Originally printed April 7, 2022
It always amazes me how people not from the South view the South. They think it’s the scariest place on the planet earth. When my now ex-wife and I first met, and she was planning her first visit, her older sister called me from Los Angeles out of the blue to voice her concerns. “I’m so worried about Maggie going down to Alabama. Is it safe? I’ve just read some things about Alabama that scare me.”
This is no joke; this conversation took place. I was living in the tiny town of Coosada, right outside of Montgomery. It’s like Northerners actually believe there’s a group of good ol’ boys hanging out at the airports looking for people who don’t belong. As soon as they get off the plane, the guys walk up and say, “Y’all ain’t from around here, are ya?”
Here was my response: “Let me get this straight. You live in Los Angeles, and Maggie lives in Chicago, two places where you cannot even go to the local Seven-Eleven without fear of being robbed. You cannot even go to a city park without the possibility of being mugged. You cannot drive to work without the possibility of being carjacked, and you’re worried about Maggie coming to Coosada, Alabama, where crime is practically nonexistent?” I suggested she read something more current.
Perception is everything. Movies about the South also do a lot to further the stigma. Many years ago, I remember going to a haunted hayride about 40 miles south of Montgomery. As the tractor pulled a very large trailer, which had hay bales to sit on, around a very long wooded path, we encountered just about every horror imaginable. They had vampires, werewolves, zombies, guys with chainsaws wearing hockey masks, etc. As we neared the end, these two teenage girls sitting beside me, who had obviously been on the tour before, became noticeably worried.
“Oh no,” one of them said. “We’re coming up on the hillbillies.”
I wondered if she was being serious. She was. It was the last attraction on the ride. The tractor drove through an area set up like a small town. There was an old country store with big metal product signs and some rocking chairs on the front porch. Suddenly, guys wearing overalls with no undershirts and missing most of their teeth came running out, jumped on the trailer, and started asking all the females to marry them. And the gals were screaming their heads off.
I just sat there in a daze. Apparently, to the rest of the world, the scariest things are not supernatural demons, demented dead flesh-eaters, or homicidal maniacs; it’s folks from my hometown.
Neal Wooten is a columnist in the Mountain Valley News and North Jackson Press newspapers. He is a published author of more than three dozen books. He can be reached at [email protected].
