Southwest Virginia Blogs

On the heels of the World Series championship of the St. Louis Cardinals comes bad news. The city was named the most dangerous in the country in the annual rankings by Morgan Quinto Press.

Reports The Associated Press:

A surge in violence made St. Louis the most dangerous city in the country, leading a trend of violent crimes rising much faster in the Midwest than in the rest of nation, according to an annual list.

The city has long fared poorly in the rankings of the safest and most dangerous American cities compiled by Morgan Quitno Press. Violent crime surged nearly 20 percent in St. Louis from 2004 to last year, when the rate of such crimes rose most dramatically in the Midwest, according to FBI figures released in June.

"It's just sad the way this city is," resident Sam Dawson said. "On the news you hear killings, someone's been shot."

The ranking, being released Monday, came as the city was still celebrating Friday's World Series victory at the new Busch Stadium. St. Louis has been spending millions of dollars on urban renewal even as the crime rate climbs.

I lived in the St. Louis area for 11 years. It was where I met and married Amy, who was born and raised there. Neither of us likes to see this kind of news about our former home.

If you are a regular visitor to Blue Ridge Muse, you probably recognize some changes in the place. This comes as I attempt to move Muse away from the traditional blog and more into a feature, news and opinion site.

I've been banging around this place called the Internet since 1994, which makes me a dinosaur by web standards. Our political news web site, Capitol Hill Blue, stands today as the oldest such site on the 'Net and I've launched a number of other sites over the years.

I'm not much for fads and so I'm taking Muse in some different directions. It might work, it might not, but at least I will have tried.

There is, of course, unbounded joy in Chateau Thompson today. The St. Louis Cardinals captured the World Series in five games with a 4-2 victory over the Detroit Tigers Friday night in the Gateway City. Lifelong Cardinal fan Amy is still somewhere in the clouds.

The last time St. Louis captured a World Series title was 1982. That series went to seven games. We watched that final game from a hotel room in Albuquerque where I was running a Congressional re-election effort for then Congressman Manuel Lujan Jr., who later served as Secretary of the Interior. Amy had come out to spend the final two months of the campaign with me.

The Cardinals won. Two weeks later, Lujan won.

It was a good year.

Former Virginia governor Mark Warner brings Democratic Senatorial candidate Jim Webb to Floyd today for a "town meeting" at the Country Store -- an event Warner's handlers call "non-political."

Let's see: A former governor with Presidential aspirations (even though he's pulled out of the race for 2008), a Senatorial candidate locked in a neck-and-neck run for a seat that could determine whether or not his party gains control of the Senate and a "non-political event."

Which one of these does not mesh with the other two?

Sorry guys. My mama drowned the dumb ones.

The Roanoke Times, which likes to write about places like Floyd and Stuart as though they are foreign locales worthy of tourist attention, matched the two small Southwestern Virginia towns head-to-head in Saturday's "Extra" section.

The comparison, which came as part of a feature on Stuart and Patrick County, is not on the newspaper's web site but can be found in Saturday's print edition. The Times compared things like dining out, shopping, entertainment, traditional music and other criteria before deciding that Floyd edges out the competition when it comes to places to eat (citing Oddfellas Cantina, Pine Tavern and Blue Ridge Restaurant), shopping (New Mountain Mercantile, Harvest Moon, etc.) and live music (The Friday Nite Jamboree, et. al).

Stuart took the honors on "mountain music" and "surrounding scenery," although some of us would take issue on both counts. A sixth category, "FloydFest," was a draw beause the event has Floyd's name but is actually held in Patrick County.

You can read the Times article on Stuart online but to see the comparison chart you will need to dig a copy of Saturday's paper out of the trash or go to the library.

When someone asks how life is different in Floyd County, my wife often points to the annual meeting of the Citizens Telephone Cooperative.

"It's the only place I've ever lived where the phone company invites you over for lunch once a year," she says.

