Post by imissnola on Oct 31, 2007 16:45:03 GMT -6
A good read. I think electing Bobby was one of the best things to happen to Louisiana.
.........................................................................................................
October 26, 2007
Bayou Bobby
By ROD DREHER
October 26, 2007; Page
Alas for me, I didn't get to cast a vote for Bobby Jindal , the winner
of last weekend's Louisiana governor's race. It's been 15 years since I
left the Bayou.
The last time I voted in a gubernatorial contest there, it felt less
like a civic duty than an occasion of sin. I pulled the lever for
Democrat Edwin W. Edwards -- instead of my fellow Republican, David Duke -- following the instruction of the bumper sticker on my car: "Vote for the
Crook. It's Important."
That evening, I went to a party in Baton Rouge , attached myself to a
keg of Budweiser and talked long into the night about how, four years
after electing the supposedly reform-minded governor Buddy Roemer, it had
come to this. I was only two years out of LSU and, like just about
everybody I knew then, wanted to move away. What future did any of us have
in a state where the choice was either a blow-dried Ku Klucker or an
oleaginous Cajun kleptocrat? (As the joke had it, the Wizard or the
Lizard?)
I soon left for Washington , D.C. , a new job and a new life. Many
years later, in an online discussion about the fate of the state, I read
that a well-known New Orleans journalist, having lost hope in his
family's future there, stood in the middle of his newsroom to announce his
resignation. He said that he loved the city dearly but couldn't raise his
children in a town that cherished parades more than libraries. Framed
that way, you can understand why so many Louisianians choose to
expatriate, but never quite get over leaving.
Louisiana has been at or near the bottom of "quality of life" lists for
so long that you start to believe that there's something genetically
wrong with its residents. For 15 out of the past 17 years, Louisiana has
been either America 's Least Livable State or runner-up in the annual
Morgan Quitno research firm's comprehensive rankings, which combine
educational, economic, health, environmental and crime statistics. No
wonder Louisiana has for at least two decades experienced a steady
out-migration of young professionals.
You notice something, though, when Louisianians meet in exile.
Everybody misses home and will take any opportunity to talk about it. Our
friends -- Yankees, mostly -- get the biggest kick out of our honest-to-God
tales of Bayou State life (political and otherwise). My wife, a native
Texan, confessed that when we first started dating, she thought my
stories about my homeland revealed me to be a pathological liar -- until I
took her there to see for herself. She visited my Uncle Murphy 's grave
and saw the headstone he'd won playing bourri (a Cajun card game) with
an undertaker. He had it inscribed with the epitaph: "This ain't bad,
once you get used to it."
Louisiana makes a lot more sense if you read the beloved picaresque "A
Confederacy of Dunces" as an exercise in literary naturalism. There's
simply no place like Louisiana . You will not find more generous and
life-loving people anywhere, and Lord knows, you won't eat or drink
better. It's hard to get over that. But you do, mostly. Last Sunday, I ran
into a couple I know at a Krispy Kreme shop here in Dallas . We got to
talking about the Jindal victory, and the wife, a non-native who had
fallen in love with Louisiana as a Tulane student, said warmly that she'd
love to move back. The husband gave her a look that telegraphed, "Yes,
we all would, dear, but come on."
Despite all the sentimental longing for LSU Tigers tailgating and the
scent of Zatarain's crawfish boil on your fingers, moving home rarely
crosses the minds of us expatriates. Louisiana is a great place to be
from, but the sense of fatalism that pervades life there casts doubt on
whether it will some day be great place to be. In Louisiana , to be
educated is to love the state and hate the state -- and, for many, to leave
it.
Here's the thing about Bobby Jindal : He didn't leave for good . He
came home. With his Ivy League and Oxbridge education and his startling
smarts, he could have gone anywhere and nobody back home would have
blamed him. In fact, he is the epitome of the kind of Louisianian who
emigrates to Dallas , Atlanta and points beyond -- driving around with an LSU sticker on his bumper.
