Civility

Charlotte’s mother lives in Sumter, South Carolina, a small town in the middle of the state. It is not a place I would have envisioned spending much time. In fact, when we started our cruise five years ago I had not anticipated spending this much time in the south.

When in Sumter I enjoy strolling through the ACE Hardware, my favorite place in the town. It is like a museum. For a boy from Chicago there are many exotic objects to gaze at. There are stacks of ammo, display cases packed with guns and knives, rows of enormous gun safes, enough archery and fishing gear to fill several semi trucks, and more to my delight, about a hundred styles of flashlights.

One day at the check out, I was perusing the bric-a-brac and had the thought that anything would sell if it were camouflaged. Lined up before me were camo beef/buffalo jerky, lighters, bumper stickers, eyeglasses, screwdrivers, flashlights, etc., etc.

Visiting the south has forced me to change the way I view the U.S.A. I never understood the Civil War’s sacrifice. To walk the battlefields of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg is to comprehend that they are mass gravesites. I never would have known the sacredness of these places had I not visited them.

To spend days watching the fisherman ply the waters of Chesapeake Bay as they have since the 1600’s and really, for more then ten thousand years before that; to visit Monticello and see Jefferson’s intellect carried out by enslaved people; to cruise on rivers and find the preserved villages of Chestertown and St Mary’s City — the former lively, the latter just a memory; and to understand that the mud I wash off the anchor is the topsoil from 400 years of clear cutting the native forest and farming. I am not sure what to make of these revelations.

For one, I recognize that I have the manners of a chad. I have had to learn to greet people warmly, and respond when asked how my day is going. And I have learned to reciprocate, listen to the response, and remember (or at least try to) the name of the person I have just met. More importantly, and harder to accomplish is to feel this exchange with my heart and not make it reflexive. It needs to be genuine. Often I walk away from encounters chastising myself for failing to live up to the ideal.

It is difficult to change the habits of a lifetime. My home was loving; my parents caring, but I would not characterize my family as touchy-feely. Then there was my profession. Doctoring is a very succinct line of work. There was never enough time. Decisions were made quickly in stressful, scary situations and in a command role. A direct order given in a no-fooling-around timbre helped to get the task accomplished, and save the day and more importantly, the patient.

The transition to the civilian world has not been without snags, but I think the south understands that I come from the north, and cuts me some slack. Of course, this is no reason to be complacent. In France, I learned to greet with the phrase, “Bon jour! Parlez vous Anglais?” And here in the south, in response to, “Well, hello! How are you doing today”, I try to say, “I am doing just fine! And how are you this lovely day?”

Even when grumpy I smile before answering the phone (or send a text message), it makes my voice and me pleasant. Now please understand, I am not trying to be sarcastic: feelings manifest themselves in actions. A smile, a good word uttered, a text message or email expressing thanks works both ways, and this is what my unlikely time in the south has taught me — civility.