THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 20, 1996 TAG: 9610200050
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
DATELINE: LAKE MATTAMUSKEET LENGTH: 68 lines
For 32 miles between this mammoth body of water and the little town of Columbia, Route 94 slides and winds its way through a part of the world that Bob Dole and Bill Clinton will skip before this nation picks its president.
The sun is turning in for the evening, leaving pink, orange, purple and red splashes on the horizon's sky-blue canvas. The water gleams golden, mirror-like, no doubt to allow angels and ducks to check their wings.
Drive for several miles past furry stands of cattails and trees with gnarled limbs that look like a working man's hands, and before you know it, you're on a narrow bridge that crosses a ditch-wide spot on the Intracostal Waterway and on into the little town of Fairfield.
Neatly kept small white houses and mobile homes, light glowing warmly from their windows, stand in the enveloping night. It's suppertime. Tractors rest in recently harvested fields. On up the road, a dozen children of all ages are walking together, some hand in hand and laughing. An occasional tiny cafe, country store or convenience mart is all of American commerce you'll see between here and Columbia.
A sliver of moon that looks like a Cheshire cat's grin takes center stage as night falls.
On the face of it, this may not seem much more than nice images to contemplate. Another slice of nature's majesty to consider and enjoy.
But all along Route 94, save the occasional Hunt or Helms campaign sign, this seems a place untouched by politics. The candidates never come here to talk to the man who relies on his old John Deere tractor to help him bring in another harvest.
They never stop at the country store to drink an icy-cold Dr. Pepper and munch on parched peanuts or Vienna sausages, and find out what it's like to run a small business, unless of course there's a camera about to film it for the nightly news.
They don't take the time to talk to the men and women who depend on the grace of God and their own ingenuity to pull their livelihood from the waters.
And yet, year after year, the assembled multitude of elected officials talk about the need for election reform, how campaigns have become so expensive they exclude working people from seeking elective office and how wrong PACs are.
In the Helms-Gantt Senate race alone, enough money has flowed into campaign coffers to provide the good people of Fairfield a pretty nice nest egg.
A couple of generations back, candidates relied on flatbed trucks and bullhorns, a passing of the hat and a firm handshake to get elected. They had to look voters in the eye, and explain why they deserved to receive their vote.
If I could be king for a day, I'd solve this election reform mess. Give the candidates a flatbed truck, a bullhorn, and $50 in gas for each state. If the truck breaks down, let the networks film the candidate changing a tire or fixing a fan belt. That would tell us much more about a candidate than any televised debate.
We in the media are just as guilty. We spend too much time looking for the sound bite, talking to the spin doctors. Not enough Dr. Peppers, too few Vienna sausages. not enough time among the single moms and gradmoms, factory workers and farmers.
The obvious argument against flatbed truck politics is that television allows those who might never see the candidates hear their voices or see their faces. But in reality, what are we seeing? A well-packaged, spin-doctored, buzz-worded shell of who the candidate really is. It's like a Toyota commercial.
If you want to buy a car, you go to the lot, and give it a good hard look. When it comes to our candidates, we ought to be able to ``kick the tires'' so to speak.
If politicians and press folks want to see where the country's going on the cusp of the 21st century, the solution is simple:
Take a little trip on Route 94. by CNB