But he didn't. The guy actually seemed to think he could make a
difference in Louisiana . He got involved in government at age 24 and stuck
with it. He ran for governor in 2003 and lost to Democrat Kathleen
Blanco. When the Katrina hurricane aftermath destroyed Ms. Blanco 's career, Mr. Jindal 's loss came to look like a blessing in disguise. Anyway,
after what Katrina revealed about the chronic dysfunction of the state,
how crazy would a politician have to be to think he could straighten out
a place like that?
Well, now we know. This unlikeliest of all Deep South politicians, a
squeaky-clean Gen-X son of Indian immigrants, a policy wonk and Catholic
convert who, as a child, adopted a nickname from a "Brady Bunch"
character, just got himself elected. In his victory speech, Mr. Jindal
exhorted a jubilant crowd of supporters: "I'm asking you to once again
believe in Louisiana ." That's asking a lot.
As it happened, the night Mr. Jindal won I was having dinner in Henry
County, Ky., with the farmer and agrarian poet Wendell Berry and a group
of his conservative admirers. Earlier in the day, we'd heard Mr. Berry
talk about how we Americans educate our children today for outgoing,
not homecoming, and what a shame that is. We'd been talking about what
kind of country we'd have if folks decided to stay home and learn to
love their little place.
That night, my father woke me up phoning from St. Francisville , La. .
"Jindal won tonight!" he said, tickled to death. So did the Tigers, but
I don't think he even mentioned football.
I haven't lived in Louisiana in a long time, but this election makes me
proud and hopeful -- two emotions unfamiliar to exiled Bayou Staters.
And the promise of Mr. Jindal 's leadership makes me wonder, for the
first time since I packed up the U-Haul and drove off, if maybe I -- and
now, my children -- have a future in Louisiana .
Yes, I know, reform-minded governors (and their supporters) always come
to grief in our wizardy, lizardy banana republic. Yes, I'm fully aware
that Louisiana is bound to break your heart. And yes, I live happily
in Texas . But you know what? My governor is a Hindu Catholic
Republican, and I think he's going to write the next great Louisiana story. Maybe just this once, it's not going to be a farce.
Mr. Dreher is a columnist for the Dallas Morning News.
.........................................................................................................
October 26, 2007
Bayou Bobby
By ROD DREHER
October 26, 2007; Page
Alas for me, I didn't get to cast a vote for Bobby Jindal , the winner
of last weekend's Louisiana governor's race. It's been 15 years since I
left the Bayou.
The last time I voted in a gubernatorial contest there, it felt less
like a civic duty than an occasion of sin. I pulled the lever for
Democrat Edwin W. Edwards -- instead of my fellow Republican, David Duke -- following the instruction of the bumper sticker on my car: "Vote for the
Crook. It's Important."
That evening, I went to a party in Baton Rouge , attached myself to a
keg of Budweiser and talked long into the night about how, four years
after electing the supposedly reform-minded governor Buddy Roemer, it had
come to this. I was only two years out of LSU and, like just about
everybody I knew then, wanted to move away. What future did any of us have
in a state where the choice was either a blow-dried Ku Klucker or an
oleaginous Cajun kleptocrat? (As the joke had it, the Wizard or the
Lizard?)
I soon left for Washington , D.C. , a new job and a new life. Many
years later, in an online discussion about the fate of the state, I read
that a well-known New Orleans journalist, having lost hope in his
family's future there, stood in the middle of his newsroom to announce his
resignation. He said that he loved the city dearly but couldn't raise his
children in a town that cherished parades more than libraries. Framed
that way, you can understand why so many Louisianians choose to
expatriate, but never quite get over leaving.
Louisiana has been at or near the bottom of "quality of life" lists for
so long that you start to believe that there's something genetically
wrong with its residents. For 15 out of the past 17 years, Louisiana has
been either America 's Least Livable State or runner-up in the annual
Morgan Quitno research firm's comprehensive rankings, which combine
educational, economic, health, environmental and crime statistics. No
wonder Louisiana has for at least two decades experienced a steady
out-migration of young professionals.
You notice something, though, when Louisianians meet in exile.