The annual meeting always ends with a chicken lunch. First, of course, we have to sit through the annual meeting and then the drawing for door prizes. I've never, ever, won a door prize -- until today when they called out my number for a 137-piece Craftsman tool set.

Call it the Joy of Telephony.

Happiness reigns in Chateau Thompson. The St. Louis Cardinals advanced last night to the World Series, which makes lifelong Cardinal fan Amy deliriously happy.

Amy was born in the St. Louis area and spent most of her young life there. For St. Louisans, rooting for the baseball Cards is a way of life.

Anybody got any Series tickets?

The good news is that Amy's favorite baseball team, the St. Louis Cardinals, is headed for the National League Championship Series after a 6-2 win over San Diego.

The bad news is that our favorite football team, the Washington Redskins, appears headed for another dismal season after a lackluster performance and loss to the New York Giants Sunday.

Oh well. There's always NASCAR.

Looks like racism isn't Sen. George Allen's only failing. An investigation into his business and financial activities shows the carpetbagging Senator who claims to be a Virginian but is really a Californian sells his votes for stock options and then fails to report those options as required by law..

My personal experience with Allen, based on having to deal with him when I oversaw a political action committee for the National Association of Realtors, has always led me to believe he was for sale to the highest bidder. The AP stories appear to confirm that.

Makes me glad that I've never voted for the man. I don't like crooks from either side of the poltiical fence.

A year ago, I met a couple looking for property in Floyd County. They sat hunched over their breakfast table with maps and real estate brochures and planned our a day of visiting potential homes. Their dream, they said, was the to move to the country and live a quieter, more idyllic life.

They bought a home and moved here in July of 2005.

On Monday, they dropped by the studio to say they have put their house on the market and are moving back to the city.

Country life just didn't turn out to be what they expected.

"I like to play golf," he said. "But I just didn't have time. Weekends were consumed with yard work and all the little niggling things that do into keeping the property just ate into our available time."

She likes to shop but driving 30-45 minutes to Roanoke turned out to be too much. And nobody, they said, told them about the spiders and bugs and snakes and ragweed.

"I'm a city girl," she said. "I'm just not cut out for the country."

Not everyone is. Country life requires a change in attitude to go along with the change in lattitude. Some adapt. Some don't.

Unlike faux-Virginia Sen. George Allen, I'm a Southerner by birth (Allen was born in Los Angeles. He claims a Southern heritage for political convenience) and as a Southerner I resent the racist image he embraces to try and advance his election hopes.

Sadly, Allen's cultivated "good old boy" personna is not helping Virginia either. But neither str the anti-women views of his opponent or the gridlock of our state legislature.

Michael D. Shear writes in The Washington Post:

Virginia is taking it on the chin these days.

Its legislature has become synonymous with inaction, having squabbled for eight months about taxes and roads, then returned for a special session last week only to abandon efforts to end congestion after less than 48 hours.

And its U.S. Senate race has become daily fodder for late-night talk show hosts, international gossip rags, partisan blogs and television comedians.

"In Virginia, it has its upside, being considered racist," joked Jon Stewart on Wednesday night on Comedy Central's "The Daily Show," noting the latest allegations that Sen. George Allen (R) had once used a racial epithet.

The next night, Stewart was at it again, this time chuckling over Allen's excuse for once displaying a Confederate flag: that he was rebellious in his youth.

"Since when is hoisting a Confederate flag in Virginia rebellious?" Stewart asked, his incredulous expression prompting guffaws from the studio audience. After pointing out that Democrat James Webb once called a Naval Academy dorm a "horny woman's dream," Stewart said: "Well, Virginia. It's now up to you. Which of these two men will help you build a bridge to, let's say, the early- to mid-20th century?"

Allen even found himself parodied on "Saturday Night Live," where the Weekend Update crew made fun of him as a racist cowboy who makes up silly words. "I'm just a good old Virginia boy with Virginia values that I learned growing up in [an] affluent part of Southern California," the bogus Allen said.

