that late June afternoon, if the election were held then, Carter would beat Thompkins 55% to 45%, but that number included 35% of the electorate who could change their mind according to the pollster.

“Of the fifty-five percent who said they would vote for you, the firm support is at forty-five percent, which is better than Thompkins, who had only a firm support at twenty percent,” said Betty, the queen of data, reported.

Margot put down her pen, and beamed.

“Well, darling,” she said, turning to Carter, “It looks like all of those months of practicing out in the sticks is finally paying off. Now let’s go over our itinerary for the next week.”

It took a little more than a week for The Carter Family to arrive from Tennessee. Once they arrived at the old library, Margot had arranged for a leisurely catered lunch between the entire campaign staff and the Carters with their entourage in the back garden. Afterwards Margot walked through the careful choreography for the extended road trip she had scheduled that would take the campaign caravan of tour bus, cars, and truck that pulled the trailer of the quaint country house with the front porch stage across the state. Their first stop was the next day to the Laurens County Fair.

A throng of several hundred people—teenaged kids in clusters, families with their children, mainly white but also some black families off to the side — had gathered in front of the ersatz country house parked in the lot at the entry to the Laurens fairgrounds. A pair of Ridge campaign volunteers mingled with the crowd handing out straw hats, fans, and campaign buttons emblazoned with RIDGE in cobalt blue. Another volunteer handed out MoonPie chocolate and marshmallow cookies to the children. The P.A. system played a variety of popular country tunes, when suddenly the front door of the house opened up and out came Carter Ridge dressed in a suit, followed by The Carter Family — Mother Maybelle, and daughters Anita, Helen, and June Carter. June held her auto-harp while her sisters and mother came with their guitars. The crowd quickly erupted in applause, and the Carters waved and smiled back to the growing multitude. Standing in front of microphones, Carter turned to the most vivacious of the daughters, and asked, “Why June, what is this you have here?”

“You know what this is,” she said, “I was just telling you about it backstage, silly!”

The hundreds of spectators laughed.

Carter said, “All right, all right, it’s an autoharp. Let me see if I can play it...”

She handed him the autoharp, but he held it the wrong way.

“No, silly!” June said, “You’re holding it upside down!”

Carter turned it sideways, and she shook her head and then he held it right side up.

“There you go!” she said encouragingly, “That’s right! And do you — ?”

Carter strummed a perfect G-chord, and then smiled back at her.

“Hey, now! You reckon you can play that?”

Carter strummed a perfect D-chord, and gave her a big grin. The folks started laughing and clapping, prompting June to start laughing with them. He then started strumming G, D, and G again in rhythm, accompanied by the Carter Family playing their guitars.

Carter said, “Well, I reckon I can!”

The locals loved it, and then June reached to take her autoharp from him. “Give me that back!” she said.

Carter handed it back with a pretend dejected look on his face, and then June started playing the G, D, and G chords again, joined by the Carter Family. Carter then turned back to the crowd, now growing in size attracted by the spectacle and the laughter, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me present to you — The Carter Family!”

The throng erupted in applause and the Carter Family began playing an upbeat version of the country classic ‘Wildwood Flower’. The beautiful folk song had a gentle rhythm, as if the Carter sisters were at home brushing each other’s hair, singing together, bringing back to Carter that memory of Geraldine untying his knots, and how this was what life was all about. When they had finished singing about the lovely forlorn girl with “raven black hair,” everyone clapped again, and Carter quickly wiped his eyes, smiling and clapping along. He came back to the microphone and addressed the crowd.

Carter leaned into the microphone and asked, “How Yer Durin?”

“Good!” they answered back.

“Well, that’s wonderful, because what I’m offering y’all is The Good Life! I’m running for governor of this fine state, and I need all y’alls vote! The Good Life! Now what is that, you might be asking. Let me tell you!”

He paused for a second and peered out at the hundreds of people standing down below, listening intently to him. He picked one or two housewives standing there and made eye contact with them, then said in a lower voice as if speaking directly to them, “I want you to have the best for you and your family—a good job that pays enough for you to have a good house, a good dinner, and to be able to enjoy the good things with your family, a little vacation,” and motioning to the Carters standing off to the side on the front porch, “coming to the fair and seeing folks like The Carter Family!”

He stopped and smiled as the crowd gave a polite laugh. Looking back at the housewives, he added, “I want you all to have the best education, with good teachers, good classrooms, good sport teams to cheer on. I want you to have good roads to drive on, good buses and trains to ride on.”

As he continued, he built some momentum and volume into his voice, finishing with a more energetic — “I want you to be able to live in peace! Not have to worry anymore about all of the craziness that seems to be overtaking our lives! So won’t you join me?”

They responded with applause, and he heard some whoops coming from more than just the volunteers who’d been told to sweeten the audience’s reaction with their own enthusiasm. Carter turned and nodded at The Carter Family, who clapped as well. A quick set-up was done in the background with two musicians who had added a drum set and an electric guitar.

Carter turned to the matriarch and asked, “Mother Maybelle, what else do y’all have for us today?”

“Why, I reckon this little song is just perfect for these fine folks — you been travelin’ quite a bit, haven’t you, Mr. Ridge?”

“Well, yes, I have Mother Maybelle. Running for governor lets me travel all over, from the mountains of Pickens County in the Upstate down to the inlets and islands of Beaufort on the coast.”

June interrupted on cue and asked Carter, “You ever stop to eat?”

Which brought laughter from everyone.

Carter replied, “Yes, June, I love to eat.”

“Well, just making sure,” she said. “You need to eat more, you’re practically skin and bones!” and patted his stomach.

Carter laughed and asked, “What do you like to eat?”

“Ice cream and fried chicken!”

Carter said, “Ice cream and fried chicken? That’s quite the combination!”

“Not at the same time silly! First I eat the ice cream, and then the fried chicken!”

The crowd laughed again. The Carter Family started singing “Travelin’ Minstrel Band” and everyone began clapping along. At the end of the song, Carter came over to shake hands with the band and the Carter Family.

June leaned into the microphone to announce, “Oh, we’re just gettin’ warmed up, y’all!” and smiled, waving out to everyone. “Now, where is Miss Margot, I thought I saw her earlier?”

Carter called out, “Miss Margot, come on out won’t you?”

The front door of the farmhouse opened and out came Margot, dressed elegantly in a dark day suit. She walked over and waved, and stood next to Carter, putting her hand behind him on the small of his back. June came back to the microphone and said, “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing! Miss Margot, I wanted to ask you something, though. What is the good wife?”

The crowd laughed, including Carter and Margot.

Then Carter said, “June, I think you mean, The Good Life. Not the good wife.”

On cue, Mother Maybelle said, “No, Mr. Ridge, I think she meant the good wife, didn’t you, dear?”

June nodded and smiled back at the audience.

Margot gave a mischievous grin and then said, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, darlin’.”

Music began to play, and the crowd clapped in rhythm as The Carter Family sang ‘My Dixie Darlin’. After the final stanza while the band still played, Mother Maybelle came back to the main microphone and said, “Mr. Ridge, I’d like to thank-you for inviting us to join you at the Laurens County Fair!” Which gave the locals a big excuse to give a final strong round of clapping and hollering. “You’re like family, and with you I hope that we can all have The Good Life! Now join us as we sing the chorus again!”

Chapter 8 — Prologue

CHAPTER 8

HOW YER DURIN’