A good deed

[IrishAyes]

4. HA!

As much as I appreciate the uplifting replies, it sounds as if you might live closer to me than those other fine people do.

No, sad fact is I retired for financial reasons only to the MidWest, aka 'Bible Belt', tagged by me as RedNeckLand, generally a teabagger hellhole if ever there was one. The vast majority of my fellow townsmen are xenophobic as geese and just about as friendly. The only thing they hate worse than outsiders is damnYankee libruls here to bring them the gospel of shared stewardship and responsibility. I've had empty beer bottles thrown at me from passing vehicles and sometimes people start screaming at me for no discernible reason.

Well, I must admit they're probably reacting to one of my frequent and sometimes testy letters to the editor of our local weekly newsrag, which does happen to have an amazingly wide circulation. Three times I've received written compliments, but those were unsigned to protect the identity of the endangered for even speaking to me. A couple of people in town have actually approached me with a compliment for airing local dirty laundry, but only after they look around carefully first to make sure no one will see or overhear.

The local so-called 'patriot' paramilitaries who play soldier in the woods on weekends have tried open intimidation efforts, unsuccessfully I might add. One of their members moved next door to me and raised hell for all 4 years he was there, and he was doubly furious because I outbid him for this house. But he's the one who eventually moved, not I.

Last but certainly not least, for about 4 years I rode the federally subsidized OATS mini-bus, otherwise known as the Redneck Express, and that bunch of largely senile old coots screamed and yelled their heads off at me most of the time. They stopped short of hating me enough to refuse my offers of help with their packages, though. And there was one 35-year-old paranoid schizophrenic with a prison background for violence and drugs, whom the equally wiggy bus driver kept trying to provoke into a murderous rage against me. That plan would've succeeded eventually, but somewhere they got the idea that I'd retired from the FBI and that I learned voodoo in New Orleans, so it became something of a balance of terror. The bus office management not only ignored my weekly written complaints but finally announced they were blocking my emails in the future.

At last the crazy mean bus driver - who used to yell that he would literally KILL anyone who crossed him and tried to sue me twice except I jumped down both lawyers' throat and put a stop to it - hit upon the idea of filing a false police report with the local officials claiming I carried a gun on board and threatened the other riders, who were all terrified of me. Well, it could've been worse; the police chief knew all of us quite well and took the report so seriously that he waited almost 48 hours before paying me a visit to tell me about it. Of course I filed a hot denial and so that little plot bit the dust. Best of all, I wrote a furious letter to the paper again, and since half the people here are at war with the other half, it got printed as always. If not for me they'd all still be reading about each other's lumbago and shopping trips to the nearest metropolis 60 miles away, a place with over 10 thousand souls! And it even has a Walmart - no kidding.

Well, actually the last best story stems from my thwarted efforts to attend church at the congregation of my own denomination. Crazy woman there verbally assaulted me (in private because she's just as bad a coward as the rest) on my first visit, and when that didn't drive me away, she stood up during Mass on a Tuesday night when she and I were the only parishioners there, and she vehemently denounced me to the priest for everything under the sun. He smiled indulgently at her and offered no protest or defense of me, not even a limp left-handed "at least she doesn't sweat much for a fat lady". Even so I stayed on until she started accusing me of stealing things - this from the woman who nearly burnt the whole church down when she forgot to extinguish some candles.

The upstart of that situation came when I'd been absent nearly 2 years and she encountered me at another church's soup and sandwich fundraiser. (Don't get me started about the confusion and panic one lady at the counter suffered when I asked for my portion to be partly one soup and partly another, all mixed in the same bowl.) Anyway, I'd just made it safely to my seat when Crazy Woman appeared, leaned over me, and declared in a loud voice how much they missed me at 'our' church! That drove my blood pressure sky high instantly, but then she had to ask at equal volume why I'd been absent: WAS IT SOMETHING SOMEONE SAID?

You probably know the admonition to beware the wrath of a patient person. At that point I jumped up and called her a lying hypocrite at the top of MY lungs, adding that she knew exactly who and what drove me away and since I was on a roll, I repeated the story of her denunciation. Of course she recoiled in great offense and denial, so I ended by yelling, "Don't stand there and lie to me, you old fart! You might fool some people but I was there and so I know what you did, and don't think I'll ever forget either!" After throwing my untouched meal (including million dollar pie!) in the trash, I left and slammed the door behind me as hard as possible. Of course it was all over town before I could stomp the four blocks home.

But actually in that respect, deny it though they did, I fit in here right from the beginning. This town calls itself the real Mayberry, but during the Civil War - which is far from over regardless of what history books say - they had to close the churches because people kept shooting each other in the pews. So there are blood feuds going back generations, almost as bad as the Hatfields and McCoys. Unless born and raised here, most people unfortunate enough to stumble upon this place soon run screaming into the night. The high school kids celebrate graduation by circling the town square in a tight knot trying to settle old scores before they slink away for parts unknown or sink back into the general morass.

Other than that I like it here just fine.

Believe me, I really do appreciate the decent minority who seem to gradually be thawing a bit toward the 'damnYankee invader'. There are even people who don't get up and move when I sit next to them at church dinners, and a precious few I even count as pretty much friends. Every time one seems to have grown accustomed to my face, I rejoice.

Although the pastor at the UMC church around the corner where I pop in now and then nearly had a heart attack when I dropped by to listen to the bell choir practice. He knew he was sinning big time and it made him nervous - he looked ready to pee himself - but he 'helpfully' pointed out that the bell choir would never accept a new member. I didn't point out what he must've already known, that his wife and a prominent member of the congregation had invited me to join. I was only there to listen to see if they were good enough musicians not to be wasting my time. But I made the pastor's day by assuring him I was only there because nothing was on tv that evening. The relief on that terrified man's face was indescribable.

So in my own unique way, yes indeedy I do fit right in. It takes a hard case to survive in this town. When I got tired of people almost demanding to know why I moved here, I started saying things like maybe somebody sent me here to keep an eye on the place. Although my 2 Chows were perfect angels, nobody liked them much. Now that it's only Molly Maguire the mini-beagle/pom mix and Brigid the Jack Russell Terrier (I'm convinced), everyone seems to adore them. I secretly suspect a few have learned to respect my own tenacity at least. Maybe even like me a little bit.

If you want to know the true story, the worst crime I committed was not asking anyone's permission to move here, and as I'll always remain the classic outsider to some extent, they have no discernible means of exerting power over me. I can't be run off apparently, because I get right back in their faces. I don't need them for a job, and there are no family ties at all to twist around my neck. I've even found a few local tradesmen at last who are willing to do business with me. So what's left? Not a damn thing. And they know every election cycle there'll be a big beautiful homemade "VOTE DEMOCRAT" sign in my yard. One fool threatened to destroy it the first time it went up, and I just calmly suggested he'd better check first and make sure neither the Chows nor their mama caught him at it. Nothing happened.