None of it is a laughing matter for the participants, who are struggling to talk about issues amid the accusations and jokes. But the hoopla is also tarnishing Virginia's image as the commonwealth prepares to celebrate its 400th birthday next year.

For the state's top cheerleader, Gov. Timothy M. Kaine (D), the daily drumbeat of bad news threatens to overshadow the state's accomplishments as a good place to live, conduct business and visit.

"When the 'macaca' incident happened, my main concern . . . is to do what we have done often and well since 1607, which is to be open to the world," Kaine said, referring to Allen's calling an Indian American Webb aide "macaca." "It's not doom and gloom and dire. But I'm also not going to say it's not frustrating."

Come Election Day we have a choice of voting for a racist or a chauvinest. This would be a good year to have "none of the above on the ballot."

The rain came down in buckets Thursday -- a real old-fashioned Southwestern Virginia gully-washer.

I didn't see the approaching clouds. Had my head glued to a video monitor editing a documentary but a building-rocking rumble of thunder sent me to the window of the studio to see sheets of water falling from the skies.

This was the first hard rain since regrading my driveway with the new DR PowerGrader. How, I wondered, would the surface hold up under the pounding rainfall?

I drove home with a mixture of hope and dread. The rain had just ended as I turned off Sandy Flats Road and headed up Greenbrier to check out the driveway.

Everything was fine. No ruts, no dislodged gravel, no erosion. No need to hook up the grader and do any repair work when the water dries.

Sumbitch. The thing really works.

The Floyd County High School student approached me while I was photographing a football game on Friday.

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you the one who wrote the story in the paper about Mr. Farmer?"

"Yes."

"Why did you have to make such a big deal over it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, it's not like it was rape or anything like that."

Dan Farmer, a Floyd Elementary School teacher and a girls softball coach at the high school, resigned from both jobs after being charged with contributing to the sexual delinqency of a minor: Having consensual sex with a 15-year-old student at the high school

I tried to explain to the student that the married school teacher was charged with having sex with a 15-year-old.

"So?" She seemed unconcerned about the consequences.

"So it's against the law."

"Then the law is stupid. It's not like its something that hasn't happened before. It happens a lot."

When I pressed her for details she walked away. I finished shooting the game but the conversation haunted me. Was this young girl's feelings typical of students in high school today or was she an exception to the rule?

I don't know the answer to that but the fact that she, and possibly others, may feel that a teacher having sexual relations with a student is "no big deal" or that it "happens a lot" scares the hell out of me.

Three a.m. Dark. Pitch black. I notice a fresh batch of leaves on the driveway illuminated by the headlights as I head the Liberty down the driveway and make the right turn onto Sandy Flats road.

Time for the annual trip to Washington. A four-and-a-half hour drive, if all goes well, from the peace and serenity of the mountains to the madness of the National Capital Region.

Steve Jarding (right) and I do our road show at The Washington Center for Politics and Journalism (Photo by Terry Michael)

Each year at this time I make the trek to DC for an appearance at The Washington Center for Politics and Journalism. Terry Michael, who runs the program, is an old friend as is Steve Jarding, the political guru who ran Mark Warner's campaign for governor a few years back. Steve and I have been doing this road show for the center to talk about political campaign management to a group of interns for Washington-based media and news organizations with bureaus in the city.

No traffic as I turn onto U.S. 221 north and head towards Roanoke. The Liberty's headlights reveal a deer grazing on the side of the road as I cross into Roanoke County but the road itself remains traffic free all the way down Bent Mountain.

Traffic picks up as I near Roanoke. Even at 3:30 a.m. some people head for work in the city. A few cars as I turn off Brambleton Avenue and short-cut along Colonial Avenue to U.S. 220 and Interstate 581 at Wonju Street.

A little truck traffic on Interstate 81 as I head north. The Travel America truckstop in Troutville normally has gas for less than the going rate so I fill up there and pick up a 32-ounce of "Coffee Extreme," a brew for truckers that claims double the caffeine of ordinary coffee.