Everybody misses home and will take any opportunity to talk about it. Our
friends -- Yankees, mostly -- get the biggest kick out of our honest-to-God
tales of Bayou State life (political and otherwise). My wife, a native
Texan, confessed that when we first started dating, she thought my
stories about my homeland revealed me to be a pathological liar -- until I
took her there to see for herself. She visited my Uncle Murphy 's grave
and saw the headstone he'd won playing bourri (a Cajun card game) with
an undertaker. He had it inscribed with the epitaph: "This ain't bad,
once you get used to it."
Louisiana makes a lot more sense if you read the beloved picaresque "A
Confederacy of Dunces" as an exercise in literary naturalism. There's
simply no place like Louisiana . You will not find more generous and
life-loving people anywhere, and Lord knows, you won't eat or drink
better. It's hard to get over that. But you do, mostly. Last Sunday, I ran
into a couple I know at a Krispy Kreme shop here in Dallas . We got to
talking about the Jindal victory, and the wife, a non-native who had
fallen in love with Louisiana as a Tulane student, said warmly that she'd
love to move back. The husband gave her a look that telegraphed, "Yes,
we all would, dear, but come on."
Despite all the sentimental longing for LSU Tigers tailgating and the
scent of Zatarain's crawfish boil on your fingers, moving home rarely
crosses the minds of us expatriates. Louisiana is a great place to be
from, but the sense of fatalism that pervades life there casts doubt on
whether it will some day be great place to be. In Louisiana , to be
educated is to love the state and hate the state -- and, for many, to leave
it.
Here's the thing about Bobby Jindal : He didn't leave for good . He
came home. With his Ivy League and Oxbridge education and his startling
smarts, he could have gone anywhere and nobody back home would have
blamed him. In fact, he is the epitome of the kind of Louisianian who
emigrates to Dallas , Atlanta and points beyond -- driving around with an LSU sticker on his bumper.
But he didn't. The guy actually seemed to think he could make a
difference in Louisiana . He got involved in government at age 24 and stuck
with it. He ran for governor in 2003 and lost to Democrat Kathleen
Blanco. When the Katrina hurricane aftermath destroyed Ms. Blanco 's career, Mr. Jindal 's loss came to look like a blessing in disguise. Anyway,
after what Katrina revealed about the chronic dysfunction of the state,
how crazy would a politician have to be to think he could straighten out
a place like that?
Well, now we know. This unlikeliest of all Deep South politicians, a
squeaky-clean Gen-X son of Indian immigrants, a policy wonk and Catholic
convert who, as a child, adopted a nickname from a "Brady Bunch"
character, just got himself elected. In his victory speech, Mr. Jindal
exhorted a jubilant crowd of supporters: "I'm asking you to once again
believe in Louisiana ." That's asking a lot.
As it happened, the night Mr. Jindal won I was having dinner in Henry
County, Ky., with the farmer and agrarian poet Wendell Berry and a group
of his conservative admirers. Earlier in the day, we'd heard Mr. Berry
talk about how we Americans educate our children today for outgoing,
not homecoming, and what a shame that is. We'd been talking about what
kind of country we'd have if folks decided to stay home and learn to
love their little place.
That night, my father woke me up phoning from St. Francisville , La. .
"Jindal won tonight!" he said, tickled to death. So did the Tigers, but
I don't think he even mentioned football.
I haven't lived in Louisiana in a long time, but this election makes me
proud and hopeful -- two emotions unfamiliar to exiled Bayou Staters.
And the promise of Mr. Jindal 's leadership makes me wonder, for the
first time since I packed up the U-Haul and drove off, if maybe I -- and
now, my children -- have a future in Louisiana .
Yes, I know, reform-minded governors (and their supporters) always come
to grief in our wizardy, lizardy banana republic. Yes, I'm fully aware
that Louisiana is bound to break your heart. And yes, I live happily
in Texas . But you know what? My governor is a Hindu Catholic
Republican, and I think he's going to write the next great Louisiana story. Maybe just this once, it's not going to be a farce.
Mr. Dreher is a columnist for the Dallas Morning News.
