By Stephanie Salter
The Tribune-Star
TERRE HAUTE
April 26, 2008 09:33 pm
—
For the next 10 days, they will be among us with microphones, cameras, notebooks and instant market-analysis software: Out-of-state news media, national campaign aides and pollsters.
Until May 7, they will scoot up next to us on counter seats in coffee shops that later will be described as “rustic,” “no-frills” or filled with “a decidedly blue-collar clientele.”
The journalists will set up long shots in front of our county courthouses, idle sound trucks in the parking lots of our factories, attend our mega-church services and hang upon our every word.
The pollsters, meanwhile, will slice and dice us with all manner of demographic: age, gender, race, religion, annual income, education level, zip code, land line vs. cell, cable TV habits, top 10 video rentals, school ISTEP scores and beer preference.
The reporters will interview dozens of “typical” Indiana residents. They will then project our Hoosier replies through their own prisms of what “the Heartland” is really all about and provide readers and viewers with artfully composed generalizations about our state. Those generalizations likely will be heavy on the following terms:
The aforementioned “blue-collar.” “Hard scrabble.” “Economically depressed.” “Rolling farmland.” “Tidy lawns.” “Working-class.” “Tree-lined.” “Picturesque.” “Patchwork fields.” “Traditional.” “Bright-red barns.” “NASCAR.” “Sprawling state capital.”
John Mellencamp’s name will be invoked in most of the features and color stories. So will Indiana’s 2-year-old daylight saving time change. The films “Breaking Away” and “Hoosiers” should make many reports, but “Madison” won’t. Few will note this is “Lincoln’s Boyhood Home.”
Although they will try hard not to — and cite percentages of African Americans, Hispanics and “others” as evidence — most of our short-term visitors will see this state’s 6.4 million residents as a homogenous, nearly alabaster chunk of America that conforms to stereotypes and simplistic social sorting.
So as not to mess with their heads too much or threaten their deadlines, why don’t we all pitch in and help perpetuate the Heartland Monolith Myth? It’s only for 10 days. Then we can go back to our genuine (and diverse) ways of life for another 40 years. Some suggestions:
1. Hoosiers with access to hay should try to have a straw sticking out of their mouth at all times in case they are stopped by national media or pollsters and asked for their thoughts.
2. Those of you with even-numbered county license plates should respond to questions about small-town, blue-collar life with “Hell yes, I’m bitter.” Those with odd-numbered plates should say “The Lord will provide.” (Vigo is 84; we’re bitter.)
3. From now until noon, May 7, all sushi bars and restaurants serving the following cuisines should disguise their signs and front windows: Indian, French, Thai, Philippine (except Sati Babi festival stands), Mexican (except Taco Bell), Asian fusion, Euro-centric, vegetarian and kosher. Steak houses should drop “fresh vegetables or rice” from menus. And if you know what mozzarella buffala is, keep it to yourself.
4. The best approach is for Hoosiers to confine public meals to fast-food chains until May 7. If you must patronize a fine-dining establishment — where it is likely network TV reporters on expense accounts are at nearby tables — ask as loudly as possible for “a nice, ice-cold bottle of merlot.” (Preferred Heartland Monolith pronunciation: “MURR-lott.”)
5. Car and truck radios tuned to anything but country-and-western stations should not be played loudly or with the windows down. Ditto for CDs, especially classical or jazz. (Exceptions can be made for religious programs and Rush Limbaugh.)
6. For the next 10 days, all g’s should be dropped from the end of gerunds and present participles. We’re talkin’ about stuff like comin’, goin’, eatin’, votin’, drinkin’ and — especially — huntin’ and shootin’.
7. No hybrid vehicles between 6 a.m. and midnight on city streets, interstates or main highways until after the primary.
8. Regardless of your personal stand on bio-fuel production, the operative line until May 7 is, “Sorry ’bout those starvin’ Third World folks, but Ethanol is good for Indiana.” (“Coal gassification” may be substituted if the environment is the subject instead of worldwide food shortages.) Do not mention the existence of the White Violet Center for Eco-Justice at St. Mary-of-the-Woods.
9. K-12 students should carry a basketball at all times during the next nine days, even to baseball and softball games. (Soccer, rugby, lacrosse and similar sports should be played indoors, if at all. Equestrian exercises, particularly dressage, should be postponed until May 7. If anyone inquires, the horses in the stables are for “plowin’.”)
10. K-12 and college students should limit shirt and jacket options to the official jerseys/sweatshirts of — in descending order — the Pacers, Colts, IU, Purdue and the Christian Athletic League. (Exceptions are OK for early proms, but only for the girls.)
11. If approached by a pollster or out-of-state journalist and asked, “Who are you voting for?” loyalists from all parties should pause, scratch their head (chew slowly on a hay straw, if applicable), then say, “I’m thinkin’ ’bout writin’ in Bobby Knight.”
12. When asked about “Hoosier values,” get misty-eyed and choke out, “Jim Nabors singin’ before the 500.”
13. If queried on the subject of gay marriage, look the interviewer in the eye and say, “That’s not a problem. We don’t have any gay people here.”
14. Should you or a family member consent to an on-camera interview — no matter the reporter, the station, the network, or the topic for discussion — strike a deer-in-the-headlights pose, then start grinning and waving at the camera and shout, “Hey, Wolf! How’s it goin’ in the Situation Room?!!”
Stephanie Salter can be reached at (812) 231-4229 or stephanie.salter@tribstar.com.
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Photos
Tribune-Star columnist Stephanie Salter.