Another busy week with very little time to post. I'll try to catch up this weekend.

Our freshly-graded and newly packed driveway awaits the test of rain forecast for Tuesday. Our fingers are crossed.

Had business in Northwest Roanoke Saturday and finished up with some time to kill so I decided to venture across Williamson Road to see if I could find an apartment complex where I lived in the 60s.

Vista View opened in 1967 as one of Roanoke's first, singles-only apartment complexes. Located just off the intersection of Williamson and Hershberger Roads, the two rows of apartments with a swimming pool and club house in the middle featured large balconies, bright colors and an "anything goes" attitude. When it opened, most of the original residents came from the Roanoke-based flight crews of Piedmont Airlines - young, reasonably affluent singles who partied hard.

I moved into apartment 201, overlooking the club house and pool. At 19, I was the youngest resident in the complex but that didn't seem to matter to the twenty-somethings who played poker all night in the club house or skinny-dipped in the pool at 3 in the morning. They welcomed me into their nonstop life of parties, poker and debauchery. It was a young, carefree time where sexually-active young women took the pill and AIDs didn't punish promiscuity.

But like the swinging sixties, the fun didn't last. Residents of nearby houses complained constantly about the noise from all-night partying and the perceived trauma of their children sneaking peeks at naked, nubile young women frolicking in the pool in the wee hours. Management cracked down: No swimming after hours, no all-night poker games in the club house, no nude sunbathing on the balconies. As leases expired, the fun-loving pilots and stewardesses of Piedmont moved on and so did I, renting another apartment in South Roanoke Apartment Village, another complex that catered to singles just off Franklin Road on the other side of town. But life there wasn't the same. Nobody skinny-dipped in the pool, the young women wore bathing suits when they sunbathed and if there was a poker game, I never found it. After a few months, I left and settled into a house in Second Street SW - my last home before leaving Roanoke in 1969.

Thinking about Vista View brought a smile as I crossed Williamson Road and turned left off Hershberger. I wasn't sure I could find the apartment complex after 40 years or even if it still existed.

It did - sort of. The apartments are still there but one row of apartments are boarded up. Looks like a fire destroyed the unit I once called home. The property is run down and a Confederate flag flies from the balcony from one of the remaining, occupied apartments.

Airlines no longer base flight crews in Roanoke. USAir swallowed up Piedmont years ago and most pilots and flight attendants now are older, married and less inclined to party.

I got back into the Jeep and headed back across Williamson Road to I-581 and home, leaving another relic from the past behind.

Ah, but the memories remain.

I had planned to wait until Saturday or Sunday to attack the driveway with the new DR Power Grader but I arrived home Friday afternoon with four hours to kill before having to cover a football game and decided to hook up the lawn tractor and give it a try.

Ninety-minutes later, my formerly rut-filled, undulating, washed out off-road trail was restored to a smooth, usuable driveway that any car could drive on.

Damn this machine is good.

I started, as the manual suggests, with a series of passes over the worst part of the driveway, a 200-foot downhill stretch with ruts as deep as 18-inches. The 12 “scarifying” carbide-tipped teeth of the Power Grader loosened the hardened, packed slurry mix and began filling the holes. With each pass I could see progress.

It took about 20 passes to fill the last of the ruts and I began working on other parts of the surface where the year’s hard rains and a dump truck driver who did not know how to distribute a slurry mix had left an undulating, roller-coaster surface. With each pass, the lumps smoothed out and the grader redistributed the gravel and dirt into lower sections of the driveway.

My 23 horsepower John Deere lawn tractor had no trouble pulling the grader through the mix, even with a slipping drive belt that needs replacing, although I used it primarily for downhill passes. I doubt it would pull a full load of gravel up the 35-degree slope at the steepest part of the driveway. If need be, I can use our Wrangler as a tow vehicle or it may be time to consider a four-wheel-drive ATV or John Deere Gator.

The Power Grader’s simplicity, solid construction and ease of use continues DR’s standard for delivering excellent equipment at a great price. The little Vermont company, part of Country Home Products, is a country resident’s dream come true. I’ve talked to a number of people in Floyd who swear by their brush mowers and other equipment.

On Saturday and Sunday, I will complete the top and bottom sections of our 450-foot long driveway, smooth it with a drag screen and then pack it with a water-filled roller that also tows behind the lawn tractor. By Sunday afternoon, I expect to be ready for whatever Mother Nature throws as us.

With the generous help of Bernie Coveney, who decided that a broken down old man with a bad hip, two failing knees and a Rube Goldberg ankle couldn't do it alone (and he was right), the DR PowerGrader now sits in my garage.

We hooked the trailer up to Amy's Liberty today and made the run down the mountain to the ABF Trucking Terminal in Roanoke to pick up the 305-lb package. The folks at ABF used their forklift to to gently place the equipment, packed solidly on a palette, on the trailer and we were soon on our way back up the mountain.

Once back at Chateau Thompson, Bernie helped me uncrate the equipment while still on the trailer and we moved it into the garage. After he left, I hobbled around the garage, attaching the hydraulic power actuator (which controls the depth of the scarifying teeth) along with the yoke and the remote control for attaching to my lawn tractor. The job would be easier if I had full use of my limbs but until my ankle heals, all bets are off.

Fully assempled, the grader awaits another day of dry weather so I can attack the rut-filled, undulating mess called our driveway.

The war begins.

An undercurrent of discontent runs through Floyd County lately, a buzz of unrest that signals, for some, a dream that has soured.

You hear it over coffee in the mornings or in conversations at lunch: Sadness with a touch of anger.

Since returning to Floyd in 2004, I've encountered a number of people who complain how things haven't turned out like they expected and they say maybe, just maybe, it's time to move on.

For them, the honeymoon is over.

People move to a rural area like ours for a variety of reasons. For many, it is a desire to experience the country lifestyle while pursuing a second, third or fourth career - usually something that they dreamed of doing for most of their adult lives.

They sought an idyllic existence where life could be enjoyed while doing that they loved.

Problem is, doing what you love doesn't always pay the bills.

Floyd County is awash is musicians, artists and craftspeople. Many are very, very good. Few, if any, make a living at their music, art or craft. Most have other jobs or exists on a retirement income.

Some talk openly of their misgivings. Blues musician Scott Perry says he can't make a living just playing music. He supplements his income by giving lessons and he and his wife have joined a foster parents program.

Floyd may be an area known for its music but it too often treats musicians like second-class citizens. At most venues, musicians pass the hat and depend on a hoped-for generosity from those they entertain. At Floyd's most well-known music venue - the Friday Night Jamboree - bluegrass musicians play for free. Floyd County Store owner Woody Crenshaw recently started paying a small stipend that is, in reality, just gas money.

Restaurant owners and other music venue operators depend on the music to draw customers but can't afford to pay the kinds of nightly fees that musicians with talent can earn elsewhere. Floyd is a low-margin area. Many restaurants barely get by, especially those that depend on tourist traffic that has been reduced significantly over the last three years by rising gas prices and other economic uncertainties.

Floyd's artistic community is become well-known both regionally and nationally but local artists can't make it just by opening a gallery and hanging out a sign. Landscape photographer Bill Bell and artist wife Joanne hit the show circuit each year to sell their wares. So does Pat Sharkey and her husband. Both couples own galleries in downtown Floyd but it takes more than just visits from weekend visitors to pay the bills.

Some feel Floyd is on the cusp of real growth as a stop for tourists and growth as the place where people come to hear music and buy arts and crafts but the day when artists can sustain themselves solely on their creative abilities may still be years away.

Many will hunker down and wait out the cycle but others may pick up stakes and move on. They came in search of a dream but dreams, even when they come true, often precede reality and, for some, the economic reality has turned the dream into a nightmare.